If I thought this would never happen again I would die. But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.
Even sex was no longer what it had once been, though he was still as addicted to it as ever. He felt jerked around by his own dick, as if the rest of him was merely an inconsequential knob that happened to be attached to one end of it. Maybe the thing would be happier if left to roam around on its own.
Sex is like a drink, it's bad to start brooding about it too early in the day.
A bachelor, a studio, those were the names for that kind of apartment. Separate entrance it would say in the ads, and that meant you could have sex, unobserved.
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