Fuckers

I assure you that I am not dead, just insanely overworked, underpaid, and stressed out. There are a lot of hectic, yet boring things going on. It's not worth explaining.


I will say that I am thinking about sex all the time. I'm like, compulsive about it. I can totally relate to all those fourteen year-old boys I have to stomach daily. They talk about it, think about it all the time. They hug me excessively, practice their lines, rub themselves on me, stare at my tits. It's unfortunate. They freak me out, the little hump monkeys.

One in particular, comes up daily to show me his drawings of red mages grabbing the ass of night wizards, or something equally nerd-porn-tastic. And in case you missed it, "Heh heh (grunt/snort/laugh), they're both female." He said "female." Really. Did you know that if he had 20 grand, he'd buy a big box of porn? Yeah. That one.

I got one drawing butts on paint in his freetime, one sculpting penises, one hugging me with hip-action, one smelling my hair and asking me to show him what it looks like in a ponytail, one poking me in the middle region at every pass... And sadly, I can relate.

I think about fucking all the time now. Not with them. This transistion went horribly wrong. I just empathize. Fucking. In the car, in my classroom, in the shower, in bed, while I'm changing. All I can think about is fucking. I have no outlet. It's maddening. Something will have to change. I want to fuck. Or I want to join a nunnery. Something.