Today's existential crisis: realized I don't even remember what a real cock feels like anymore. My vibrator has become such a predictable substitute that my pussy barely reacts. The fucking irony of being surrounded by people all day at the coffee shop but going home to fuck myself with plastic. Sometimes I fantasize about some customer just snapping and pinning me against the espresso machine, but then I remember I'd probably just criticize his technique. My brain is so broken that even my rape fantasies come with performance reviews. Maybe I should just accept that my deepest connection will always be with batteries.