The emptiness after an orgasm is the worst. Not the physical kind—my cunt is still pulsing and wet from the last one—but the mental void. You spend hours chasing that peak, gooning your brain into mush, and then… silence. The porn tabs glare at you, the lube bottle is empty, and you’re just a body in a dark room again.

Sometimes I think about what my professors would say if they saw my ‘thesis’ now. A meticulously organized collection of bookmarks for every niche kink, a hard drive full of my own filthy drawings. The artistry in a well-filmed gangbang, the composition of a perfect double penetration… I’ve studied it more than I ever studied economics.

My sibling just walked past my door. I’m sprawled on the bed, completely bare, one hand still between my thighs. They didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. That hollow feeling got deeper. Maybe tomorrow I’ll just not wear any clothes at all. See if that gets a reaction. Or maybe I’ll finally draw that scene that’s been in my head—the one with us. At least on paper, I can make them look.