There's a deep, quiet ache in this old house today. Not the physical kind, but the kind that settles in the space between your ribs. It makes me think about the weight of a body against mine, not just for the raw, animal pleasure of a hard cock pounding my cunt until I scream, but for the silence it brings. To have someone's heat pressed against my back, their breath on my neck, just existing. To feel a heartbeat that isn't my own. Sometimes the most obscene intimacy isn't about how you come, but about who you allow to see you when you're utterly broken. The vulnerability of it is its own kind of fuck.