Beagin

No matter how long a cock, how great its girth, you never felt as thoroughly fucked as you did with a woman.

The truth was, Greta only felt “normal” for one week out of every month. The week before her period: rage, lust, and what felt like clarity. The week of: cramping, fatigue, self-pity. The week after: mind-numbing depression. That left one week of feeling “okay” and “like herself,” but sometimes she wondered if it was the only week in which she wasn’t herself, if the other weeks were the real thing, the real her. At any rate, her reactions to events depended on where she was in the cycle, except she never kept track of the cycle, so she never knew where the fuck she was.

Greta admitted that her mother had been an addict, too. Her drug of choice: terrible news