shouldn't you only be horny when you're happy? why is it I'm so horny when I'm so sad and lonely. I was at school today in my sensible long skirt, wearing my crucifix necklace because I felt alone with God this morning, wondering about the meaning of why I had to be born so different, and the cross seemed to freeze my skin all morning, as if it was cold to my pain and instead of comforting me with the warmth of forgiveness and redemption it was a constant reminder of my own shortcomings. I was distraught during lunch, so I could only eat a bit of my pita sandwich before realizing it was poisonous and that what I needed to do was stop eating so I could lose my flabby fat, the layering of blubber which screamed to everyone that I was lazy and self-indulgent and if I really cared about myself I would look like Liv Tyler, and I would be skinny and anorexic, but I can't even get myself to stop eating let alone vomit the filth that I have already eaten. And sometime during the afternoon after I had to read yet another pile of books that are meaningless even to the sombulent men who ask me everyday to read and read more and more drivel, I discovered myself in the hallway bathroom in my favorite stall, where i feel clean amidst the filth, and I found my hands rubbing my pussy, and two of my fingers fucking myself with the sharp rhythm of a dog humping a leg, and my other hand twisting and rubbing my nipples and then my clit and then my nipples until I had come in silent gasps four times in a row. And when the haze lifted I realized that a corner of my skirt had dropped into the toilet water and half my skirt was now dark and wet, and instead of freaking out I put my hand on my clit and lips and rubbed myself to another long orgasm, putting the fingers of my other hand under my nose and breathing in the musky sharpness of my own wet cunt, licking my tongue past my lips to taste my own saltiness until my pussy juice mixed with the saltiness of the tears that I realized were streaming down my cheeks.