The Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth

 Where do I start? Well, as always, I'll start with the page.
 I have to address the fact that I am so seriously beyond horny all the time it's utterly insane. My hips are ready to jump right out of their sockets so often that I have to go for sudden forceful jogs around the block to metabolize just the smallest fraction of this explosive excess energy. It's like fireworks popping out of my pelvic floor and raining ethereal cum down upon the earth when the feeling hits, and it hits about every 15 seconds on a slow day. If I could claw my way out of my own skin, unzip myself at my very joints I bet my internal organs would be incinerated to ash from all this flame, my uterus a mantlepiece.
My fantasies are endless, blurry, worldless, reaching for places where the boundaries are thin.  In my dreams, I'm underwater, I'm in a house without walls, and my husband has me bent over the oven while he feeds me the vegan gluten-free confetti cake I baked him with his fingers. Or we're two sharks spinning together in a rapidly tightening spiral to form whirlpools in the great blue deep in sync with the crescendo of some heavenly movie soundtrack.  The more we spin, the closer we get to each other until I'm caught and our cloacas intersect and the entire Atlantic rumbles with out simultaneous orgasm.
 
 That's why I'm always running.

 I want to be caught.

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