I don’t care what people think of me.
I don’t care if the person who broke free inside me thinks I’m just another slut who doesn’t care.
I don’t care about anyone’s opinion.
I and I alone know how much desire to satisfy me he can have. It is I who uses the world and not it me.
Desiring to live, feel, get excited and have the courage to make mistakes.
Desiring to experience sex, in all its forms and different intensities.
Having to show themselves as saints, knowing how to properly instigate the demon of those they have chosen to indulge in.
We were free and happy.
Only the old ones, out of envy, criticize the debauchery of those who still have so much to be passionate about.
I can’t express the cravings coursing through my body. I can’t use that direct way of telling me that you want me. I’ll tell you with a photo and, now, can you hurry and come to me?
Ode to good wine. Ode to beautiful women.
A woman and a glass of wine satisfy every need; he who doesn’t drink and kiss is worse than dead.
After all, we know well that wine and women lead even the wise astray.
Do you still wonder why red is considered the colour of Passion?
