In Fla­grante Delicto

Après la petit mort homey don't want you no more. That surge of dopamine has turned to dust. Save for the Coolidge Effect, post coitum omne triste est: that fine line between arousal and disgust. When the act is complete you recoil to your feet, excuse yourself and stare into the mirror in disbelief. Social cohesion be damned, you just had to get your hands upon this novel creature's flesh. The neurochemistry of all profound regret. Trust me kid you ain't seen nothin' yet. Oh the ridiculous things in service of self-esteem; to be desired some basic human need. The moralistic glee that we all take in the public airing of fellow hapless human's sins. Well, they're rubber, you're glue. Your webcam stares back at you and the sprawling subdivisions of glass-houses housed within. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're just like everybody else.

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