This is a copy of the original Sex With God blog. I no longer wanted to respond to comments on the blog, so I made this copy without comments.

Blogs have the last post written showing first. "Not Caring if I Die" is the last post I wrote and "A New Friend" is the first post. The blog is easier to understand if you read the posts in the order they were written. The posts are listed in the order they were written in the column on the right.

Not Caring If I Die

I feel peaceful when not caring if I die. No worries about money, friends, the future, people lying to me, getting AIDS. I get depressed, then don't care if I die, which brings me some peace, then I think I'd rather live. It's become a way of coping. When I want some peace and relief, I think of dying.

While homeless I discovered how to not care. I didn't want to work at a boring job, so I had no money for rent. I stayed with friends, until they saw that I wasn't making an effort to get my own place. Then I'd find someone else to stay with. When he got tired of having me around, there'd usually be someone else.

Some nights I slept outside on the ground, which had me feeling close to Earth and Nature. I didn't think about eating, imagining starvation a painless way to die. I hitchhiked around, going wherever the drivers took me, taking whatever they'd give.

I depended on others to take care of me. But if they didn't and I died, that would have been OK. And it would have been OK if they drugged me, cut my body into pieces and buried them in the backyard.

Awaiting my death, souls of this life come around for maybe the last time. There are many: the people on TV, the train engineer blowing his horn, the neighbor's barking dog, a wrong number and, of course, the guys wanting to fuck me.

Friends Who Fuck Me

Being an attractive, young female I get plenty of guys wanting to be my friend. I can't tell if they're full of it or, dare I think, they actually like me. There's nothing of me to like except my pussy and tits. I settle for this.

A friend seemed sincere when telling me I don't need to be what I am (a slut). I got emotional and cried. He put his arms around me. I pressed my face against his chest, not wanting to let go. Maybe because I didn't know what else to do, I slid my hand under his shirt and started to unbutton his pants, but he pulled my hand away and said stuff that means nothing to me.

What my friend suggests as a better life, I think would be boring. Anyway, if there's something that would change my perspective and desire, it won't likely come from someone who thinks friends shouldn't fuck.

I surrender to what I am. I like guys, especially the ones who so much want to fuck me. I lay on the bed, my cunt wet, waiting for another cock. If anyone wants to be my friend, he'll have to get in line.