Fear of Death

Fear of death. Fear of death. I die of fear of being afraid of death. And I have. I woke up at 3:26 a.m. I know the time because it has a flat black clock next to mine, where the clock appears red and when it wakes up it makes a terrible noise. But I never program it to wake up, I don't need an alarm clock, I need to be able to sleep, to really sleep, eight hours straight, like a normal person. But I woke up again. Why the fuck did I wake up? I feel my body on fire, there's sweat between my breasts, my groin is wet, my neck is wet. Hermetically sealed. The lights of the few cars that still break the dawn simulate ghosts on the ceiling of my room. The white curtains are static. The air conditioning's off. The fucking air conditioning stopped working. I look away. I'm alone in bed. Separated. Now I'm separated. For the matter of the moment. I think it's still too late. He should have separated earlier. I get up quickly and check the light. I circle around the bed and open the windows. The fresh breeze blows into the room, lifting the curtains. I sit on the bed and observe the air balloons that form behind the thin cloth curtain that I have chosen with such discretion. My room looks like a lady's room. A chic lady. Vintage. I need some water or something to take the fear of dying out of my head. It's only when I wake up in the morning that the fear of death comes, at first as a fleeting thought, until it settles in and won't let me sleep anymore. Ever since I split up and started sleeping alone in the apartment, my anxiety attacks have returned. Thoughts about the end of life, the final moment, the agony of not feeling the air being inhaled, I'm terrified, there's a lump in my throat, my heart is racing. I see myself in a hospital bed begging for air. I get out of bed, I go to the kitchen, I open the fridge, there's a bottle of wine in there, I drink wine instead of water. I think I'll watch TV, but I'll go back to my room. Since I can't leave my brain free, I begin to rummage through my mind a random thought that takes the image of my death out of my head. The work table, Salvador, the sea of Arraial do Cabo, my dead dog, various scenes form in the brain, but I don't fixate on any. Suddenly, a scene pops into my mind: I'm at my best friend's house, she's in maternity, having a baby. A complicated delivery. Her husband and her mother are with her there. Me? I'm in her kitchen, in front of the stove. The water's boiling. It's been boiling for a long time. The water's drying up. I'm using both my hands to open my ass, a cavernous stick begins to penetrate my ass gently and forcefully. I feel a pain mixed with heat. I'm dressed up, panties on the floor. I'm giving my best friend's ass to her father in his house, as she gives birth. Under her father's care, my father's unmerciful, untroubled arse. My mind shows me moaning with pleasure at my best friend's father's cock. You're a hero, my boy! I go into the living room and I sit on the couch. Another scene: I'm on a dirty foot near my work. The clock strikes 10:32 when the bar owner opens the doors. I'm inside the bar, playing cards with her and two other guys. I'm playing cards and smoking and sniffing coke with two strange men, men I've never met, men who leave work and go straight to the bar and come out loaded. At one point in the game, I'm placing the Cup Aces on the table, while the barmaid is sucking my pussy under the table for a long time. She couldn't even wait for the end of the game. My legs are completely bent on an iron chair. One of the men is waiting for his turn to play, with his stick stiff out. As soon as I play my card, I go back to sucking his pussy with a slight smell of urine. The woman continues to suck deliciously, her hot tongue sliding on my grill. Everything there excites me. I want to have sex with all three of them with the vigor of a hot dog. Taking off my chair and I'm pushing the bar owner, a red-haired male woman against the counter, gripping her thick hands tightly on the counter, kissing her pussy mouth at length with my pee stick mouth, while I'm fucked from behind by two of the guys, alternately. My mind is reconstructing the scene as the wine slips down my throat and my bouquet is drenched in hard-on. The woman at the bar, who's been wanting to eat me for a long time, doesn't want to share me, she wants to take me to the dirty room she has in the back of the bar. In the dirty room, I get completely naked and let myself be fucked by everyone. I take the ass violently, I myself push my ass hard into the dick of the most gifted, while the parrot stuffs her mouth into my bucket. I soaked her with tesäo. Completely drugged and vulnerable in that dirty place. I take a fuck in the face while I kiss the redheaded parrot. I come out of the bar all spanked, my ass up, shaking. Finally, my brain takes me to the uber car inside my garage. My car is dancing. I'm riding on a delicious black prick, one of the uber's fingers is inside my ass. Oh, what a desire to joke! What a hot dick fucking me all over. I'm going to ask for some milk... Someone hits the glass. I don't want to remember. My brain forces passage. My husband. He didn't give me time to joke. We broke up that day, never saw each other again. Now I have nightmares of death, I wake up in the wee hours, I walk around the house, trying to control my anxiety, trying to control my crisis, the price of being a whore that is charged to me is high, I think. But today is not such a bad night. Today my fear does not paralyze me. I play with the boiling pot. My body is burning. I rise. I raise my head. I put the wine glass on the living room table. I put on a black jacket, I keep my sweater, I shove my panties up my hard-ass, I grab my car keys, I get out of the car, I get out of the car, I get out of the car, I get out of the car, The redhead must be with the bar open.