3/19/2024 0 Comments Diary of an oxygen thief analysis![]() From his boozy days in London, fraught with self-destruction, to his unsettling epiphanies in the streets of America, his journey is an insidious ballet of masochism and euphoria. His weapon of choice? A silver tongue that strikes with sweet words and leaves behind an asphyxiated wasteland of broken hearts.Īs you travel with the narrator through his relentless escapades, you're led into a maze of hedonism and emotional debauchery that’s eerily captivating. The unnamed protagonist, an Irish expat living in London and later moving to the USA, is a master of deception and emotional manipulation. Written as an confession by the nameless narrator, the book serves as an alarming revelation into the mind of a man on a diabolical quest to break hearts and reap pleasure from the anguish he inflicts. ![]() I adore you was merely I love you lite, and oh baby was completely meaningless.Feast your eyes on the confessions of an emotional serial killer! 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief,' by Anonymous, is a wickedly intoxicating blend of audacity, charm, and downright desolation. I toyed with saying You’re lovely, but this just felt childish. She would surely see through it for the manipulation it was and stop what she was doing. I wanted to say I love you, but it was too risky. I stiffened inside her and her body immediately straightened as if we really had become one. The rain persisted outside, and as she leaned back to scratch gently under my balls, I got a perfect view of her small dancer’s breasts, backlit by the amber glow from the desk lamp. She fluttered up and down on me with such delicacy I was reminded of a winged nymph as she effortlessly hovered and dipped. This led to touching and tickling, pecking and pouting, and after she broke away to brush her teeth, turn out the lights, and close her laptop, we progressed to sensual half-lit sex. I felt sufficiently encouraged by that halfhearted smile to spank her gently through her cotton knickers. I hoped that my silence would indicate that I was still open to the possibilities, but it was only a matter of time before something would need to be said. There was no way I was going to marry her, but there was no way I’d be allowed access to her ass if she knew this. I resisted the urge to respond or acknowledge because I knew that once the subject was brought out into the open, it could never be put back in the box. Especially, for some reason, if they were Asian. The huge overacted crazy-eyed smile she reserved for babies was subtle compared to the impossible affection conjured up in the presence of every old couple we encountered. These hints had more recently taken the form of exaggerated street mimes. She was pissed because I hadn’t picked up on her latest hint that we should live together, get married, have children, and die of old age in each other’s arms. “You’re accusing me of having an affair with your ass, behind your back?” “You hug it like it’s a separate person,” she said, thawing a little. Making an overly dramatic announcement that I had better go if I was to be in decent shape for work the next day, I began to say my good- byes to that magnificent world-class ass. Did she want me to leave? Time to call her bluff. If we didn’t have sex soon I’d be forced to stay the entire night. I had already discovered that working for a bad ad agency required just as much energy as working for a good one, and I had an early start the next day. Ordinarily this would have been enough to get the ball rolling, but I was still not confident enough about making a move. Our evening stroll had been cut short by a rainstorm, so once we got inside we shook off our wet things. ![]() I was happy to let the gargoyle in my midriff drag me to within fucking distance of these creatures, but even I couldn’t make myself pretend I wanted babies.īobbing and swaying in front of my face as we ascended the steps to her fourth-floor Elizabeth Street apartment was the real reason we’d been together three years. How did I compare to the guy last night? At least he paid for dinner. And they just sat there, protected by the romantic rules of engagement, categorizing my attempts at fucking them. Far from being free, the prison had just gotten bigger. Rummaging around inside them looking for what? Had this always been the case even before the drinking? If so, all I’d done was exchange one addiction for another. On dates with girls I didn’t even like trying to get into pants that didn’t even fit. ![]() This period of putting up with their bullshit was what women called charm. After that, it was just a matter of how much I was willing to put up with to make it happen. I knew if I wanted to have sex with a girl within the first three seconds of meeting her.
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