True lustiness requires vulnerability. It requires the terrifying act of saying, "I want you," without knowing if the feeling is returned. It requires the courage to be rejected while your blood is still hot. Most people would rather scroll in the lukewarm shallows than risk the burning deep.
Be messy. Be hot. Be loud. Just don't be cold. lusty souls
When you suppress a lusty soul, you don't kill the lust. You kill the soul. You end up with a perfectly polite person who feels absolutely nothing. True lustiness requires vulnerability
Why? Because we have digitized lust but disembodied the soul. Most people would rather scroll in the lukewarm
So, if you wake up hungry; if the wind against your neck feels like a lover; if you still, after all these years, believe in the redemptive power of a slow, deep kiss—do not let anyone medicate that out of you.
For centuries, "lust" has been relegated to the basement of the seven deadly sins. We are taught that wanting too much—too much pleasure, too much skin, too much intensity—is a character flaw. We are told to cool our jets, to dim the lights, to settle for "fine."
We live in a world of binary thinking. You are either a stoic sage who has conquered their urges, or you are a hedonist lost at sea. But for those of us with high-octane inner lives—the ones who feel the gravitational pull of another person’s energy across a crowded room, who dream in technicolor, who touch the world like they mean it—there is a third option.