Random, unfiltered thoughts… tick tick tick tick…
Things are possible even if you wish they weren’t, or especially then.
She asked for $5 that I owe her… who asks for $5? Especially when she is far away, and it has to be given to another so that the other can put into her bank account… who does that?
My bed squeaks, lucky I am not having sex on it, I masturbate quietly, with terrible images of violence in my head, it still squeaks, though it doesn’t sound like sex, or violence, or anything interesting.
I am a little afraid and restless, it’s because it’s late, I am awake, tick tick tick…
My stomach gurgles, talking to me late at night, sizzling prawns and garlic bread happily coexisting in the buddha belly, pet it for luck.
I could go on a world trip, “Domme Travel Diary” and meet with people I have found on the internet, you wouldn’t mind, would you? I can stay for a little while, you can feed me and we can go for walks and you can be my travel guide.
*smirk* You can rub my feet, but don’t think it means anything, and don’t be giving me that cheeky look as if you are a happy eager boy.
Relationships are a lot of trouble when they shouldn’t be… Surely it is just wrong if they feel like a chore even at the beginning, when they should be full of hopeful enthusiasm, passion and mindless fun.
I’m a sex blogger, which is strange enough. I’m a sex blogger who isn’t having sex, which is even stranger… if a sex blogger isn’t having sex, is she still a sex blogger? Is she a fake, a flake, a wannabe? If a tree falls in the forest…?
There is a sex blogger who started writing as a suburban accountant having affairs and who is now an organiser for sex positive ‘events’… how amazing is that? I never really followed her story, but the change is mind blowing for me to contemplate.
Why doesn’t my blog unearth a beautiful boy who is brave enough to offer me his wit and charm and total awesomeness, who will ‘get’ me, who will step into the void with me?
You said no to me, that breaks my heart. I have to remember that when I get melancholy.
I have broken boys’ hearts, I wonder how they healed, those broken hearts… if they were made whole or if a little piece always had a crack in it, courtesy of me. I am sorry for the little crack, if it’s there.
I have a timeline of the boys in my life, and jobs, literally, on paper, because I can never remember chronology, it is like my brain has no room for time.
My hands are dry, my feet also… some lotion, some massage and I swear I would fall straight to slee….