Lately I've been really preoccupied. Not even able to write more than two sentences in one week. I just figured out what it is that has been plagueing my mind as of late. I have turned into a man.
Not physically, of course, but mentally. It's been two months since I last had sex. My days have been filled with sexually frustrated thoughts. The first two weeks, I was bitchy. Frustrated. Irritable. But after that, I thought, "Well fuck it! I can handle not having sex for a while. After all, it's not the most important thing. And people deal with no sex all the time." That school of thought lasted for about a week and a half. Why. Why. Why. I am literally accosted by these thoughts on an almost minute by minute basis. I don't know how men do it. It has often been said that men think about sex every 7 seconds, though this has been sited as an urban legend. Urban legend or not, I most definitely HAVE been thinking about sex every 7 seconds. At least it seems that way.
My retainers have been unavailable lately and, for once, I'm not desperate (read: morally inept) enough to just go pick up some random stranger to use meerly for sex.
Well, maybe the longer this proverbial dry spell goes on, the less I'll even think about how my hymen has essentially grown back and, with two kids, am a unintentional born-again virgin. Take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.
No comments:
Post a Comment