I've been working on transforming myself into a jock because of all this unused sex energy. It had been nine months.
I've been doing a little naughty text business with an old friend. Panty shots and lots of sexy words. Working myself into a frenzy. I've been sore since the beginning of February.
Saturday: Old friend sleeps over, actually hiding downstairs from my children. (#2 left me the perfect house to fuck, a whole bottom of a house to myself. It was the same day I learned that he's moved to the big city into an apartment, free of all obligations, just like he wanted.) It was the right day to fuck someone else.
Spring forward.
I've spent all day recovering from the two bottles of wine I drank last night to be able to have sex with someone else. For my part, I know I was good. Nervous, possibly neurotic, but my body was made for pleasure, and I know it. I'm really left feeling, though, disappointed by it. He was good. Strong at times but not nearly satisfying. He's my old friend so it was a little right and a little wrong. He's been there for me for so much of my life. I hope he got what he needed from me. I'm just not sure. What a strange thing to be pushing 40 and still be so unsure.
I guess the experience has left me wondering if anyone will love me as good as I was once loved, the terrible truth that I do not tell myself that #2 was my soul mate and I chased him away because I am selfish and sad. I'm left just wanting to be completely overcome by a man, and fucked and fucked and fucked until I forget.
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