Last night at the hostessing job, knowing I'd leave work at approximately 9 pm to travel home to the cold of The Hovel, I felt the frustration rise inside of me. How nice it would be to take a hot shower with a lust object, fall into bed (or onto any available horizontal surface) and take care of bidness. For about five hours. With a bottle of wine and a few candles burning on my nightstand. Not that I've thought about this carefully or anything.
My frustration doesn't go away for days and days. It has the fucking half-life of plutonium.
Sure, I could go out and find someone to aid me with my problem. But if I do that, it makes me a ho. Don't wanna be a ho. Not even sure I'd be able to find someone suitable-- i.e., someone I know and am attracted to that would want to help me at this very moment. Folks are busy on the weekends.
A couple of years ago I had the perfect setup-- a "friend with benefits". We met on several happy occasions and had fun. But then he went and met some girl for whom he had "feelings" and we had to stop seeing each other. My carefully guarded and much-enjoyed arrangement flew out the window.
The men I know with whom I'd like to be friends with benefits are married, or have serious girlfriends, or they aren't particularly comfortable with an "arrangement". Therefore, the FWB option dissolves like an antacid in water.
Toys? I have some. Not the same though.
Crap.
1 comment:
Second.
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