Not certain what I should write this morning.
The rain is tapping against the window outside. My daughters are whispering in at my computer as they think dad is still asleep. Next step will be some bacon and eggs before the day begin.
Sounds like a good start…at least until they go home after lunchtime today. Then it will suck.
Bad enough coming home after a daddy weekend…worse yet coming home to an empty apartment. The day will likely continue with me sitting in my chair watching over-paid athletes smash into each other…aka football…while I think of story ideas I should write down.
It could be much worse, obviously…I really should not complain. Not like I am starving or ill…
Starving for more than my own company, perhaps…but that does not count. Society deals with loneliness as a “sucks to be you” scenario. We have all these supports for all these different afflictions…and really not much we can do for this…and as one who knows, dating sites are not “supports” in this. If anything, they’re deterrents.
This writing has become something of a crutch…and a double-edged one at that. It gives me a voice…a whiny pathetic voice on some occasions (such as now)…that is as though I had friends to discuss this with.
And my readers are friends, but not quite what I need in this sense…sitting over a beer and talking with body language, intonation, and not concerned about how jokes will be misconstrued makes a big difference. Cannot do that with cyber-friends…in fact, the beer is bad for the electronics.
With the cyber world “Awwww.*hugs*” is nice, but it does not warm one in the night.
The other part of the writing is it tends to limit my potential. A man with an open libido is, apparently, a frightening thing to many. Logic seems to dictate that allowing my libido out to play as I do in my writing should make it more controllable. Without repressing it as society seems to want us to, there is no fear of it bursting open at random times.
People at work tell me that I never get excited, nor distracted. I have become their crutch when things go wrong as I can slow it down to fix it. Why? Because I have this outlet that is my steam cannon to blow off the frustrations that most continually bottle up until they explode.
It is a wonderful thing having a libido filled imagination.
But that is not what society sees.
Every morning I want to wake up next to her and make love to her so we can start her day with a proper orgasm…apparently this is evil and bad. Or at least the fact I openly say it is.
That I want to hold her hand and listen to her stories of the day before stroking her hair as we fall asleep…again…apparently this is wrong.
Maybe this attitude makes me ripe for something serious. Okay, as though I could ever be serious, but you folks likely know what I mean.
Regardless, currently there is no “her”.
I am still not looking for “the one” as I do not believe that exists. I am, however, looking for her. This her would be a woman that fits well…and this is a sad metaphor, but she would be those baggy jeans…may not fit perfectly but they are so comfortable.
The one that I can make laugh during the middle of a serious film…the one that will over look my smaller errors…the one that play with me on all levels…the one that knows I trust her and she trusts me with but a single glance…the one that will wake with a smile because she knows what is coming. She does not need to finish my sentences, but she wants to here them much as I do hers. She does not need to be hanging off of me constantly…but like me, craves our time spent together holding hands when we are. She knows that there is never a bad time for a blowjob…unless it has potential of being caught by the wrong people (see, there’s that libido thing).
All evil. All wrong.
Still, after saying all of this…I don’t want to be right.