There are days when I wonder why I am not more content with life. This is one of them.
I am sitting at home on a Saturday evening with my 2 cats watching an old ass movie, and it is apparent that this is the high point of this day. I could say this was out of the norm for me, but since earlier this year, when I gave up giving up the goodies to a man I disliked waking up next to the morning after, this is pretty much what Saturdays have been like. Of course, not having to repeated ly remind the man that I was not interested in a relationship with him is a relief. He was not 'relationship' material when I began fucking him, and I never - ever lied to him about my use for him, and the fucked up part about that is he never - ever took me seriously on that topic. More fool him. In reality, if the man hadn't been a pussy-eating-pro he would have been a one hitter. The dick was insufficient to the task of making me happy on the inside, and it was rapidly made clear to him that his orgasm didn't mean shit to me; he was there for my pleasure, and if I didn't get serviced to my (multiple orgasm) satisfaction his purpose and point in my life is ZERO.
Usually, I tend to keep one regular deliverer of dick on the team, but since cutting this last one, I have been too busy, too incapacitated by surgery, out of town, or - the biggie - too disinterested in going through the process of meeting and auditioning new talent. I know the real reason for my lack of interest in testing new tumescence hough. There is something within me that doesn't want to admit the truth to myself, but I must deal with that truth in order to flip the page, and start writing that story.
Unvarnished and plainly stated, I AM relationship material. I can't do what I want, be as uninhibited as I would like, safely and freakily play in the exhibitionist/voyeurism arena, or wake up to wrap my lips around a thick and trusted cock at any hour of the day or night with a 'sex partner'; that requires trust that comes within the confines of a committed relationship - for me anyway. I am past keeping a dump dick on call now. I am ready for, and in need of a cock with conversation, humor, intelligence, and who is unabashedly open about loving life in the freak lane. Okay, I am not really freaky in my opinion, because I don't find exhibitionism freaky. The prospect of having that level of secure commitment with a partner who also dares to do what other folks wish they could do, but don't have the balls to go 'balls out' if you will is freakin' fantastic! What I want is a cock, that is attached to a man who is attached to me.
That's where my head is right now. It was there yesterday. It is there today, and I am pretty sure that it will remain there tomorrow. So, until I meet and melt on the right cock, my adventures will mostly take place between me, my vibrator, and my (missing) dildo.
Today, although it goes against the grain of my highly horny libido, I will give in to a sex-less Saturday. Of course, I'm thinking that my sex-less Saturday will be followed by an oh-so sinful Sunday.
It IS good to have friends you can 'call' on when you need them, but it's even better to have a friend who is REAL.
Ring Ring, Mister Thing! I'll be calling on the right one... Soon.
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