My
friend C* married the first guy she ever fucked. And my number just reached a number
too high to admit. I wasn’t really awake, still drunk and unaware of his last
name. He was a break-dancer from Maryland. I didn’t really even take a shine to
him, but rejection and loneliness were dying to be invited into my house that
night and so I invited another so as to scare them off.
My
desperate need to feel desired has doubled my number of escapades. There is
only slight gratification in the act but great pleasure. Hedonism is prevalent.
I’ve returned to my throne in that old castle of control and the cushions,
fortunately or not, still fit my bottom perfectly. Maybe I was never meant to
leave.