I’m angsty and lonely and restless. My hair is clean and my skin soft.
I itch, but cannot reach the spot. My body is a broken beautiful vessel, mine to abuse and worship in equal measure.
I’ve seen a lot of men this week, a lot of naked bodies and blood-filled organs. I’ve felt their urges, their demands on me to fulfill unrequited desires. Desperation clung to a couple, curiosity on another, friendly fun on a fourth.
I flipped through my phone looking for one soul I wanted to spend time with tonight and the only person whose name I could come up with was my own. Even the girlfriends I texted who ignored me were pale seconds to my own company. Fuck them anyway.
So off I go to the bar alone again.
There I will sit, unbothered, freshly bathed, willing and able in a bubble no one can see. Utterly alone surrounded by humanity.
The $100 I received in the bleary 7 am hour yesterday after a date as a little thank you gift will fund my escapades tonight. Perhaps I’ve moved my sex life forward in a new direction. I didn’t feel badly about taking the money. Have I turned a corner I was unaware was there?
How does anyone ever have interest in someone? I’ve forgotten how. Completely.