Stress about money has reached another fever pitch. The move, solvency in general — I feel so fucked. Add allergies, my exhusband, my fear of what my life will be like not living next door to The Neighbor anymore, and the stinging, always there guilt I feel about my secret sex blog and you get a raisin of a woman, not a plump and glistening grape.
I’m also tired. Tired and empty.
TN fucked me to tears on Friday. He was a fiend. I’d spent some time with a girlfriend and come home early. He was ready and waiting for me as I climbed the 40 steps up.
It was different this time, though, only the third coupling since our I LOVE YOUs. We didn’t mean to fuck, it just happened.
I pet his soft pile of flesh absentmindedly while we cuddled. It grew long, hot and hard, and suddenly a switch was flipped. He was going to have me.
And so I let him.
He kissed and nipped and I grabbed and moaned. Ankles on shoulders, one leg up, one down. Orgasms streamed through me and poured out of my face in the hot tears and sobs that burst forth.
No Hitachi made me cry like that. Just him.
We lay and cuddled and talked about our fears, going in circles. “If it sucks, then we’ll stop, because if it sucks, we’ll stop.” In my defense, I was barely coherent.
Can’t stop the world turning or sands through the hourglass and all that.
As for money, I need to find the old lady strip joint and grab a shift. Seriously. I’ve worked hard over the last year and made massive strides in getting my career going, but it’s like slogging through knee-high mud.
TN is always reminding me that a year ago I was making basically $0 and today I make a lot more than that, but it’s still not good enough. And I’m back to feeling like a raisin.
I wish I felt as good as I look in these pics.