I’m sick. Again.
I fell asleep at 9 last night and when I woke at 6, after a mostly productive night of sleeping, my first thoughts were, “How do prostitutes – no – sex workers stay healthy?”
Second thought was, “What the fuck, Hy?!”
When you kiss and fuck as many men as I do, there’s bound to be a risk of just plain old germs, right??
In the last month alone I’ve kissed more than half a dozen men and slept with 3 or 4. I can’t even remember as I lay here buried under purring cat and throbbing headache. In equal measures, I might add.
I’m going to have to start taking vitamins, or something. Eat better than I already do, work out harder. The last thing I want is for my body to betray my desires. What a fucking bitch that’d be.
I feel like that prostitute with a cough in Love Potion No. 9: shady, a little dirty, sexy nonetheless in a trashy sort of sweet way.
I don’t have time to be laid up! I have lots of men I’m eager to touch, taste and meet in all varying degrees of intimacy this week. A hookup, a scene, a first time, a reunion, and a continuance. Each one a unique experience I’m looking forward to, each one orchestrated by the Universe, not me — probably not unlike this goddamned cold.
I’ll go into work today for a couple of meetings then head straight back to bed so I might feel up to meeting the traveling businessman whose cock juts from boxers like a geyser as thick as my wrist.
So I’ll be ready to dominate a pretty, masculine sub male who said my bad experience with The Neighbor pulls at his subby nature and all he wants to do is, “serve you, Miss.”
So that my first time with a sexy, bearded [married] man will make it worth it to him to break his vows of fidelity. That I’ll finally be able to taste his kiss and tug on his beard like I’ve wanted to since meeting him.
So that my reunion with my childhood sweetheart after 22 years apart is tender and real, two teenagers wrapped in 40-something shells hugging and crying (me) and reminding each other of who we really are.
So that when Bones gets home on Sunday I’ll be ready for round 3 with him and his beard and sweet kisses and dry sense of humor, that I might get to know him better and — if I’m lucky — fall asleep in his arms again. Also, his big dick.
Excuse me while I cough. I’ve gotta get better.