I’ll be jet-lagged soon.

I’m sitting in an airport pub in my town being ignored by the businessman next to me who was shouting into his phone about Walmart and job positions. I’m nervous and excited. I’ll be jet-lagged soon and disoriented.

I had a Who’s on First chat with the concierge of my Gordon Ramsay Thursday-night hotel. “Just so nothing is lost in translation between my American and your British English…” I said.

She still appeared to reserve a taxi for the wrong time, but then sent, “Mr. [sic] Jones, I assure you the pick up time is 1:30.” So despite my best efforts, things were lost in translation after all.

I’ll understand everything and nothing, my skin will prickle at cooler weather and my ears ring with big metro sounds. I’ll be as savvy as I can, a little country mouse in the city, but I will feel small and silly and wish I could stay forever.

If all goes as planned I will get to see old and new friends. I’ll have adventures across the lush green, sheep-speckled countryside –maybe even as far north as Scotland — and across the bustling English Gotham itself. Both my heart and my body will be filled if the stars align just right.

Cross your fingers for me.

Cheers to being in your arms again soon, London.

And Wives, I have a little something for each of you.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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11 thoughts on “I’ll be jet-lagged soon.
  1. Have a safe and wonderful trip across the pond, looking forward to reading about the folks you come in contact with on a daily basis.

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