I will only fuck one neighbor.

Noodle’s account of our debauched Friday has been met with a lot of interest regarding Downstairs Neighbor.  Apparently, a lot of you pictured an impotent figure, so to speak.  None of you imagined him to be a sexual contender; he was either gay or unattractive in your minds.

Well, the truth is, he’s fetching.

Where The Neighbor is manly, yet boyish in his features, Downstairs Neighbor is all rough and manly.  DN is 6′ flat-footed, but is rarely out of his cowboy boots so he towers at 6’2″ over The Neighbor.  They both have broad shoulders and dark hair, but DN sports a beard where TN a 5 o’clock shadow.  TN clips his hair in a tight crew and DN shaves it close to offset his balding.  DN wears heavy metal band T-shirts and plaid and TN wears whatever it is I make him buy for himself — an easy, quirky style.  DN shares a larger than average cock with TN, as well.

These two men would never be friends if it weren’t for me.  They’re from opposite ends of the universe.  DN is closer to a conservative/libertarian type, TN is liberal/centrist; DN smokes a pack a day, TN works out every day; DN prowls the local bars and music venues snapping pics and roaming like a wolf several nights a week, TN is holed up in his office playing video games alone.  We’ve talked about the unlikelihood of their friendship.  They know it, I know it, and none of us really care.  We get along because of our intelligence and intellects and shared love of booze, laughter, and conversation.  TN and I have been interrupted by DN countless times with his booming laugh and doorway-filling presence.  It’s equal parts irritating and endearing.

In fact, as Noodle, TN and I headed to my room on Friday he asked if we should lock my front door in case DN barged in on us.  I assured him he wouldn’t do that, but that’s exactly what he did.  DN told me later as we all laughed about his surprise entrance, “You shoulda seen my face, Hy!  I had my hand up to knock on the door, but then was all, ‘Fuck it!  I know it’s open!’ So I pushed it open and no one was inside and then I hear, ‘Ohh!  Ohhh!   Ohhhhhh!’ ” his falsetto is high-pitched and ridiculous and I cringed at his interpretation of me in rapture.   He continued,  “And then I hear ‘slap, slap, slap!’  Of course I just went in the kitchen to make myself a drink!”

And that’s DN.  He’s loud as fuck, doesn’t give a whit about his health, writes feverishly in his spare time, is a photographer, works too much, and gives big, massive, glorious  bear hugs with kisses on the forehead.

We aren’t together — and never have been — because when I met him I was adamant about not shitting where I eat.  Ha!  Oh, the irony!  That was part of the reason I kept TN and my affair a secret from him: I didn’t want to hurt his feelings that this kid could get in my bed, but he couldn’t.

We did make out the night we met, briefly, while the other boy I’d invited up waited in the kitchen for me to finish.  I ignored his text the following morning, “If you ever need a savage fuck come down to #322.”  I said, “Thanks, but no thanks, we’re neighbors and I can’t do that,” and he let it go at that and we’ve been friends ever since.

He’s a master observer, but I don’t think that he’d fare much better than TN is right now when he was 28.  Today he’s got the benefit of being 32 and suffering through some loss and he’s generally a more emotional person that TN is.  He cries when his heart gets broken, but he’s been abysmal in his relationship attempts,  shying away from anyone who’s actually interested in him and hiding behind his work schedule.

I’m happy that he and Noodle hit it off.  I can’t think of two people I’d rather see have amazing sex than those two.  I never imagined it’d be with each other, but I am singularly thrilled that they both got sweaty and released lots of fluids on and in each other.  DN likes to say he’s a “sexual camel” and doesn’t need sex.  I think he’s a goddamned liar, but whatever.  Noodle took care of that anyway.

Downstairs Neighbor didn’t have the desire or gumption to pursue me when I said no to him like The Neighbor did and, ultimately, that’s why I never picked up with him.  I respect him for that on the one hand, but it also says a lot about him on the other.  TN and I are two peas in a pod, complimentary in every way, yet comfortable and snug.  He wanted me and came and got it.  DN didn’t.

You can think I’m crazy for preferring TN over DN, but there’s no accounting for the magic that happens when you meet your match and DN was never that man for me.

Besides, I’m a warm and fuzzy socialist-type and DN’s basically a misanthrope.  I can’t be fucking someone who wants to get rid of the welfare system.   I’d lose my bleeding heart liberal card.

I fuck while she watches.

It took me a minute to realize that I was in his bed, in his room.  There was a meaty, warm arm wrapped around me and that was why I was so hot.  I sat up and pulled off my San Francisco 49ers shirt and pajama shorts and crawled back under the covers.

The Neighbor opened up his arms and I snuggled inside his embrace and turned around to nuzzle his neck and pull off his basketball shorts.  I clutched and stroked his beautiful erection and sleepily, lo, half-drunkenly, we laughed and chatted about our night.  It’d been goddamned epic.

Wine and Sidecars, fucking and hugs, laughing and wrestling, orgasms and cum.

“I want some motherfucking waffles,” he declared between laughing.  I giggled and said I had a motherfucking headache.

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” I asked standing up and stretching in the morning light.

“If I do, it’ll be in the medicine cabinet.”  I quickly discovered he didn’t have any.

“I’ll be right back!” I called to him as I headed to his front door, naked and brash.  I checked to see if the coast was clear and jumped the five feet to my front door and let myself in and was met with the proof of my ill repute.

My black club chair was pushed to the side, the ottoman was draped in a poker felt, the lilies I’d bought for Noodle’s visit had opened up overnight and their sweet smell mixed with the remnants of incense.  To my left, by the kitchen table in a heap, was my black shirt and pale pink panties and matching lace bra.  Wine and half-filled champagne glasses were on every possible surface.

I looked around, but no one was there.  Quietly I walked to the back of the apartment and pushed open my door.  Noodle was mounted on Downstairs Neighbor, his cock buried deep inside of her.

“Hi, guys!” I beamed, partially hiding my nudity behind the door.

“Hy!” they exclaimed together startled.

“Whatchoo guys, doin’?” I asked laughing.

“Goddamnit, Hy!  Get out of here!” boomed DN with a laugh.  Noodle just giggled, never breaking contact with my neighbor.

“You want some fucking waffles?  TN’s starving and he wants some fucking waffles,” I announced, mirth plastered on my face.

“Yes,” DN said annoyed, “We want some fucking waffles, but later!  Get the hell out!”  I shut the door laughing and returned to TN’s bed, the ibuprofen in hand.

“They were fucking again, but I told them we want some motherfucking waffles so they’ll be done soon,” I said to him with a smile.

::

When Noodle arrived yesterday around 1:30 I was waiting for her on my stairwell; I couldn’t contain my excitement in the apartment.  When we finally met I squealed and jumped up and down and hugged and hugged and hugged her.

With a wine glass in her hand she wandered around the apartment exclaiming at how weird it was to actually be seeing it with her own eyes.  She went out on the balcony, her wavy hair blowing in the breeze, and pointed to TN’s balcony, “Is that –?” she left off the rest of the sentence.

“Yep.  Sure is.  And that,” I said pointing below, “Is Downstairs Neighbor,” and as I said it I could see him sitting in his chair smoking his Camel Lights.  I made quick introductions and begged him for a smoke.  He said he’d just come up and give me one.

It was strange to watch as one of my characters met one of my readers.  One has had the benefit of knowing me in my skin and the the other in my head.  Did they know the same woman??

He left and Noodle and I went and got pedicures and sipped on smuggled wine.  We chatted and laughed and she said nice things about my legs and I said nice things about her tits.

By the time we returned to the apartment the rain had stopped and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.  A breeze swept through my rooms and I felt as light-hearted as a girl riding her first pony.  Hunger drove us from the house and while meandering  through Friday afternoon traffic we listened to Super Tramp curling out of the car radio.

At the little house bar we sat outside and drank more wine and nibbled on cheese and smoked salmon.  We talked and laughed and then headed home where we lounged around like college students.  I considered a pillow fight, but painted my nails while she told me tales instead.  Then I watched her put on her makeup and get dressed for dinner while laying on my bed.  It was like we’d done this a thousand times before.

Then, right before the cabbie called to announce his arrival, she made me take off my shirt to take a picture.

My girlfriend, Lindsey, joined us for dinner and drinks and Noodle brilliantly sidestepped the questions of, “So, how do you know Hy?  How long have you known her?” not for the first time that night.  We laughed and told jokes and she lamented at how lame the men in my city were.  “Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said men don’t hit on you!”

“Yep, the men here are fucking jerks,” added Lindsey.

By 10:30 we were ready to go home.  We’d killed another bottle of wine and were eager to have the night really begin.   TN was waiting for us somewhere in the night.

I called him to let him know we were home-bound and he offered to come pick us up, always the gentleman.  He rolled up in his fancy black car and we jumped in.  He drove Lindsey to her car and then the three of us headed home.

He had no idea what a big fucking deal that moment was, that meeting those two women meant more than just meeting two random people in my life.  Noodle knows every intimate detail of everything he and I have ever done, Lindsey knows the emotional aspects of everything.  To him, they were just Noodle and Lindsey.  To them, this was the ubiquitous, omnipresent Neighbor that — for lack of a better word — tortures their friend.

I had the sense that I was suddenly writing my own narrative again, but I shook it off and barreled down the road I travel: fucking fun and frolic.

We spilled into my apartment and TN ran next door to get his Sidecar fixings.  We are going to get drunk, he said and he was right.  The liquor flowed saloon-like for hours.  We played poker.  We laughed so hard our sides hurt and TN flirted shamelessly with me in front of Noodle making a liar out of me.  He’d never been so openly affectionate before.

Memory fades in and out from there, a misty ribbon of images and feelings: Embraced by Noodle, my head clutched to her warm bosom in a loving hug; I was safe.  Fucked and pounded on the floor in the living room;  impaled  and cried in my room, TN over me and in me, Noodle’s lilting voice in my ear.  Came and cried as he rammed into me, his mouth on her breast.  Filled up with his cum.  Laughing on the balcony with Downstairs Neighbor.  Wrestling like puppies with my love while Noodle and DN kissed and canoodled under the stars.  Cuddling on the floor of his balcony.  Noodle and DN in various and sundry compromising positions on my couch.  And then, his arm around me in his bed, sunshine pouring through the blinds.

Noodle remembers it all.  Every word, every nuance, every thrust. She was my champion, my protector, my sweet tiger.  She growled and bristled and cuffed the man-puppy on the ear when he began to stray and she outright thrummed with anger when he hurt me.

After poker, when I invited TN to touch our breasts, to give him that gift, he compared the two.  I laughed, but she hissed.  Her rebuke was swift and firm.  I don’t think he knew why he had dropped to give her 10, but he did it anyway.  And then, with a smile and her drawl, she explained to him that he may never discuss her breasts with me ever.  He nodded assent.

But the lesson was short lived.

Noodle said he suddenly looked like a kid in a candy store when I’d told him she could cum from nipple stimulation.  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and rubbed expertly over her bra until she had a little orgasm.  He looked at me watching them and quipped, “Now why can’t you do that, Hy?”

Noodle said I looked crushed, that my lip trembled and I struggled to be ok.  I have no memory of this.  And then I left for a minute to do what, she doesn’t know, but in those 120 seconds she squared off with TN.  “You can’t say shit like that.  It’s not right,” she leveled at him.  “A woman is either wired to do that or she isn’t.  And you are asking her to do something that her body physically can’t.  And all she wants to do is please you and that was an asshole thing to say.   Do you understand?”

Understanding washed over his face as he said, “Oh.”

“Don’t say something like that again.  Got it?” and she set her jaw defiantly at him right as I returned.

Without a word she opened her arms to me and I fell to the ground with her as she cradled me, kissed my forehead and stroked my hair.  TN was across the room and she said he came up behind me and spooned me, wanting to be part of my solace.  They joked that they were making a Hy sandwich, her anger at him gone and replaced with the common goal of loving me.

Then, because he knows he can always make me feel better with his body, he slipped his fingers inside of me and began to stroke as I lay nestled in her arms.  I was bashful as heat began to wash over me.  His fingers and palm worked the slow burn inside of me until  I blossomed.  I turned into him as he made me climax in front of Noodle and she stepped back and he devoured me.  Tore off my clothes and his and took me on the living room floor with our audience of one looking on heatedly.

She said he wanted to show me off, show her what I could do at his hands.  She sensed he was proud of me.

He led the both of us back to my room.  The brandy was thick in my brain and I was a bundle of passion and lust and love and trust.  It was all there, visible for anyone to see if he cared to.  Noodle saw it.

She lay on the bed, fully clothed while we rutted, steam rising from our bodies.  She left us for a minute and returned with ice cubes.  She was sure we were on fire as she rubbed the ice on our skin. I incoherently sobbed and she translated.  “She wants you to stop.”

“She wants me to pull out?” he said surprised.

“No. Stay in, but just stay.  Don’t move.”  I cried my agreement, tears streaking my face.

I caught my breath and told him to take Noodle’s nipple in his mouth.  He leaned over and sucked, his face disappearing into the pillow of her breast, his cock pumping wildly inside of me. I released around him, body and soul.  Wildly he rode me, my bed screaming, our bodies wet with passion and exploded into me, shuddering and shaking like a sapling in a storm.

He stilled for a minute and I breathed in his soapy scent and kissed his neck.  He nuzzled mine and started to move again.  Slap, slap, slap.  Noodle got up to pee and when she came out TN and I were still locked together and Downstairs Neighbor filled the doorway with his booming laugh.  “What the fuck is going on!” he cackled.

He retreated to kitchen to make himself a drink and Noodle followed.  TN and I remained in my room locked in our private embrace.  She hugged DN like they were old friends and on the balcony she told him she’d have a coronary if he didn’t kiss her immediately.  He obliged and  a minute later TN and I joined them before tumbling around on the floor.

::

We never did end up getting those motherfucking waffles, but we did all go to breakfast.  DN and Noodle on one side of the booth and TN and I on the other.  Two couples having brunch to the casual observer, four sated individuals to those looking closer.

Noodle joked about how pleased she was that DN wasn’t some fat fuck who scratched his dirty balls all day long — I guess I’ve forgotten to mention that he’s tall, dark and handsome in his own right — and we laughed because DN said he did actually scratch his dirty balls all day long.

Then I ordered TN his apple juice for him when he went to wash his hands and had it delivered in a kiddie cup. I really am motherfucking funny.

Back home TN pulled me into his arms and gave me a warm hug as he announced he was leaving.  He hugged Noodle goodbye and left and DN and I smoked on the balcony as she bustled around packing.

“Well, honey,” she said finally, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “It’s been real.”

I stood and hugged her again and she kissed DN goodbye and left.  My wonderful, beautiful, wicked smart, southern drawl tiger left the building and my bubble and I felt empty.

I open my entire life and heart to the internet, to my Internet Boyfriend, and thousands of strangers a month, but I am shy and vulnerable in real life.  I don’t demand things that I know I should.  I have a hard time truly opening up. This blog is a living, breathing part of me and Noodle knows it inside and out.  She saw me stumble with TN and her resolve was true: she was never going to hurt me.  She could never touch his cock, she said, because she could see how much I loved him even if he couldn’t.  In fact, she was going to go one further and protect me.

I don’t have many protectors in my life, but she thinks I have one more besides her.

She saw what I see in The Neighbor.  His charm and sweetness, his love for me. “He was so protective of you, Hy, despite the stupid shit that came out of his mouth. It’s incredibly obvious he cares about you.  A lot.  But it’s also clear that he has no idea what to do with you.”

She was also my voice, my friend and my playmate.

She was mellow to my intensity, soft where I was hard.  She was fierce where I was vulnerable and my voice when I was silent.  Her energy left a wake in my house and with my friends, my two funny neighbors who don’t usually meet women like us.  I imagine I must be such a paragon of hedonism to them living their solitary, quiet lives, but I don’t care and I can’t help it and being this way has opened the door for someone like Noodle to walk through.  A woman I’d never have met in real life.

And she talked to DN about me and The Neighbor, something I find strangely appealing.  I feel comforted and cared about.  Two people, not involved, weighing in on the TN-Hy saga.  DN said  “TN doesn’t know who he is.  He’s learning everything he is through Hy.”

“I think you’re right,” she answered.

Now I’m having Noodle withdrawals, and a little TN withdrawals, too.  I felt so loved and filled up with them here.  She made magic out of a broken heart and loved on me like I’ve needed to be loved for so long.  “You get fucked all the time, Hy, but do you ever get loved on?” she asked me.

It was an excellent question and I had to answer, “No.  Not until you.”

Nope, not until you, Noodle.  Thank you for everything this weekend.  Thank you for twirling with me on the dance floor and never turning down the music.  You are beautiful and sensual, your peridot eyes are lit from within, and you smell goddamned delicious.  You are magical.  And I am lucky to know you.

I promise not to orgasm or fuck for a week.

You read that shit right.

My wet lips, my moist panties, the tightening in my cunt as I walk, sit, feel my short cotton skirt stretch across my thighs all must be ignored and beaten out of my mind.

A small exercise in control; a muscle flexed to prove a point; running in knee-deep water at sunset with a cocktail in my hand.

It’s possible, though unenjoyable. I’ve joined the other team, it seems. I’m part of the Peanut Gallery to pulse-thumping fucking and a compatriot to self-restraint.

I’m no longer the main event in these parts.

And I’m ok with that.

This is a new Hy, I suppose. For a week. It will steel my resolve for every time The Neighbor stops by for no reason for 3 minutes or pops his head over his balcony bars on a muggy morning while my baby and I are eating breakfast high above the palm trees.

I have made a promise to a friend — sweet, pervy AM — to not release myself. I can keep a promise to him. Not myself.

Sad, yes, but true.

So today, Wednesday, marks the first day of one whole week of abstaining from both orgasm and sex. A week from today I will post pics of me writhing and cumming with glee. Hopefully. Cross your fingers my partner in this gets laid because then I can at least touch myself.

The deal is, I won’t fuck anyone and AM won’t wank. And since we both find it unlikely he’ll have sex in the next week, I’ve decided to be a sister in arms and give up jerking off, too.  It’s only fair.

I will be a pulsing, whinnying mare in heat in seven days, guaranteed. I might also shit epiphanies and giggle rainbows. Regardless, whatever you do, don’t send me cock pics, ok?? (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com).

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Kiss me I’m drunk or Irish or whatever.

And PS:  Holy fuck! The ubiquitous Rincewind featured me today! I’m so honored and humbled!  Wowza!

I get help from my friends.

I’m going to go out by myself later and I asked for advice from one I trust implicitly.  I have this feeling that 4 am girl is coming over tonight to stay with The Neighbor (he’s been over at her place four nights in a row; it makes sense she’d come tonight).  And I want to be scarce.  SCARCE.  Or just so drunk I don’t give a fuck.

The texting took a turn for the worse. All my fault, naturally.

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I miss my friend, Gillian.

So Gillian is gone, essentially dead to the internets. The woman we knew as Gillian Colbert, and who was the hub of our little community, evaporated into thin air like a ghost. And I miss her. A lot.

There was something special about her. Not only did she write gut-wrenchingly personal posts about self-discovery, the pain of her childhood abuse, and her struggle to rewire her maladaptive thinking, she was also delightfully pervy, open-minded and cheeky. She spread love everywhere.

Sometimes it was tough, sometimes it was gooey, but we all were blessed with a heaping coating of it from time to time on our crusty little blogs.

I feel her absence on my blog and on all of yours. Where is that calm, rational, big sisterly voice of reason, perversion, and a little circumstance? I never knew it was so important to me until it disappeared in a poof of smoke.

It’s made me think about everyone left behind, how much I care about all of you and your individual voices. I’ve mentioned before how much you all mean to me and how you’ve helped me hobble along during a period in my life that I’d sooner forget. Your words, little black footprints in my mind’s eye, are more powerful than I’d ever dreamed. Missing Gill (as I was wont to call her) reminds me that shit can get real even though most of it is worked through anonymous imagination and it makes me want to reach out and gather you all up in my arms and make sure you know how I feel about you.

If this is speaking to you at all, whether you have a blog or not, then you are one of those people I’m talking about. I want to get to know you all better and continue to be plugged in. It took me a while here on WP to really “get” what I had walked into. There were months of unreturned and unacknowledged comments because I didn’t really believe what I was reading. And then I got ushered into the arms of Gillian’s world and I finally saw what was right before me: friends. Good friends. Accepting, non-judgmental, kinky, wonderfully talented and perverted people, just like me with hearts and thoughts and many an opinion to spare and all more than willing to share and open up and be a part of my fucked up life.

So, I’d like to raise a glass to my dear, sweet friend, Gillian, whom I miss terribly, but also to whom I owe so much for putting me in front of you all. To Gillian, to you, me, and us, and to the wonderful world of 1s and 0s. I love you all dearly and, Gillian, I wish you the best up there in the stars with the other angels. You are good.

xx

Hy

REBLOGGED: I limited you…from the start

My dear friend, Jayne, just posted the following.  I am verklempt:

 

I wrote this from my own experience but

I dedicate this to you Hy, a fellow artist of the grandest colors.

.

I painted him well

A Bruegel or a Van Eyk

Such a fine and clever forgery

to sandbag my love like a dike

.

A barricade,  in essence

Such a lovely man as a front

How ideal my set up was

How beguiling was the hunt!

.

You were limited from the start

Only now can I see the flaw

I lessened,  I padded, I believed

Your benefits were more than what you are

.

This is NOT to downplay your worth

a goldmine I would never give back

It’s that now I can see clearer

The desires in which I lack

.

I was so engrossed in the process

We travelled the realm of sublime

Your body and soul exquisitely matched

at a level intertwined with mine

.

But, the facet of love within me

that matched you – as I still wanted more

has limits, as I, in succumbing

which tells me, I need to explore

.

“Eyes Up!” for the prize of my heart

Who am I to settle for seconds?

The lesson: Pain is a call I must hear

” There IS a truer love that beckons”

 

~ by jayne ayres on July 11, 2012.

 

I’m not feeling all that dissolute.

This sex blog affects my life.  I think about it constantly.  I frame encounters with it, interactions, images.  It is a direct reflection of my mind, my eye, and my heart.  The images I post are what I see and how I want to be seen.  The words are my art, the thoughts my deepest secrets, the behaviors the paint, my life the canvas, and this little bundle of 1s and 0s the art dealer to reach the masses.

But, I don’t want to “just fuck” anymore.

I used to have stories every week of this man or that man.  Different, all of them.  Threesomes were my bread and butter, as were random hookups.  Now I just write about the soap opera that is my life with my next door neighbor with the occasional frolic thrown in for good measure.

All I want is this one who is so close, yet so far.  I force myself to go on dates in hopes that maybe I’ll get my hair blown back by one of them and I can finally let go of The Neighbor monkey bar and grab onto the next.  But they all fall short.  Always.

I think back to how I met TN, innocently enough by inviting him over when I had some friends over.  The beginnings were a little weird, to be sure, but there was something there immediately, and though I fought it for a few days — stating loudly that I don’t shit where I eat — I finally gave in to his charms.  And here I am 8 months later in love with him; forced to see when his car is missing at 6:30 am, forced to hear his comings and goings, forced to acknowledge we have no fucking future whatsoever, forced to admit that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

I feel as though I’ve lost my muse.

What am I to write about at A Dissolute Life Means if I don’t want to fuck anyone else but him and I’m tired of whining about our situation?

TN mentioned last weekend that we had a shelf-life until September (I wish I could remember why he chose that month) and I thought, “Hmm, maybe I can hang on a couple more months.  My birthday is in September, it’d be nice to have him around for it.”  These are seriously some of my thoughts and I’m ashamed of them.  If he didn’t live next door and if we weren’t such good friends I’d cut ties immediately.  Oh, right, and if the sex wasn’t so goddamned amazing.

My current thoughts on the whole mess have been that I’d end it by the end of July.  I have a speech prepared and everything.  But things just keep getting more complicated.  He renews his lease in the next couple of weeks, he’ll be in the same softball league as me, he’s friended some of my friends on FB whom we met at the wedding.  I want to fucking scream.  He’s so enmeshed in my life that this is like a full-blown goddamned breakup without all the benefits of having had a whole boyfriend.  I’m pissed and confused.

So, here I am boyfriendless and in love, undesiring of anyone else and horny as a 13 year old boy, with an audience waiting to hear my next lurid tale and all I’ve got is sniveling.  Boohoo this, boohoo that.  Thank god I have memories to pull from.  Lots and lots of memories.  Because while, and until, I work all this shit out it’s going to be more of the same TN Drama Direct and I’d rather be some place else.  Like maybe on Noodle’s porch sipping some Pinot Grigio while lamenting over our hearts’ betrayals of our pussies.

Fucking hearts.  Fucking pussies.  Fucking fuck it all.

Fuck.