All my good balanced by the sorrow. All my happy balanced by these chemicals. My serotonin. My prozac. My wellbutrin.
"Are you staying?" He said "I don't think so" with that intonation particular to him. It means "no" but he's too polite to just come out and say it. Polite? What is polite?
I think sometimes that being polite is finding a roundabout way to say what someone doesn't want to hear. Is that it?
I mean, it's something like that. In certain situations. Why do I always sound angry or sad when I write?
I dreamt so much of sex this weekend. Mostly with girls. It must be spring. Four girls and I in a shower together. That's never even happened. The most I've managed simultaneously is two. And I'm monogamous now. Mono means one.
I still miss pussy, though. The warm wetness. The taste of it. The softness and squirming legs and breast beneath my fingers. I miss girl. I miss kissing and touching and breathing and moaning and hearing it all come back to me. I liked being ridden. Von and I would scissor our legs together and it always amazed me how well it worked. But when I am with girls, I miss boys and when I'm with boys, I miss girls. So I dream. I dream like I did this weekend.
What do I do with this frustration?
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