goodness gracious

I’m trying goshnabit.

So T tells me today I should be the one to find this girl, as a gesture of return. To give back. Remember the time on the phone with me when you came hands-free?, he asks. Well it’s my turn now. I think I deserve it, he says.

Yes you do dear , I say, maybe I do too a little bit?
Yes- he answers- but today it's all about me. Me, me, me. He grins, spreads his teeth in a cyber colon : and D.

Have I not taken you everywhere?, he asks.
And back, I flip.

I appreciate all he’s done for me, shown me, helped me with, I do.

It makes me feel small though, like a kid on Santa Claus’s lap. (Um. Herm. Will ignore implications of that analogy, thank you very much.)



I give and I give, he's saying. He’s right. But what do I give, T? I spread my legs and cum. I’m good at that. Yay me.

My time, my travel, my submission, my struggle, my anticipation, my writing, my thought, my energy. Me. I’ve given fragments of me, for what it’s worth. If it’s worth a shit. You took control, and I know it takes a lot. But don’t bind me motionless to your bed and then accuse me of not moving. ? Sigh, I know that’s not fair. He didn't even accuse. I know that’s not what this is about. That’s my own kind of insecurity. I'm hating this paragraph at this point. Next!

I’m stressed out of my brains. I have seven - count em seven- major things due in the next two weeks. He’s got me thinking about a hundred and one other things, some emotional, some not, all consuming. All this stuff I want to write. I’ve got a fire in between my legs, and a flood in my mind. Or is it the other way around?

I’m just pumping a-weary.

I don’t even know why he feels the need to push this to me. I agreed to find her. I want this. I am more than happy to be the one putting in the time and energy to find her. Sure, it’s the least I can do, T, oh Teacher my Teacher. (That sarcasm too is totally undeserved, and completely ruins my point, but it's just my mood, I swear. )

But I need time goddamit. None of this demure goshnabit business, just fucking damn it all to hell. I don’t know how to hook in women and send them his way for the charming. It’s not something I do everyday. It's a tough skill. I try. I smile, I insinuate, I’m occasionally blunt, but always polite. I make chit-chat, I answer sexual questions honestly, with real enthusiasm. I ask questions back. I try not to pressure, try not to be vague. I’m me. I try to get to know these women, and all I get are walls and games.

We just want to meet and talk with people of the female persuasion face to face. They have ads up that sound like they wish to do the same. This shouldn’t be this hard. Then again I shouldn’t talk, T e-mailed me for all of 2 years. But this is a sex site, they say they want to meet couples, you’d think they’d be more forthcoming. I’m questioning if it’s me, but I’m not that scary, honestly, I'm not. (OR AM I?)

And I have things to do. And I can’t let this take over. I have parents calling me. Familial duties. Friends asking to come over. My house is a constant insurmountable mess. Professors asking for my brain in a pickle jar to keep, with a small salad, dressing on the side, please. I haven't cooked a full meal in weeks. My head is splitting and I'm coming down with a cold, again. I can’t even concentrate.

I know, I know, I know: patience. I just feel incredibly bitchy. T’s not helping, lord bless his little cock. Ok make that large cock. Gosh bless it in all its goodness glory.

I could use some chocolate.

No, it's not PMS. Fuck off.

No, not you, come back, I like you.