I’m feeling it. The pull. The need. The want. The smell… Ugh. It’s so unavailable to me right now. I practically work in a tomb it’s so quiet in here. I have flirty text friends but nothing serious. I start up with a personal trainer on Tuesday. Maybe getting into the gym will release some of my frustrations but honestly it usually revs me up. Plus if there’s a hot ass bouncing in front of me on an elliptical, I think I’ll lose it.
The sad thing is that I get home and I have this incredibly “giving” man at the ready. He knows what to do. Over 10 years of getting to know each other, he has my buttons down, so… I lie back and close my eyes. I first try to be in the moment. To give in to his adoration and kisses and momentarily it works. Then it turns into the feeling of being pawed at and used. Where does this come from? I used to really like it. So I go inward as I give in outwardly. He tries all his moves and gets me where I need to go, but still it feels empty.
I go back to work the next day, yearning for the touch of a woman. If I was straight, I wouldn’t be doing this. I wouldn’t troll women for women craigslist ads, as if there were actually any good ones. Ha! If I were straight I wouldn’t be looking at each woman I meet, trying to size up her potential of being bi or gay. I would look at men. I would be loving the flirtations of men, but it just amuses me at best. No, I’m prowling for someone to play with. Someone who has what I need and it doesn’t come in the beer gut, hairy legged, rough handed form of a man.
I want the touch of a woman. I want to please her. I want to put my fingers through her hair and feel her warmth next to me. I want someone who doesn’t NEED me there to make them happy, but my presence makes life just a bit more enjoyable. I want sex. All night sex. Roll around and play sex. Tickle sex. Feminine sex. Hot and sweaty, midday sex. One-sided sex, both sided sex. But I don’t want it to be something that is expected of me, as if that were all I have to offer, but when I do give it, I go all the way. I feel as if I’m tingling from my toes to my finger tips in anticipation of finally getting to be with a woman. It’s ridiculous, because by all means I should be satiated by my husband, but I’m not. He merely hits the tip of the ice burg. I know that I have more. Much more. More than almost any man I have ever been with could handle. I’m about to implode.
I’m hoping that as I glide my hand under the sheets for the first time in a woman’s bed, when it hit’s her soft skin, it will send shivers throughout her body. I know it will to mine. The amount of energy I have stored within me may just knock us both out of the bed, like a bolt of electricity. I can already feel it building inside. That’s probably the noise that’s making it so hard for me to concentrate on being “normal.” My distraction is mounting at an incredibly dangerous rate. I feel as if I were an unfed wild cat and am waiting to be released. Waiting to devour it all in my wake. Waiting for the moment of freedom.