Every once in a while, I get in a real Downton Abbey place, like, if I can be chaste and proper enough, this will work out. Maybe it's a fetish, or maybe it's just a tendency to ignore and deny the forward motion of my heart. To discount desire in favor of some lofty thing somebody else likes. No matter why, it takes me to a place of deep self loathing, of too much. Honestly after the tangle with The Guy Next Door, I thought my unfuckability was etched in stone.
But it turns out, when I'm not Detective Pikachu-ing a messy boy's mercurial intentions, when I'm alone in my bed with the apps and my camera, desire sparkles in so easily! And the apps did not disappoint, as one guy after another invited himself over, today, soon, right now, "Between 3 and 4:30," and the straightforwardness of being embodied and being wanted made me wet and started the healing.
Of course none of them have been over yet, but one's on the calendar: Video Star. Ohboy I don't know how his big fat perfect dick is even real, but I aim to find out if I can. Last night he sent a video of him soaping up in the shower, sudsing his enormousness with just the most cocky (ha) look on his face. Fucking transcendent.
He has been rewarded with all kinds of Hidden Folder treats, and I've been brazen enough to send videos too! That's how I found out that my pubic hair is going grey! He still said I had a pretty pussy though, and asked for more.
So, I'm sad without The Guy Next Door. I miss him and I hope, through whatever fog he's in, he misses me too. I've promised several friends I wouldn't loop back, not that he's asking me to. I don't want to ignore myself any more times. I don't ever want to pretend I don't feel what I feel, never not ever again.
It might be a long time until love arrives again, who knows. But joy? Desire? Playfulness? Already here again, thank goodness.
