Well no, Jesus, I haven’t.
I’ve drunk from the water that makes me want more fucking water.
It’s a difficult thing to navigate as a lady, because I’m inclined to just ask. I want what I want, when I want it, and I’d rather accept defeat than entertain drama or guilt. I don’t feel bad for being comfortable with my sexuality. I never will.
When you’ve been celibate for 5 years and you make some whim decision to let Pandora out of her box?
The hangover is intense.
I crave him so much physically that the willpower I possess for food is far beyond the threshold I have for resisting the urge to beg him like I’m inclined to.
My phone shouts YUMMY every time he texts me and it cracks me up. The Dumpling thinks it’s hilarious too..
D- I like it when your phone says YUMMY! YUMMY! YUMMY!
Mommy does too.
I’ve run myself into a smaller size as a result of all this frustration, and my best friend is scheduling an intervention to help do a clean sweep of him out of my phone and off of the iPad, which is an unfortunate necessity. The temptation is intoxicating enough, but after two glasses of wine, I start to drown in it and reason is the first to escape me.
Goddamn Pandora. I’ve crammed her back into the box and I’m duck taping it shut. It’s too distracting to listen to her whine and as much as I celebrate my sexuality, I refuse to be controlled by it. If I could snap my fingers and he’d be in my sheets? I’d be snapping my fingers all damn day and I have shit to do.
Some men know too much and it fucks you up a little when he reads your mind while giving you a whole new list of favorites.
Inspired men are dangerous.