131

Day 131 without sex

I have become a meme in that series of memes.

And to be absolutely honest, day 23 felt exactly like that. Day 90 it started getting easier, sorta.

Almost there.

Hairdresser pulled my hair yesterday but I kept it in context. There is a bit of logic left in this place. Not much mind you. See last weeks post about slip sliding away into oblivion.

I have no patience left.

What I do have is a deep, carnal ache every night when I try to fall asleep.

One would think I would be having good sex dreams, I think I did last night but I can’t remember.

I can remember the one crooked tooth at the side of his smile. How his biceps are bigger than my thighs. That look he would get, the other looks. All the looks. The sound of his voice. The sound of deep, guttural growls and by contrast a giggle here and there.

Was supposed to be 9 days until I got to go see him, but the powers that be have dictated otherwise. So it’s 15 to 20. Which is fine. Car still isn’t back and I still need a money miracle. Any time now.

I stopped writing for a while so I can’t remember when, but the other powers that be decided it was a good idea to have me walk the gauntlet of exes. I passed that test, and the last one, all the tests.
Then a monkey wrench.

I haven’t been attracted to another man since I met this one. Like not a bit. Girls at work say this or that guy is so hot. I don’t see it. The parade of men and boys I was once smitten with did nothing for me.

The other night as I was tending bar a man walked up to the bar and I had to turn away, mouthed the words “oh shit”. Turned back around and he had rolled up his sleeves. Of course he had tattoos. More ‘oh shit’.

Then he pulled a mind fuck and talked. In an Australian accent with a smattering of Texan. And a 135 IQ.
And he likes scotch. And and and…

He’s married.

There is a god.

He came back the next night and we both spit out the truth, so that was good.

One of the girls at work told me to take it as a sign that if this didn’t work out, there are others. I don’t want the others. But I get it.

Married dude is also a Leo. I had a king on his knees. Therein is the lesson.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

I had to do a deep clean on the girl’s house this past weekend. I dreaded and postponed it for too long.

Fuck, that place is the prison where my ghosts live. The chair I missed and bruised my tailbone still in the kitchen. So much blood spilled on that bathroom floor. I could hear the echoes of Stompy stomping. The Creep gave me a mirror once upon a time and I found it in the upstairs hallway turned into a corner like one of the kids from Blair Witch. Every pulled muscle, 42 days of broken toe. The 4am girl fights, the 5am crackhead cleaning brigades. The birds singing at night. The storms that shook the house. The storms that shook me. Every tear and scream that landed in the pillows.

The last room I cleaned was the first room I lived in.

I put the mirror back where it was supposed to be. Cleaned it. Swept every bit of dust and bad juju up off the floor and called all of my power back to me.

I felt it come rushing in.

I feel better.

Then the man came.

Then my man called, but I missed it.

If you haven’t had a jail bae, missing calls is the fucking worst. Not quite as bad as the prolonged silences, at least I know I am not forgotten.

And at least I know I have my swagger back.

Now I just want my Mister.