The
answer to my sexually stressed question of Tuesday morning is a probable no. We
reigned it in, and as we are a bond, after a fashion, I am leaving him his
space to the degree I can beyond his responsibilities, although he still uses
the terminology of personal relationships. I doubt it is to mislead, just his
way of being a happy minstrel doing his black machismo parody, and I am feeling
let down because I’m chasing skank which doesn’t want to be fetched, or so I
believe, I, who believes where abstinence is necessary then it’s possible, my
own chuckle as scathing as a blade. That has certainly been put to the test,
and Christ knows what effect my discovery of electricity is having on him,
remembering whatever crest I feel now, I want to recover, he wants to get me
there, at least one thing in common within our appropriation tolerance, our hearts
absorbing too much without enough armor. I’m not angry with the game, for I
lowered my guard, as always, and any man would feel sorry over admissions which
lead to cactus fields. I’m simply too old to feel horny all the time over a
decent welfare health care provider, and this is another monkey wrench. I keep
moving too slowly to return to a prior point of self-reliance, and that to
rectify it I may have to stay up in the chair to do business in the morning
before he clocks in, which might slow his time, make him watch television
further away. There is nothing wrong with “a little fun,” in the lingo of his
sisters, but what goes for sustained erections in men is comparable to what
happens when women arouse vaginally, not so easy to stand down in an endless
pair of Depends, and the music serving as my balm is that of Reynolds. Andrew
Sullivan has his definition of true conservativism, one which I vaguely
remember. Mine might include the moral decision to put a stop to this by
replacing him, but then I lose the better part of the bargain, given all these hard
and incessant details about lesbian predation, thieves, and other niceties
peppering my posts, and as you can see, as my cousin counsels me like chick
talk would, better friend to me than my actual sister, yes, he’s softened me,
the reducible nigger enlarged upon. If I actually attempt to tongue, and he
responds, that is a change, a risk. I’m not ready for a full throttle, and know
that would be a change too much, and it succumbs, of course, to what I’d swore
to myself would never be, assuming he wouldn’t forcibly grip my wrists,
preventing me. There is that. I don’t have Governor Greitens' physical strength to
actually coercive a man twice my size to enter and satisfy me, with the
building twittering that the dowager’s flushed face means some weight has been
lifted. Although Greitens' problems aren't helping Republicans, whose loss of Ryan is an admission of tactical failure, I think we need to start viewing these scandals through a different lens, regardless of whether or not coercion is proven. (Why wasn't it rape?) I have to think, on my own terms, about what true conservativism means, and Woods' public tweets may help me without the need of contact, wishing I knew what it was like to be the one pursued. It's too late for that.
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