A Day in the Life

Now, there is a post I have been meaning to write, and I will, especially since I don't like to leave Freebird in suspense. But just at the moment, I really don't feel like writing that post. I feel like writing something else. And since blogging is basically an indulgence, I am going to write what I feel like.

Because I am having one of those days. One of those days where I wake up, the sun is shining, and for some reason I feel incredibly alive and remarkably happy. But also one of those days where my skin seems extra-sensitive, and I can really feel my own long, silky hair brushing against my neck, my breasts tingling, my whole body simultaneously happy to be alive and yet wanting so much more... yearning to be touched. I run my hands over my own breasts and thighs and stomach. Soothing, but not enough. But, instead of doing the obvious, I get on with my day. Because I feel so awakened that I just want to stay here, on that edge between desire, longing and... what?

I have lunch in a cafe, and there is such a beautiful man there. Normally, I am so deep in work-mode that I don't even notice, but today I do. He is one of those good-looking young students who brighten up so many cafes with their good looks, their energy, their optimism, their big plans for the future. And instead of thinking my usual "Hmmph! He'll learn!", I allow myself the indulgence so many men allow themselves. Of just looking at a young, attractive member of the opposite sex and melting into a little puddle of desire while he waits on me, so polite, so sparky and eager to please. I can feel the same fond and foolish smile forming on my lips that I have seen on the faces of my male colleagues, looking at the girls. So embarrassing. I wipe it off, and frown into my newspaper.

I am like this all day. Its part pleasure, part pain. At one point, I go through your blogs. Almost every single one of the posts there is about sex to the point that its slightly embarrasing, in case anyone sees what I'm reading. But one thing is clear: If I am a sex maniac, I am clearly not alone. Rather annoyingly, a number of you are having sex.

I go home. I am, at this point, almost quivering with the desire, the yearning. The postman may be in trouble today, I think to myself.

But of course, what I am feeling is not just the desire for sex, but the desire for my partner. And oh yes, I know what Digger means about the desire for comfort. If I can't have sex with the Big Dude, I at least so want the comfort of his attention, his voice, his arms, his touch.

But my Big Dude still has the same virus I am recovering from and is, as usual when he is particularly sick, regarding me as a cross between an unwelcome intrusion and a potential servant. He doesn't really want to be with me, that would be too much effort, but he does want me to cook dinner. I do cook dinner. I ask if there is anything else I can do for him because, you know, I do love him.

And even though I know he is sick, I still think quietly "Please notice me. Please love me. Please touch me. I would do anything for you, anything at all."

Instead, we watch TV. And the whole time I am thinking:

WHERE THE HELL IS MY TOFU BURGER???!!!