All the shadows….
in the city used to love you. What a pity. Miss the questions you used to ask me…. bored to death, cut, mad and lonely.
Ah yes, I love Jason Schwartzman….
My brain is attacking itself. Which is fun but not when you’re trying to write a business proposal, finishing editing your book, doing laundry and working on a location assignment. While it is most definitely true that one should stay in the dark about things – it keeps life interesting….. interesting is not always good. In fact, interesting comes with it’s own set of baggage. Speaking of baggage, it is also true that I’m fiscally responsible, but sexually out of control. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
See, it’s because I’m dark, funny, perverted, beautiful. I deeply suffer from the terrifying clarity of my vision. I try to keep my libido in check, I do but lives don’t change. We simply become more comfortable with our core misery, which is a form of happiness. If you want to open your mind… don’t think in terms of male and female. I mean, it’s binary. It’s– it’s boring…. but I digress.
My brain is attacking itself. Not so long ago I was totally enamoured of this long and languid drummer whose scent alone could bewitch me and I had to have him. So I fed him my own resultant fluids despite what the entire free world would think of this practical magic. I could not help myself, hard as i tried to resist because his voice whispered breathily could make my whole body is vibrate like a tuning fork. so on mo0re than one occassion my Long and Languid would be served a rare New York strip topped with fresh menstrual blood. Dessert would be served with a piping hot cup of Costa Rican coffee laced with my own breast milk. No harm no foul.
I figured, and still do figure it’s n o different than a push up bra, heels, hair colour, false eyelashes, teeth whitener, spray on tan, tweezed brows, spanks, control top pantihose,…. of, Lord, I could go on. There are so many other misrepresentation women use and do to snare a man. All I did was throw some blood onto an already bloody piece of meat. cut me some slack. I don’t use men as placeholders, or cry to get my way, or withhold sex, or flirt to inspire jealousy, or use men for free drinks or any number of things that often women are guilty of employing for their personal gratification. I am disease free. have been tested and, quite frankly, in order to believe I did something heinous you have to first admit to the effects of practical magic which most people are not comfortable doing. If you take into account the steroids that were pumped into the beef or the unfair wages paid for the collection of the coffee beans then adding a bit of my own, disease fre, fair trade resultant fluids is really without any merit. I did not play with his emotions or his ego.
None the less, we co-own a house right now and for all intents and purposes could be considered life partners. However, this particular Long and Languid Life Partner is not so lively in bed. in fact, if you stroll back through my entries you will find countless diatribes regarding our lacklustre sex life and how he won’t go down on me and doesn’t like sex and how I feel often that I am just using him like a glorified dildo to masturbate. It happened so often that I got sick of writing diary entries and feared never having anything good to talk about.
Well, I have once again taken matters into my own hands. I have been feeding my Long and Languid an all natural concoction (he he I said cock) that is tantamount to herbal Viagra. I won’t go into all the details because folk magic is not for everyone and there are disclaimers involved that i care not to disclose at the present time. It involves a rather noxious weed sometimes called "cathead", some Ontario grown and some green tea extract as well as some other ingredients. See, he was going in to the studio to record and I handed him the capsule citing that he needed extra vitamins to keep up his energy while recording. Every day for about 3 weeks now I’ve been giving him the magic and he’s been swallowing the magic whole.
In the last three weeks he has instigated sex on more than one occasion with an erection so hard he could hammer a 3 inch nail into a 2 by 4. He has woken me up in the middle of the night to rather aggressive sex that included more than three positions and lasted longer than the average 7 minute interlude. On one occasion, not that I condone this kind of behaviour (much), he even called in sick to work so we could stay home all day and have lots of sex. Last night, I am thrilled to report, he even managed to bring me to orgasm manually/digitally.
The latter is no small feet as any heterosexual male can tell you. The clit, and especially my clit, is a kind of high maintenance form of genetalia. I cannot remember, in recent history nor in the 16 years of married history I have under my belt, the last time someone got me off using their hand only. Long and Languid practically did victory laps around the bedroom, I might add. he is particularly proud of himself and you know what, I’m okay with this all being about him.
My brain is attacking itself. Where to go from here….. really? Just charge on in to the uncharted territory of Cunnilingus? I don’t know if Long and Languid is ready for that jelly. It is, make no mistake, an eventual destination point. All the shadows in this city used to love me. Writing a business proposal, finishing editing your book, doing laundry and working on a location assignment… what a pity. Push up bra, heels, hair colour, false eyelashes, teeth whitener, spray on tan, tweezed brows, spanks, control top pantihose…. bored to death, cut, mad and lonely. Bored to death, cut, mad and lonely.
Bored to death, cut, mad and lonely.