I’m concerned about my current level of detachment or self respect or whatever’s driving my choices lately.

I met the pierced man (may as well call him Pierce) at a park adjacent a busy road. I wasn’t attracted to him physically but he was there, I was there, a picnic bench in a protected cove was over there and his skilled kissing tipped the scales towards staying.

He was a large man with a small cock shaped like a rounded triangle, like an elongated Dalek from Doctor Who, but with a massive handful of testicles. I don’t know what Mother Nature was thinking. It was bitterly cold but we left a small mess behind on the wooden bench when his fingers found my g-spot. We switched places and afterwards he was keen to talk and hug. I could picture him as a family man, playing with shiny-haired kids and a family-sized dog in a park and giving flowers unexpectedly to his wife, because that’s what he should be working towards instead of evening distractions without a future. I had to go. He sent a nice text message when I got home to make sure I arrived safely. I felt heavy with emptiness inside.

Number of times I questioned my moral compass: one

Number of times I corrected myself that my moral compass is fine but it’s my something else and I don’t know, perhaps my motivation: several

Number of times I thought, wow, people do this in beats, gay saunas, orgies and swingers’ parties all the time but, no, not for me: one

Number of times I thought sucking a cock with piercings on the underside was potentially hazardous to my dental health: six

Number of times sucking his cock higher in my mouth to avoid damage to lower teeth causing gagging: four

Number of times I thought what the fuck am I doing here? too many

Number of strokes with my lips until he came: 138

I never count when I’m excited.