I can give you reason to be nervous

I still don’t understand why my phone sits silent for days and I suddenly hear from several people at the same time. I spent a fair part of last night preparing for my first home visit with ArmyDude as the guest of honour. I was a wreck by the time I finished washing linen, making the bed, stocking up towels, finding scent-free soap for him (ah, the considerations of fucking married people), shopping and filling the fridge to prepare for dinner, agonising beforehand for hours about what I might make for dinner for someone I know so intimately but not well when it comes to the domestics and, of course, tackling the most dangerous job of scrubbing the computer’s insides of all traces of my other lives in case he wanted to check the shared account together.

He had an alibi that allowed him to also set up a drink with a woman who had expressed interest in us. Five hours before we were due to meet I received a couple of texts saying he was convinced his wife was acting suspiciously. I thought he was projecting his own nerves but I happily gave him the option of deciding to proceed or cancel because he is taking the greater risk.

For the next three hours he disappeared from phone contact, and I knew from experience that he was cancelling but didn’t know how to break the news. An hour beforehand I received a message saying he felt more comfortable cancelling. I didn’t mind: I’d already prepared mentally for a no-show, dinner was almost ready, vibrators were fully charged and the thought of a freshly-made bed was hardly the end of the world. He sent another half a dozen messages apologising and saying how bad he felt, which started tainting my accepting mood. He got the message when I sent a terse “No more apologies, please.” Go away!

At the same time, Pierce came back in a mix of optimistic pleading and anticipated rejection. He unfortunately was at the end of a cycle of meeting people mindlessly and I didn’t want the reminder or to try to start again. Whatever was causing me to lash out with the wrong people seems to have settled for the time being. I’m probably in the opposing mindset of wanting nothing more energetic and safe than lounging in the winter sunny window like a neutered cat, but that’s bound to change soon enough.

The woman I’ve been trying to make contact with also sent an e-mail citing great amounts of nervousness about meeting one-on-one. She suggested we meet at a swingers’ night as the surroundings would be less stressful for her than at a cafe. Really? I could easily get offended if I think about it too much.

To top off my night, a message saying hello and enquiring about my wellbeing landed in the phone from an unknown number. I asked who it might be. Low and behold, it was Mr New Year’s Eve from … let me count with two hands here … oh, six months ago. I asked coolly if he’d mistaken me for someone else because we were meeting last Christmas and he cancelled the same day and disappeared. He bravely (or stupidly) responded and claimed nerves but he’s back now and ready to meet. Again, really? That’s nice. I struggled to contain my sarcasm said it was a shame that people becoming paralysed by nerves sure seems to happen a lot. He didn’t come back. I’m a lot of things but six-month-old bargain barrel slops isn’t one of them.


The treble — fail, finished, ?

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.