Yesterday, I woke up to a work-related clusterfuck and spent the morning clearing the wreckage. I felt frustrated and scattered by the time I reached his studio, but the moment he opened the door, I relaxed. He has a calming effect on me.

That much I knew, and I also knew that I was attracted to him. I was attracted to him when we first met in that cafe, but I told myself then that I couldn’t act on that attraction, for a number of reasons. Big reasons, the size of fucking billboards.

But I was having such a good time with him yesterday that when we were done with what we were there to do, I was reluctant to leave. It felt so easy to be with him, and he’s funny, and I just like him. I played with his cat, maybe to distract myself or divert my sexual energy, and then he kissed me.

I thought, fuck it, I want this.

*

I woke up this morning sore, famished, dehydrated. I can’t remember the last time my body was pushed like this, and my body tends to be pushed on a regular basis. I love how we fit. I love a lot about last night.

I was thinking about you when I woke up this morning. You were a string of flash memories, visual, sensory. I thought about how you rested your head against my thigh while I stroked your back, how your cock felt in my mouth and throat, how you held my ankles in the air. I love how you feel, how you fuck, how you kiss. Those fresh memories are frustrating.

Thirsty, hungry, and wrecked, I brought myself off this morning while I could still smell you on my body. It hurt a little but it feels good to be this sore.

When I breathed you in, I could feel it in my skin.

These are half-formed thoughts.

My fuck-addled brain.

This much I know: you’ve just deadened my appetite for the other men in my life, and I’m slotted to take part in this fling tonight with James. I’ve got a phone full of increasingly agitated text messages over my daylong radio silence, yesterday, sent while I was straddling your hips or while you were gripping mine. Now it’s Saturday and I’m enjoying some rainy day downtime before I tramp it up and head out for that orgiastic encounter.

A few days ago, I was looking forward to it. Now it feels off. I do need my ring back and I’m perfectly willing to fuck for my ring, but I question whether I can keep seeing James when my head’s already somewhere else.

Are we that fickle? Am I that fickle? I go along well enough – not too invested and not too distant – with a few men in my life, and then I fuck someone I shouldn’t and suddenly everyone else feels less interesting.

I feel ambivalent writing about you, you know (you do know). It runs the risk of becoming some kind of meta, Warholian, PoMo mindfuck. But for now, this is here.

I think we should fuck again.

*

(For this post, the comments are off, just to minimize the aforementioned meta-induced mindfuck.)