Well, maybe yesterday’s post was a bit extreme, due to the response and wonderfully thoughtful emails I receipted. Thank you all.

Yes, I do admit I am having a bit of a rough bout, perhaps mild depression, existential crisis, the good old fashion blues, is the sun ever gonna shine again doldrums–but, in absolutely no way have misplaced my sex. I just seem to have a loss of energy to go out and get it.  Yeah, that sounds fucked.

Believe me when I say my pussy mojo is still intact.  In fact in the middle of the night last night I had one of those dreams, where  I was masturbating. Do you have those, dreams about fucking yourself? Well the dream felt so real, that I could almost feel myself about to come, I could no longer tell if it was a dream or reality. The line between sleep and awake became blurred and I began to slide my fingers into my wet slit, the flesh full of pumping blood, ready to burst forth from my cunt.  Asleep, I slid two finger into me, it was hard to get them in, because my arousal had made my pussy even tighter, full. Once my fingertips were in, I slowly worked inside, small pressure circles–while more furiously working my slick outer lips and clit. My room muggy from all our rain and and getting hotter because of my body being on fire.

That fire spread from my core, out of my pussy, radiating through my body and limbs, into my breath–now deep and heavy. I had to kick the covers off, I got so hot. I came strong and hard and creamy and then fell right back asleep with my finger still in my pussy.

Sex is not the problem, a good sex partner is the situation and my momentary lack of ability to find that is the problem. Of course–I have a phone sex partner, and online partners, the virtual lovers. But I need more. It is about the flesh, the here, the now. Blood flowing into me not through my land line or blue glowing screen. Blood pumping through a cock that wants to pump into me. I am thankful to those I play with virtually and have a few I consider true friends and lovers, and both in one, but I will never get to feel their cocks pump into me and that, therefore is not real, it’s virtual fiction, and yes–that does sort of make me sad or wax poetic. But that is what it is. What  I need is blood, hard, pumping, hot boiling fuck me blood.

Which, I will get again–as soon as I slide through this patch of troubled blues.

I am calling in sick today, I need a personal day. I must get prepared for my Chicago guy to come to town.  First, a kitty wax, Chicago likes a clean shaved pussy. Second back home for apartment cleaning and laundry (not so fun, but better than the library). Third hot yoga followed by a deep tissue massage from Cy the yoga hottie. Then I will actually make myself get out and have a drink with a man whose blood is pumping, whose cock has the potential to throb.