I skipped yesterday(This was actually handwritten last week. In fact it was written last Saturday. I am just typing it up now) and well on my way to skipping today’s 500 word challenge. Facebook. Tumblr porn. Checking email. What is it about this constant need to check all of these things. Things. It is a terrible word. But they are things. Social media is what they are often termed. And there is media there and socializing. But it is more. There is a draw-a need-to continuously check and re-check to see if anyone has commented, or liked, or shared your post.
For the longest time I didn’t have a smart phone. And when I was on the computer social media sites weren’t where I hung out. I didn’t understand people’s obsession with checking Facebook, or Tumblr, or what have you. I was smug, certain I would never be so foolish. For it seemed so foolish. I smartly kept my smugness to myself.
I find myself craving likes, re-blogs, follows, and shares. I find myself checking, and rechecking, and wondering why someone I tagged hasn’t liked my post. No ha ha face or LMAO!. Where’s my adoration?!? My followers have you left me? At long last have you found decency and a life?
Before the smart phone, I could sleep; I could read. I could read three books in as many days. I could even squeeze in some writing in between moments of angst, work, depression, and napping-with an occasional Godzilla, or Kung Fu movie thrown in.(I still check USA Network to see if they have brought back Kung Fu Theatre. They haven’t yet, but El Rey Network has brought it back, at least two days a week. Thank you El Rey Network.)
Part of it is I can’t just jack-off and be with it for awhile-clean the system out as it were. Nope. I live with my parents and it’s difficult to tug out a load, whenever. Instead I just Tumblr porn which builds up anxiety and presumably sperm count, all with no release.
Right now I’m tugged by a desire to check my phone. Has anyone contacted me? How are my posts doing?
I flirt with way too many people on Tumblr and often I will blast contacts with smiley faces on phone list and Tumblr, and on FB I will tag one, or two people. And wait-anxiously. Wait for contact, for a message. I want to flirt-coyly, nastily. Flirt with me. I want to fantasy about us. I’m alone with my thoughts, my hand, and the phone and remote. What a terrible existence!
I wake up wanting to change. But I love to send nasty, flirty texts too much. I want to see my favorite AV models. I want to dream of lying in bed with her, or him, or trans her. Some dreams we are a couple; other times, we are a slithering mass of limbs, and tongues, and bites, and growls.
I want to brush your golden hued torso with my lips. I dream to caress your oh so tanned legs. And kiss behind your knees. I wish to lazily dram hearts on your arm and back, with my finger tip. I desire to leave a wet trail with my tongue, down your back-to cleft of your booty. And then down into the canyon rimmed by those browned, sun kissed, cheeks. I want to bury my face into you, to breath you. The funk of you lingers. I want to breath the gorgeous of you, your perfumed parts and your stank places. Lay here.
Lay here-as I explore your glamorous self with kisses, and touches. I close my eyes, so my other senses can take in our coming together. I want to hear our bodies meet. I want to taste our lusty spirits, our crashing together.
I’m the beach, let your waves wash over me. Throw your spray into the air. Your scent covers my nostrils. I never want to smell anything else. I want you to sweat and cum on my bed covers.
Later I want to open the door to my house and only smell you. Us.
The phone is in my hand. I’m swiping up, looking for us.