Tomorrow is going to be the end of a two-week dry spell.
I’m trying to think how I’m going to fuck it up. I mean, the good kind of fuck up. I mean the kind of fuck up where I get fucked, fucked & fucked.
Two long weeks without sex. What does that mean? Days, hours, minutes? I used to have sex four times a day while I was in college and I have to settle for droughts?
I know D’s gonna kick my ass, but I’m sick of this subterfuge shit, Imma gonna kick up some ruckus. The boundaries between my secret and my real life are just going to become that much more porous.
I’m going to try something new for the blog. D gave me a camera for my birthday or Christmas — I always forget which — and it’s a damn good camera, too, so I’m going to use it to take pictures of me subterfuge-ing. Incriminating pictures without me in them, but of me in places I shouldn’t be. A kind of Where’s Waldo, except this Waldo has a cunt. Yes, baby.