I received a phone call from one of the fine gentlemen who want to get in my pants. He told me he had just been to a secret underground speakeasy, drinking champagne indoors, with other maskless revelers (during the worst of the pandemic when everyone else is in lockdown trying to save lives.) Next he'll visit my densely populated city at the peak of it, this week. I kid you not, his next question was if I'd like to hang out. Um, no?
Hours later, I received an "I miss you" text from a different gentleman (the Alcoholic) asking when we can have sex. I could have ignored it, but, in the gentlest way possible, I implied to him that he missed that window of opportunity when he stormed out during one of his (many) mantrums. I explained that hospitals will reach capacity by xmas, and tests aren't a 100% accurate method of mitigating risk. The entitlement, that he thinks he can just come and go at a time like this, blows my mind. He chose to cause a scene then sleep in the streets until he could leech off his druggie dude friend who he punched in spring -- the reason he became homeless the first time. That was his choice. It certainly wasn't my idea.
I can't think of a worse sexual turn-off than the total lack of disregard for human lives by these fellows. It is highly un-arousing. My pussy is so appalled I think it just zipped itself shut. They turned my clit into an off switch. My lust packed its bags and is vacationing somewhere in the bahamas, thriving alone drinking rum in a hammock under a palm tree. At this point I'd rather fuck a palm tree. It has a greater chance of making me cum, and is probably more intellectually stimulating as well.
10:21 a.m. - 2020-12-14