sometimes we'll go a week without...and when we do...we do not discuss

sometimes we'll go a week without
weeks. like, a few weeks. this is very difficult for me since i am entering my prime. your 'low drive' excuse is tired because i'm quite certain you toss off once a day. your 'catholic guilt' excuse is also tired. those two in that list of excuses are accompanied by the 'i saw my mom get hit' excuse and the 'i don't want you to think i see you as a sex object' excuse. i'm tired of all of them because being an object isn't a bad thing every once in a while. being slapped can be fun. i can get with that. also, i am not your mom. the worst on that list is the one where you say that the sex is not the most important thing in a relationship. don't you go making me feel like an addict. don't you dare. i don't go around calling you a fag because you aren't consistently fucking me, now do i? no. sometimes we'll go a week or three without.
and when we do
you don't look at me. ever. you only like to fuck me from behind. make no mistake, i do like it that way, but once in a while it's nice to feel the weight of you on top of me. you don't pull my hair hard enough. it's like you only do it to hold on and it's only for a minute. leverage. you don't say dirty things to me. you don't say anything actually. you don't make a sound. nothing. it's quiet. not peaceful. awkward, almost. it'd be nice to hear just a little grunt to let me know you're even ok with how far down my throat your dick is creeping. speaking of, your face hasn't been down near my spot in i don't know how long. i can count the number of times it has been in two years, on one hand. it seems as though you're totally put off by me. by sex. by my sex. remember that one time i pounced on you wearing only a tank & boyshorts? and you told me to get off of you because we had to go? because you had work to do? ouch. and that's just one example. and when we do it's just ok.
we do not discuss
fantasies. past experiences. there is no giggling at embarrassing old sex stories. we do not share. i'm not ashamed or afraid. i'm interested in hearing what you've done, what you want to do, what you won't do. i'm open to anything and that's not just because the times we finally do are few and far between. like i'm desperate. for affection and sex and connecting. because of all of this, it's like my ego has been stomped on by optimus prime. i've stopped asking for it. i've stopped part of who i am because no ego can recover from being stomped on by optimus prime. we do not discuss because i fear that you will resent it. the catch 22 is that i am beginning to resent that we don't. we do not discuss.

distraction

I don't think I'm going to go for that run, after all. It was one of those things that totally runs through your mind and once you say it out loud you're like "Wow me, that would probably end badly. Perhaps you would be better off sitting around playing Klondike on your iPod while you listen to something emo. You know you have something emo on your iPod, you douchebag. Oh and eat a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos once in a while too, because you're totally depriving yourself, asshole." Maybe you're not as hard on yourself as I am and that's great. I eat a lot of tuna. That is not a euphemism for something else. I also eat a lot of beets. I have very low cholesterol so there's that! Anyway, may all your guilt shoe purchases work out for you. I'm afraid to say I have sort of similar type guilt but in my version I bought a pair by a dicktress hotel tycoon's daughter. They are so high I also fear for my life since I'll be drunk when I wear them. Maybe a boob will pop out. Fingers crossed!

3 short notes

I have made some (sometimes creative) awesomeness with leftovers. Today is the very last of it...brown rice. I am so asian. I ate it with hot dogs. That might negate the asian part, but it's like heaven to me. I'm only asian'ish.

I was day drunk in SF this past Saturday. It resulted in me drunk shopping. That resulted in me drunk spending a lot of money on a dress. My intention is to drunk wear that dress to a giant corporate Vegas themed Christmas party this coming Saturday. I'm hoping the final drunk result is me getting cock-slapped for looking so gorgeously slutty. I need shoes.

I had a dream that I was (long story short) looking for someone to go down on me. I was like a feign, racing around a big space needle type building in search of a volunteer to get all oral-mania on my girlparts. Every time I'm dreaming of something sexual and trying to "plan" it out (for whatever reason) it doesn't end up happening for me. I need to learn how to just go with it in my dreams, let go, let the filthy gas station attendant go at it with the same kind of fervor that I have to get it. I'm not sure what my subconscious problem is but it's annoying. And blue-ballish.