Manic writing, or, a list

When I say I write manically, I don’t mean that I stay up for days writing frantically, with a deluded sense of reality. No, I mean something else. I mean I write to avoid.

In this instance, there’s a big piece of writing (3.5 pieces, actually) that I really have to do, but that I really don’t want to do. Out of some combination of anger, sadness, and fear. Instead, here I am. Lucky you. 🙂

I have a number of things I would like to write about, and, for now, I’m just making a sort of “placeholder list” of such things:

  1. Charlotte‘s and my latest fun, exciting project (as well as our last several dates – which I really hope to get to but fear I may never)
  2. Hera‘s and my relationship – the fun in it, and the confusion [and several subordinate posts, such as our discussion about hookers, escorts, and sugar babies; procurement and feeding lambs to wolves; slavehearts; bootblacks]
  3. FetLife and my recent (re-?)engagement with it
  4. My recent kinktest results (hint: they didn’t surprise me)
  5. A couple of new “help wanted” ideas I have (“partner in crime,” “procuress”)
  6. Julie came for me. Well. Not exactly. She edged before we met. Led me through a smoking hot workout in a ridiculously revealing bodysuit. And came immediately after. I didn’t see. I didn’t hear. But. Her pussy was, she confirmed, wet and aching throughout.
  7. Athena continues to stretch with me. To be ridiculously hot. And yet? Somehow, the sexy edge to our relationship has dissipated. I occasionally suggest she might join Charlotte and me when she returns, or that it might be fun to tie her up, but these suggestions almost feel forced. The truth is, we are deep in the friend zone.
  8. Isabel consults with me for relationship advice from afar. She’s cute. Sexy. Funny. I miss her. She’s moved on – out of the adventurousness of which I was a part, into the marriage-seeking mode. But I still want her to send me gifts. Which she hasn’t done in way too long.
  9. An old friend goes in search of BBC. She finds a broadcasting company, but turns out, notwithstanding its billing, it’s not so British.

I had set aside thirty minutes this morning in which I had planned to work on my 3.5 pieces of important writing. Instead, I spent 10 minutes scrolling through porn (MetArt, mostly) while eating yogurt, berries, and granola, and then the remaining 20 or so writing this.

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