I’m crying at commercials, screaming over dust bunnies and stuffing my face with cheese, crackers and Devil Dogs — yeah it’s that time of the month. At 47, I may be down to my last few eggs, but when they drop, they drop with a vengeance. Ugh.
Forced to keep my panties on, I’ve had time to reflect on the past few weeks and the effect my adventures are having on the rest of my life. It’s all good. I’m happier, more energetic, which means I’m working out more, and accomplishing more in general. The cliché stands. When you get your world rocked regularly, you rock daily.
I’m giving off more sexual energy and being noticed. I feel alive. I feel female. I can’t imagine how I gave it up for so long — although I think periods of celibacy can be good — depression and fear took me out of the game for way too long. I was half-dead and didn’t even know it. It was physically and spiritually debilitating for me. It was as if I was disconnected from my own body and now I’m inside it again getting used to all its…fabulousness.
Is there a guy out there as sexually voracious as I am, who is smart, funny, is a gentleman and adventurous (not just sexually but who would take off to Istanbul for the weekend if the airfares dropped suddenly)? That’s who my next long-term is, I think.
But I’m having so much fun now…fooled around with ex-husband this afternoon. Obviously things couldn’t go too far, but he confessed he has to have his vasectomy re-done or adjusted or whatever, so he refuses to do it (or wear a condom) until that happens. In the meantime, I heard from the Terminator again — ok I texted him, LOL. But can you blame me? Anway, he texted back “I was just thinking about you.” When I responded “?” He said “putting my face between your legs and my tongue in that ass. I feel like I didn’t get enough last time and I’m craving another sample.” Craving…yeah that’s the word. In a few days, we indulge again.
Image: Helga Weber via Flickr Creative Commons, Some rights reserved.