I really don't understand football. I've never had the interest, and the only times I've ever played, I've been hit, so that's kind of put me off. When Mane texted me to ask if I wanted to go to the pub and watch football with the rest of the gang, I replied with a non-committal "maybe". I didn't really want to watch football, I don't (whatever you may think) like pubs, and besides, I had some work to do. Work which, I hasten to add, has become suddenly irrelevant this morning, but there's nothing much I can do about that.
Thing is, I wasn't really in the mood to work. I'd just been at work. The timing was all wrong, and besides, it was my mother's birthday, so there were things happening downstairs which involved Pringles and cake. I half-heartedly started doing the work in the end, but by the time I'd got through two thirds of it, I decided that what I really needed to do was something else.
"Do something sexy!" yelled the back of my head.
"Shut up, libido!" said my brain. "I need to get outside!"
"Do something sexy outside!" replied the back of my head. "Go and wank against a tree or something!"
"No!" said my brain. "Just go and get a drink with your friends. You can ignore the football, right?"
"I'm a cat," said Willow.
Not wishing to have any more conversations with random bits of my anatomy, I pulled on some shoes and left the house, my mother's music group making some noise that could have been vastly improved by the addition of glockenspiel. The fresh air hit me like a blast of... well, fresh air. Great analogy there. Well done, ILB. And I trotted down to the pub.
I had a strange evening of my ears tuning out any conversation about football, thinking about the resolution and pixel depth of the projection on the wall rather than what was going on in said projection, and ordering myself two drinks at once in order to use my card and throwing up violently in the toilet for basically no reason at all. No, it's not as exciting as it sounds. An hour later and I was working my way back to my house, feeling a little better. I'd started getting texts from Catherine at that point about how she was masturbating furiously, and although a bit of me kept saying things like "see? see? look at what she's doing! you can too! ask me how!", I was well aware that I hadn't finished the work. Seems I just forgot about it after all.
I redeemed a nice blue liquid pen from one of my drawers and did the rest of my work. Sitting in bed. Naked. To be honest, it did seem like the most appropriate way to do any work at that time of night. And the colour of the pen was good too. Little things like that make me happy.
Then I masturbated lying on my back. When I came I managed to hit my neck, chest and arms, which I can ascribe only to the angle which I was lying at. But, hey, I was pleased. Looks like I managed to fit something in I do understand, after all.
Can always find time to get sexy.