Saturday, 17 September 2016


For the past week I've been back at work, following a couple of weeks off. It's changed a little since I was last there - with the requisite amounts of mess to clear up and dodgy administration still in situ. I've also been lumbered with various types of illness, making the days I do a bit of a slog; I've kept going in despite this - it's the first week back and, you know, I need money.

My afternoons and evenings have been passing in a haze of tiredness, and with fatigue comes arousal. I don't sleep much (I find it difficult to sleep even when I'm meant to...), but I have been - through necessity! - taking periods of lacklustre rest, lying on the bed in various positions or reclining in my straight-backed, hard computer chair.

Which is, of course, uncomfortable. I don't get much of a choice.

It's in these periods that I'm at my horniest. It doesn't even come from the images my brain conjures up (although those can be present when I want them to) or the soft, warm presence of my girlfriend when we're in bed together (although that is, of course, a plus). In my sleep-deprived, inactive malaise, I find myself with a vague, untraceable, sexual craving. It's not even that specific - just an increased heart rate, a light-headedness and throbbing ache between my legs, like the euphoria before orgasm.

Without the orgasm.

My girlfriend left for work this morning at a relatively early hour. I was still in bed, lying on my front; she was pottering around, getting dressed. I was talking, occasionally (if you count zombie-like grunts and a language that probably hasn't been invented yet), but on the whole I was more distracted by my own body. My cock - smooth, hard and firm - was pressed under my belly, the ghostland between sleep and wakefulness bringing with it the arousal (and related erection). As it grew, I felt the repetitive throb course through me, every heartbeat making me hungier, needier, stiff with lust.

I found myself agreeing to go and get her some drinks from the shop in her absence, in lieu of saying something like, "actually, I don't want you to go to work at all; I want you to stay here, be naked and have me inside you for several hours, then I'll go and get the drinks, come back and take you all over again," which is more or less what I wanted to say. Loquacious as I am, however, I certainly couldn't get those words out. The most I could manage was, "I want to fuck you," and true though that may have been, the sentence only made it as far as my brain. My mouth really wasn't co-operating.

I went back to sleep after she left. Actual sleep - I'll take it when I can get it, it's a rare commodity these days - with an odd dream involving Sookie Stackhouse (despite having never read the books or seen a single second of True Blood, I'm aware of the name). This more peaceful, more restful slumber came to a natural end a couple of hours later, and in the fuzz that followed with me lying in bed, unwilling to leave, I began to feel the burn once again.

As it is on the bus to work. As it is on the train. As it is during the erotica reading at Sh!. As it is in the coffee shop. As it is when shuffling to the shop to actually buy the drinks I promised.

And so we spend our busy days.

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