Staying Power

I may have truly outdone myself this time. I have a 24-year old Indian, sweet as can be, texting to tell me he loves me. Well, I loved him too. At the time. I do love the way he touches me. He’s my massage therapist. Or was. I don’t know. It’s like the debacle with the hairdresser. I must stop fucking about with my service people. It always works on TV shows. Like Desperate Housewives. I mean, who does take care of the fucking yard for that Spanish chick? Uh, I told him I was 36. He thinks that’s OK. After all, he loves me. He’s never had a woman. Of course he loves me. Not that we had sex. More what you’d call a happy ending.

Then there’s the overgrown adolescent with the skate park. Now he could fuck like a champion. I had a sense it was so, and so I put up with or ignored all his bad behavior to get it. But now he, too, is sending texts saying he loves me. But I think that’s just the idle ending of a text message. I mean, could I really get seriously involved with someone who looks at himself in the mirror immediately following? It’s almost as bad as the dick washing, especially if I write the honest true word, admires. That’s no idle glance.

But I know me. Getting a good regular fucking would enable me to squat here fairly indefinitely. Pathetic but true. The question is, how would that be for my writing? So far so good, but then, he’s left town for a while, thank Christ. I want to drive him to wild fucking despair. And that’s the problem. I kind of need them to fall for me. I know how to make them fall. For the most part. The funny thing was, I was sitting here thinking about Mr. Age Inappropriate II, and whatever happened to him, when I get a text from the SK8R. Well, MAI II can stay in the top 5, but SK8R beats him hands down. What is with getting the best sex of my life in my 40s? Did I waste a good 20 years? It is what it is when it is.

Yeah, so then there’s the Pirate. Now, I think he might be a miserable fuck. But I’m interested. I think he’d die for you if he loved you, and that always compels. Except I thought I married that. He’s gone and he didn’t die. Then again, neither did I.

Finally, in the interest of being thorough, I’m also entertaining the thought of young Tom. I just want to taste that one.

How long can I keep this up? It feels like forever, so long as I can live somewhere with a constant, fresh supply. My God, is this what it feels like to be a man? But that it’s only in flashes. Other flashes tell me I want to make love. I want to be loved by someone I love. But then there’s all that that comes with. Ugh. I still don’t think I am capable. That’s why I’m drawn to the Pirate. He so doesn’t want to need or be needed by anyone. And I could stay there.