My girlfriend has been reading this diary.
I forgot that I ever told her about it. It was months ago that I mentioned it and sort of in passing even then.
She told me that reading this turned her on. She told me what she wants to do to me. What she'd wear. She asked me to come over tonight.
And God, the things she said; the things that she does to me; I am full of longing. There is nothing more that I want right now then to taste her. To feel her skin become electric. To hear her soft and musical moan in my ear.
Seriously, I want her.
But instead of being there, I am here.
Hunched over in bed, my pain so high I can barely move. My hands and legs shaking constantly (so much so that I can barely even type this). My shoulders and arms and back and legs all sore and tired and throbbing.
What's more is that the medication I'm on has made it near impossible for me to reach an orgasm. It's also killed my sex drive to an embarrassing degree.
This is all frustrating and embarrassing and depressing.
I want her, but can't have her.
The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
These are things that I don't normally talk about. Lord knows I certainly never write about them in any public way.
I only mention them now because she will read this. Because saying it on here seems different than saying it to her in private.
I want to tell her that the reason I am not going to her house tonight is not because I don't want to be with her�just the thought of her head on my chest warms me�but because I don't want her to always be having to take care of me.
I want to take care of her. I want to flood her body with pheromones and electricity. I want her to ache with pleasure. I want to just hold her and be strong for her and give her back rubs that last for more than two minutes.
I want to be so much more than I can be right at this moment.
And knowing that I can't be hurts me much more than she knows.
7:32 p.m. - 2012-01-01
Recent entries:
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