It's an unusual but true circumstance that as I walked down the stairs of my Paris apartment building, I felt a sudden pang and flutter in my heart. I was going to meet the Butcher for the first time and all of a sudden I felt as if Cupid had hit me with quite a pronounced arrow. I even recall stopping mid-stair, about the 3rd floor, and thinking, fuck, that's strong. I hadn't felt that since James and once with Andy.
And, when we saw each other - totally sick like barf - from across the street, I felt it grow stronger.
When I got an SMS on the lawn of my employment "compound" from the Economist, I felt butterflies in my tummy.
When I was leaving work last night to see the Bike Man, I felt anxious between my thighs.
Even my longing for the Economist is rather in the epicenter where the diaphragm meets the thorax.
When the Bike Man and I joke back and forth on SMS that I got a good deal on my bike, with a sexy man included. He says "All horny cock-hungry submissive spankable sluts get a free sexy man." I tell him that I'll be sure to tell my friends. He retorts, "I doubt if your friends attain your superlative levels of sluttishness, but tell them any way, they can always try. Photos in 1 hour - still eating." I wish him a "bon appetit, dirty pimp daddy." And he replies, "Thank you, whore of my dreams." This is when I feel a warmth of pride on my back and a smaller finger-snap in my heart.
I am alive and feeling. They don't seem to have anatomy drawings for these kinds of effects. I wonder, if people listen really well, where do they find their notices.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment