Thought I'd get laid tonight. Ended the night by sadly taking a condom, still in its wrapper, out of my pocket and putting it back in the drawer. That drawer's starting to look mighty overstocked. It's been more than a month since I was laid in the proper, condom-requiring way.
(It's been like 18 hours since I had phone sex and less than a week since I got dry-humped close to orgasm while being beaten, but never mind those, my self-pity has a very Clintonian concept of what constitutes sex.)
I know that if I really had the super-healthy attitude toward sex that I sometimes pretend to, I'd have a good attitude about not having sex. I don't. Being underfucked fills me with feelings of entitlement, obsessive fantasies, and worst of all, loneliness.
I want to make this into something half-noble, like "it's the human touch that I really miss," but it's not. It's a sheer greedy frustrated animal craving. I'm so damn horny it's not awesome anymore.
Well. It's a little awesome.