Of course I miss you! …who coughed?!

“Listen!” she said, assuming that I missed the first three times she said it. “I miss you.”

Harmony is staying at her mom’s tonight.

“I miss you too, baby.” Of course I do…

It’s one of those things you just sort of have to say. I don’t really get it, to tell you the truth. Of course I think about her and how great it is to pull her ass close into my hips while I’m falling asleep. But today, when I was reminding myself that I’ll have the apartment to myself tonight, I couldn’t help but think about that cold, refreshing (A/Cs fucking rock here in Puerto Rico!), master bedroom, queen-size bed, all to myself; to stretch and mangle however I please!

Is it wrong? Nobody minds a little time to themselves. But I miss you ;) No, no, take your time, baby. Tell your mom I said Hi.

In other news: My sex strike failed miserably. I’ve effectively decided that I’m weak; I’m guy. Beach, bikini, oversized board shorts, waves, palm trees. …her getting that frisky look in her eye. God, who wouldn’t fail miserably at keeping it in their pants! I’m only human!

And after all of two days or so of creating this secret blog, I left one of the WordPress drafts minimized on my desktop. Shit! It was titled “Sex strike… I’m weak!” So much for keeping the identity of this complaining asshole a huge secret.

“Did you see the new picture I put on the desktop?” I asked her, glancing at it before launching a web browser; talking to her on the phone.

“Yeah. I loved it!”

“It’s cool. I like that one.”

“About that actually…” She mused, over the phone.

“Ah, fuck!” I said, hardly taking an entire second for my reaction to give myself away. I changed the tone in my voice to something more cheery; a little naive. “What’s up? About what?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Frustrated.”

“…What?” I said, dragging the vowel out.

“Uh-huh… Listen, Frustrated…”

She used to read another blog of mine that was a little more visible; lots of people that I knew were reading it. (Including her.) This one will be far from that. It’s really more for me. …you can gauge that by the fact that I will frequently tell you, the reader, to fuck off in here.

I established my position. “Listen, Sweety. You don’t worry about my writings. They’re for me. …Only me.”

“Uh-huh…”

She’ll find this thing eventually. One day I’ll forget to clear Mozilla’s history… Plus she knows I’m up to something now. She’ll be looking for me to slip again. Not going to happen! And then she’s going to kick my ass when she finds it. I love you, darling. Take this into account when you find this miserable place ;) I will not bend, though!

 

No play, No attention.

“This pussy aint’ free!” she says, throwing a cute little wink in my direction.

I look back with a half wince. The very words coming out of her mouth make me want to smack the shit out of her (disclaimer). “This two bedroom condo ‘aint’ free, baby.”

She laughs it off. I press my lips together with little amusement. This is sexual frustration. Women think it’s a joke; a cute little game or something. I can’t count the times (yeah I can; it’s painful) that she’s been next to me in bed and pleaded from the other side of her personal barrier, “Just roll over on it, baby! Go to sleep.” …another pleading utterance slipping from her mouth in the fashion of a convict that sees her execution coming.

What’s the freaking deal?! I want sex! This would all be good and over if you would just comply and give me a few moments of your oh-so stressful day so I can get the freaking baby batter out of the brain and sleep in peace, content, before waking up again at 5:40 in the morning.

She speaks for all women, I imagine (or she imagines). “What do you think? Am I just some sex toy? Your, your… Your little thing that you can just get some from?” She says it with absolute determination of dignity and female independence.

“No, Baby!” I say, nipping that shit right in the bud. “You’re my freaking girlfriend. My hot, beautiful, and sexy girlfriend with the scrumptious looking ass and sexy, enticing lips that drive me mad every time you bite the bottom one; casually walking around the room in your hot-pants and bra. You fucking murder me with that shit, and then you wonder why I’m going to bed with a hard-on! Is that insane? Is that so abnormal? …to find my girlfriend incredibly attractive and want to take her every chance I might get? …to want to run my fingers over every inch of her body, kissing, teasing, biting her ear, looking into those magnificant eyes that wrapped me up the very first night that I saw you? Is there ‘asshole’ in that?”

“No.”

You would think the point is conceded with her short reply. That’s pretty decisive in my book. I make a fucking fabulous point. She’s hot. I want to fuck her. I didn’t ask to go to bed with this throbbing hard-on. Less than a week ago, her hormones went burzurk and we had sex some seven times! …didn’t even leave the house. It was insane. I think that was some type of record in my life. Should I have known that that was it for the week? Silly me. Had I known that, I probably would have chosen to equally distribute those sessions throughout the coming days.

I’m not asking for much, I swear. I’m not even trying to get laid every night. I’m just trying to get off every night (within reason. …most nights, I suppose.) Does it sound dirty? Perverted? Sicko or sex crazed? Nah. I don’t think so. If I was single and I was faced with that dilemma, I would masturbate and sleep. Done. Chemicals pour through the body, nerves subside, thoughts settle, the night takes care of itself. I’m sleeping.

One night I did do just that. …that was a mistake. Harmony looked over like she had seen a gruesome car wreck. She was devastated. I haven’t jacked off in our bed since. WTF? What the hell does that leave me when the hormones are tap dancing in my libido?

Are guys really supposed to “grow up” and just subside the sexual drives? Is that part of excepting that we love this one? We give up our normal behavior to conform to her “normal” behavior. We ignore the fact that we started dating her because not only was she an incredible girl, she was super hot as well? Where is this logic failing me?

Something is breaking down and communication is becoming difficult.

I decided I’m going to go on a sex strike. (God those words hurt!) I’m determined to put her in my shoes! Women like sex too! I’m no dummy! They just have a weird ass schedule on it and tend to only want it when it’s convenient for them (one way sanganas!) I just think I have a long, long waiting game to play! That fucking sucks!

Sucks! I want to get fucking laid! I love her but she’s killing me. …and I do believe that will be the theme of this site. I love her, but she’s killing me!