I’m not exactly consumed with thoughts about sex, masturbation, fucking, sucking, whatever every moment of every day. There are at least a few hours of the day when it’s not on my mind at all.
I will see him in seven days. Yes I’m counting down – don’t judge. And my biggest worries have nothing to do with sex. Partly because that’s not a sure thing.
I worry that he’ll cancel our plans, and I won’t see him at all.
I worry that he won’t notice that I’ve lost weight.
I worry that I’ll gain weight before he sees me.
I worry about that stupid zit that popped up out of no where.
I worry that when he sees me again he’ll realize he loved a fantasy, not the real me.
I worry that I will get a second chance with him in bed, and I’ll fuck it up.
I worry that I will reach for him, and he’ll pull away from me.
And then when I get tired of worrying or at least worried about worrying too much, I smile because even if all of my worries were legitimate, just seeing him makes me happy.