Worries

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.