Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
For real.
Who can’t get off with a detachable showerhead? Those things are pretty much the salt of life when it comes to orgasms.
One time, I confided this shit to a good friend. I don’t have any real best friends, but I do have a number of good ones I’ve kept in contact with since high school and college. Anyway, back when we were supposed to be studying for finals in our last year, we were both a few beers in. While she was supposed to be quizzing me on statistics problems, she decided the night was too dry and served up a few beers from her fridge. It wasn’t anything crazy, but I’m not a drinker, and it was enough to make me say things I wouldn’t normally say. It was actually my friend Lisa who started the conversation about how, since she’d broken up with her boyfriend, she’d discovered the joys of pleasing herself.
We quickly forgot all about stats and discussed the merits and drawbacks of masturbation. She got way into it. She talked about technique, gave me pointers, asked questions, and was totally fascinated. Then, she ended the discussion by telling me that some women just need the D, and I appeared to be one of them.
Thankfully, she didn’t rattle off a list of plastic toys that serve as what she termed D. She meant the real thing.
I think what she actually meant was that there has to be an emotional investment. Just getting myself off through basic biology and the science of stimulation isn’t satisfying. Does it feel good? Yes. Does it feel good all the way to a mind-blowing or even semi-satisfying climax? No.
Good lord.
This isn’t about sex. It doesn’t matter that my body has done a complete one-eighty about its opinion of Rick’s attractiveness, and now, instead of thinking he’s not so attractive, I can’t stop watching him. I can’t stop analyzing the way he moves and the way his muscles look under his clothing. I can’t stop noticing how strong and sometimes how lethal he moves, all with a crazy amount of grace.
Also, his butt.
Maybe it would all be okay if it weren’t for his butt.
It’s burned into my brain the same way my science teacher used to literally shout about things he was adamant we remember forever. BIB. Burn in brain. Or as my computer teacher from elementary school used to call it. Brain mapping. Memorize the keyboard and imagine yourself hitting that key in your brain. It will make you a better typer.
I’ve memorized the wrong things and brain-mapped them into all the parts of my brain where they’re burned in for life.
Rick’s bum + my brain = together forever.
Fuck.
I just want to check on him and give him a hard time about not sleeping. Maybe make sure he does it, even if it’s just to take a quick nap on my bed. Without me in it. I’ll even take that chair if he can get a good sleep sitting up, and I’m not convinced he can’t.
He told me enough stuff last night in the park that it makes me wonder what else is going on. There’s probably a lot. I don’t know if that’s why he can’t or won’t sleep, but there are a few things he said that we left off, and I want to pick them back up. Mostly because they’re like little pins pressing deeper and deeper into parts of my heart that I would do better keeping closed off. I can take care of him without risking my out-of-control hormones masquerading as emotions.
He’s in his office, and he’s not sleeping. I know that because he’s angled in his desk and facing the windows, but also half facing the door like he doesn’t want there to be any way anyone can sneak up on him. His head jerks up as soon as my shadow casts into the room. It’s the hall light that does it. He’s sitting in the dark, the bright light of his laptop screen illuminating his face in a ghostly way that makes it very obvious just how amazing his bone structure is in his fascinating face. Yes, I’m at that point. The point where I’ve looked at him enough now to have changed the word from interesting to fascinating.
I’m so full of shit.
He’s beautiful.
In a very masculine, rugged, tough guy, still not at all conventionally attractive kind of way.
Also, in the most perfect, lovely, gorgeous, I’m losing myself to whatever this is kind of way.
“Rick?”
He shuts his laptop and leans back in the chair. What was he doing in here and looking at that I couldn’t see? Maybe he likes the cover of darkness. Maybe his eyes are bugging out from all that screen time in the dark, and he needs to shut it down. I don’t think that’s healthy. He could have been doing nothing at all, zombified from a total lack of sleep.