I appear to be pseudo-sexually frustrated. By which, of course, I mean that my current level of frustration seems like sexual frustration but probably isn't. I don't mean that I'm appear to be sexually frustrated but I'm not really frustrated, because then I'd be sexually pseudo-frustrated. The incorrect placement of modifiers is one of the many banes of my existence. Then again, I'm not, by nature, an unhappy person, so if there weren't all of these petty annoyances, I'd likely float away on a cloud of ebullience, and you know how that is: it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Pardon me for a moment while I attempt to re-discover my point. It's not entirely my fault that I'm off topic (actually I'm off the topic that was off the topic, but who's counting, right?): I was up until 2 am last night, which was only partly my fault because I was at the office until after 11 pm due to matters entirely beyond my control. Say it with me, readers: ANYWAY.
Right. The misplaced modifiers. I worry about them too much. I also worry about the modifiers that are just plain wrong. I, for example, have an unfortunate habit of starting sentences with "hopefully," when I don't even want an adverb.
Wrong: Hopefully, I'll pound that guy's ass tonight.
Right: I hope that I'll pound that guy's ass tonight.
Of course, this example may not be the best possible example: I hope that whenever I pound an ass that I do so hopefully, but I'm pretty sure that sometimes I'm too distracted by lust to focus on the hope inherent in every act of pseudo-procreative ass fucking. (Nobody's perfect.)
Which may or may not bring me back to the pseudo-sexual frustration. I would much prefer my frustration to be sexual. I'd really like to be sitting at work all day (but maybe not also all night), thinking about men I want to fuck or men whose limits I'd like to expand. But I've recently had to face the awful truth about working too much: it can rob me of appetite as well as opportunity. That's right: where I used to think, "If I didn't have to work until midnight tonight, I could probably call Torless and fuck him so hard that I'd be fucking his brains out if he had any to start with," (I can be very bitchy in my internal monologue, sometimes.) the last week or so, I've been thinking, "Ugh. Torless texted me again. I don't even want to think about fucking him so hard that I'd be fucking his brains out if he had any to start with."
(Actually, I'm mostly just rolling my eyes at Torless these days. He texted me Sunday night when I was neither free nor interested and whinged a little bit about my lack of availability. Then he talked about how much he missed me. There are not enough whatevers in the world to begin to discuss how laughable that was. But I'll probably fuck him next week, just because.)
It's mostly work that causes this frustration, but work is not the only factor. There's also b&c's intermittent travel schedule. When he's home, there often isn't any point in flirting with guys because following through is, more often than not, logistically impossible. But I think I can solve that part of the problem. I think that what we need is a regular third. Judd has expressed some interest in a threeway. I may not have a chance to set it up before b&c heads off to Managua this weekend, but I can try when he's back. I expect that Judd would be up for such an arrangement (with both of us when b&c's home; with me when b&c's away) every Tuesday night. I'm not so sure that b&c will love the idea, but I think that he'll go along with it for long enough to start to like it.
The excessive work hours should go away, at least temporarily, beginning tomorrow. I'd thought that by coming in Sunday, I was making Monday a relatively easy day, and when I'd left home Monday morning, I told b&c that I expected to be home at a reasonable hour (i.e., before 8), but, well, no, so at 7:30, which was about the time I'd been hoping to get out of the shower to spend a couple of hours having sex with my partner, I had to call home and say, "Nightmare. Late. Very. Bye."
And then, of course, next week, I'll have little work and no partner around. Should I even pretend that I'm not really looking forward to that? I started the day feeling too stressed to think about sex, but even now my libido is reawakening, and I can't help thinking that one or two days next week would be the perfect time to call in sick and spend my time tying hot married guys to the bed. I'd hoped to do some solo traveling next week, and I may still take a quick trip to Pennsylvania to prune some fruit trees (That is not a euphemism. Yet.), but right now seems like a good time for frugality, and I already have the rope and the sex toys, so the marginal costs associated with tying a man to the bed are very low indeed.