Ripple Effect
At first, not many people knew that I had split from my husband. Just a questioning look here and there, and me, offering no information. Other than here (obviously) I like to keep my personal life, well, personal.
Now, as word is getting out, the effect is more like the ripple effect and the sharks are coming up from the deeps, circling, and looking to try to stake a claim.
My Euro-stalker appeared from the blue. He must have e.s.p. because certainly no one I know would have told him I am newly-single.
An old friend I had follow me home from the club the other night to run interference for me so I could have a graceful escape from Mr. College Football Star was hurt when I fed him breakfast (which I cooked myself!), thanked him, then sent him home. "I thought I was going to get to hang out!"
My husband wants to know if I have a date tonight; he wants to be assured that I will be home alone, drinking away my lonely sorrow as he plans to.
And, no, I don't have a date planned or scheduled. But I don't plan to cry into my beer like the poster child of every old country song either.
What I am, however, is completely open to the idea of giving the bush a good tight trim, picking up Mr. CFS, and bringing him over to score a touchdown or three of my own. This would be a good way to balance the mutual frustration left over from last night, where we parted with a raging hard-on for the gent, and the lady was stuck to the car from the wetness that flowed so prodigiously as to seep through panties _and_ jeans.
Happy V-Day!
Now, as word is getting out, the effect is more like the ripple effect and the sharks are coming up from the deeps, circling, and looking to try to stake a claim.
My Euro-stalker appeared from the blue. He must have e.s.p. because certainly no one I know would have told him I am newly-single.
An old friend I had follow me home from the club the other night to run interference for me so I could have a graceful escape from Mr. College Football Star was hurt when I fed him breakfast (which I cooked myself!), thanked him, then sent him home. "I thought I was going to get to hang out!"
My husband wants to know if I have a date tonight; he wants to be assured that I will be home alone, drinking away my lonely sorrow as he plans to.
And, no, I don't have a date planned or scheduled. But I don't plan to cry into my beer like the poster child of every old country song either.
What I am, however, is completely open to the idea of giving the bush a good tight trim, picking up Mr. CFS, and bringing him over to score a touchdown or three of my own. This would be a good way to balance the mutual frustration left over from last night, where we parted with a raging hard-on for the gent, and the lady was stuck to the car from the wetness that flowed so prodigiously as to seep through panties _and_ jeans.
Happy V-Day!
posted by desert diamond at 6:19 AM
2 Comments:
Big changes are afoot.
Hm, they must smell the difference or something.
Have fun, but be careful out there.
It's like blood in the water, and I'm the chum.
...okay, I'm not really comfy with _that_ visual.
I'm hoping to emerge unscathed, and still able to show my face among proper folk after the carnage.
We shall see!
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