Don’t talk (put your head on my shoulder). An early wakeup, a drive to the airport, through the security check, walk to the departure gate, kill time, board plane, eat, nap, read Hesse, disembark, find city bus, get on subway, get on streetcar, walk to B—-’s house, nap, go for dinner with B—- and new girlfriend K–, walk back, talk, go to sleep on couch.
Not much to add, except to point out (though oh how I wish I didn’t need to) that the randiness continues to threaten my mental health. I spent much of the day drooling over everything with a cock under the age of thirty or whatever. I’m not picky. I want my husband’s cock in my mouth; is that too much to ask?
