Alright, who got her worked up?

I'm having lascivious thoughts of late.

Sometimes/most of the time I hate boys, but most of the time/sometimes I find them terribly distracting.

It's funny, the one who is distracting me now, he fits almost perfectly into an awful piece of erotica I wrote years ago. I happened to come across it and read it, thinking of him as the main character . . . oh my! It's like a whole new story. And it works, because I wrote that story for/about a guy whom I'd never seen in person, so there's really just the most generic description.

And like the guy for/about whom I originally wrote the story, I have no intention of really pursuing this man in real life . . . because I don't do "mistress."

But, the point I'm trying to get to (if I can refrain from picturing said guy as that character for just 5 minutes) is that one should write, erotica or otherwise. I don't care if it is horrible. It's a neat little time capsule of who you are at a given point in time. I cringe with every reading of that story, but it reminds me of who I once was, and how I've grown since then.

Back to my regularly scheduled fantasious dalliances.