the life and musings of a kinky slut


I was selfish.  I was lonely.  I was horny.

I had plenty of justifications and reasons for doing it, even though I know I shouldn’t have.

I ran home the last weekend in September.

I didn’t tell many people I was coming because I knew I couldn’t see all the people I really wanted to see.  Precautions needed to be honored, so I didn’t even bother asking to see the faces of some of the people I love.

I did get dick, though. 

Originally, I had three dick appointments set.  Two came through.

Gent was extra generous this trip.  He paid for a hotel room for one night closer to him and then another room for two nights closer to the rest of my friends.

Wednesday I drove for 15 hours to drop off my classmate and then land on Second Best Friend’s couch at 3am.

Thursday was a five Zooms day.  I woke up at 7:30am to virtually tutor students for an hour.  Fell back to sleep.  Woke up at 12:30pm for a panel discussion for one of my extra classes (and possibly got a connect for a residency, fingers crossed).  I repacked the few things I pulled out.  Quick detour for needed coffee. Drove to Gent’s hotel room.  Was called Mrs. Gent when I checked in; trippy.  I played parking meter hopscotch, gave up, and went to my room.  Got a text from Gent saying he’d pay for my parking at the hotel.  Moved my car.  Bought hotel food (cause I didn’t want to leave the building anymore).  Got the food, which included a drink I nursed discreetly for the next three Zooms.  Had a Zoom class at 6:30pm.  Followed by a small group Zoom discussion at 7:30pm.  Followed by a residency Zoom at 9pm.  At 10pm, exhausted, I stripped and took a long hot shower.  Tried to pick an outfit for brunch with Gent the next day.  Snuggled into the covers.  Thought I would read, but instead passed out.

Friday was all about physical touch.  I started the day masturbating in the spacious hotel bed.  I didn’t want to get my hopes up that Gent would want to, and then eventually, fuck me.  But after our brunch, he did.  Twice.  It was good.  It is always good.  I regretted masturbating that morning, but know I needed it all the same.  After my time with Gent, and another detour for more coffee, and checking into the second hotel room, and switching rooms for the obvious cigarette smell, I spent more time in yet another hotel room with another friend.  I didn’t realize how much I needed giggles and cuddles and someone to tell me they loved my laugh.  That was a good night.

Saturday felt like a series of distant moments.  I got to spend a few hours with Second Best Friend at her apartment watching P Valley on Starz while eating chicken and remarking how fucking good the show is.  (I’m currently in the middle of my third watch through.  Trust me; watch the show.)  But that was all she could give me because of family commitments.  I hugged her extra tight in parting, not wanting to let her go.  When I went to see my mother at her job, she met me in the driveway of the hospital.  We stood six feet apart and talked through our masks.  My aunt tested positive, my mother often gives her rides, and neither one of us wanted to risk it.  But all I wanted to do was hug my mother just as hard as I’d hugged Second Best Friend.  That was really hard.  Afterwards, I bought Chipotle, a six pack, and watched Disney+ on my laptop back at the second hotel room.  I bought air fresheners so the air smelled more pleasant. (It did.)  I ignored the couple screaming at each other next door.  And the random slamming of the hotel room doors.  And tried to not hope that Gent would come by.  He didn’t.

Since Gent’s name was on both hotel rooms, I was called Mrs. Gent at least three times that weekend. Not gonna lie: it messed with my head and my heart a little.

I’m glad I went home because I was homesick, and I wanted dick, and I needed a recharge. 

But I didn’t get all I wanted, just enough to keep going. 

That’s all we can do right now, keep going, until things change or get better or, hopefully, both.

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