As the morning ablutions evolved I had a distantly familiar feeling. What am I talking about, it’s not that distant. I began to think I had committed self harm last night.
This was a rough weekend. Strange, too. I’d been altogether negative about the second encounter with the woman from the sleazy dating site (she was not sleazy herself, but the site, well…).
I think of the encounter now, the experience, and maybe I shouldn’t be so ready to ghost or be ghosted. That was, still, a crazy amazing body and physical rapport.
But she got stupid drunk, which I didn’t see coming. I had blamed myself for this but really, it was all her suggestions. I guess. I don’t know. She was fine the next day but it was the only reason she stayed the night. There again, though, I trail the sentiment with “I guess.”
It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to worry about this. Growed-ass woman makes her own decisions.
But the self harm thing… I spotted what looked like blood on my phone. I scoured the rest of my space, looking for more, finding none. In the past the opposite was true. The blood appeared slowly, like a mold that had crept up, invisibly, over years, revealing itself all at once as the horrid accumulation of self-loathing and abuse let grow until it swallowed the good parts of me.
But it was none of that. Far more innocuously, I conclude it was blood from my mouth, erupted from my first-ever water flosser. Perfectly normal in itself, I used the device for the third or fourth time in the shower last night, the phone there as a masturbational aid. Even with the vigor of a woman’s body still in me, her taste still in my mouth, I don’t stop with that habit.
But I slept crazy. In bed by 8 I was back awake at 12:30, don’t know how long before sleep resumed. I woke up far from where I would have laid down. Not on the other side of the room, as used to happen, but still far enough away that it’s like I was getting away from something. Getting away from the woman who stayed the night when I did not really want her to, and when we had agreed there would be no sleepovers.
But she was not there last night. That was the night before. So I retroactively sleep-thrashed at her, driving her away when she was already gone.
I remembered a Payphone Radio call I made once, when I woke up with a seriously nasty black eye, and no memory of what happened to make it that way. Did I get punched by a conspicuously un-neighborly neighbor? Did I, as a foggy memory implies, order food delivery and delayed answering the door when the delivery guy arrived because I was masturbating? And did I open the door engaged in that act, leading the delivery dude to punch me?
That’s a favorite theory, not that I use favorite to indicate preference or affection. I had collapsed in bed when the delivery doorbell rang, barely raising me to consciousness but enough that I could get to the door and open it. My cock was hard as a brick. That’s what happens when I go to sleep, for I don’t know how long a period of time. It’s normal enough but in this context it made quite an impression.
A similar incident occurred when a leak in my kitchen suddenly erupted, flooding the room and pouring into the apartment downstairs. I was crashed out in bed when I heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen. The sounds were that of the owner of the building soaking up the water with whatever towels he could find. I entered the kitchen, naked and with a cock as hard as it could be, unaware of the circumstance and surprised to find the owner of the building there at about 11:30pm.
I felt horrible for the incident, for the flooding. But man, that dude will never look at me the same way again. I stood there for several seconds as he just looked, and looked. Not in a gay way, just a look of wow, that’s a hard cock.
The Payphone Radio call I made after incidents like this said, in effect if not outright, that some day I’m going to wake up dead.
I don’t know why this came to mind last night but I woke up imagining myself paralyzed, stuck in bed until someone comes to look for me. These days that probably would not take too long but in the past I’d have stayed frozen like that until I starved to death.
I started making video of myself masturbating again, reviving fond memories of the woman who liked to watch me do that. She watched me shower, shave, and pee. She never attended my shit performances and that was fine with both of us. I never watched her pee but when she shaved her legs I would ogle, to her liking.
She said she loved the energy and vigor I put into masturbation, and how hard I got. She was there for my inspiration, of course, shirtless and sweet.
I thought the blood might have come about from that activity last night, but I settled on the water flosser, which blasts water far more vigorously than I expected.
Time to work.
