Sending a mass “Are you busy tonight?” text to all the men I know who’d be willing to go down on me is a bad idea. Right? RIGHT? Someone talk me down from the ledge. Quickly. My level of pent-up need, longing and general wantonness has reached a tipping point and my body wants me to resort to drastic measures.
I can’t quite let myself hit send on this need-major-tending-to-NOW all points bulletin. I don’t do that. Only a select few have been allowed to preform on my stage, though many have auditioned for the position. My body is shouting for an open casting call. I will breath. I will remain calm. I will remain in control. I will stop soaking my panties.
Just one tiny text?