I continue to watch him. It is dark and late. He has showered and is ready to stroke. Some nights are really the early hours of the morning. Tonight’s menu includes some bondage, same-sex, and mixed race intimacies. By intimacies, I mean some serious hard-core #$%$^@$, but I am not going to be that literal. It is always different each time, which is why it has become my obsession.
I have been watching for years. I wonder, does he motivate himself during the day or are his loins pointing in that direction? Either way, it is on his mind. Shamefully, it really turns me on. I wish I could be a part of it. When he is done and the show is over, I wind up feeling inadequate and unsatisfied - completely alone. How cheap is that?
Cheap that I cannot find that passion. I can’t even reach it. The anticipation, the glazed eyes and intensity. The determination to keep seeking out more, all of the strokes and the aggressive tensions before the final “blow”...
I am beginning to sense indifference and detachment. I feel hollow, somehow. It scares me.
However, I still maintain that I require a commitment in my life. I seek out unrequited love and understanding. Forgiveness and honesty. Some semblance of emotional security - a lifelong partner, children and a home.
Until then I will continue my ventures and to seek out answers while I watch. On a final note, I will pretend I am asleep when he returns to our bed.