Friday, 22 October 2010


Like neighboring planets on different orbits, Virgil and I have been out of alignment for at least a week.

Virgil usually wakes with a nice stiff hard-on. He presses up against my arse, enjoying the feeling of his flesh between my thighs. Theoretically all he would have to do is push a little bit harder and he'd be inside me. I wake up feeling fretful. Recently I am never horny in the morning. We curl up in a loving ball but but my response is friendly, not inviting.

No new work has come in for weeks, only torpor-inducing graveyard shifts at the offices in which I accumulate money by my mere presence. It's like moss growing on a stone. At least I blog while I'm here.

At the moment I really don't know what I'm doing with my life. My libido is flagging. I talk to myself about it. I say: "My cunt feels like a very small animal that doesn't want to be disturbed. It is hibernating. It just wants to be left alone. It feels uncommunicative" Then I feel silly for talking to my body in this way.

I get there later. There's no physical springboard like a morning erection; I need a mental trigger. Once I start thinking about sex my body usually follows. I'm reading a history of the sex trade in London and a few tales of Georgian whoring are usually enough.

Or a gander at one of the teasers keeps sending me. I once had a subscription to The Training Of O. Now they know I'm a pervert and are waiting for me to succumb to my desire to see young women bound and tazed with industrial vibrators.

But Virgil is very hard to catch later in the day. He gets preoccupied with the many strands of his work life. His sexual energy is higher in the mornings. This week it is a joke that we never want sex at the same time.

Finally today at 2pm, after lunch and before I have to go to work, we coincide.

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