Jealousy creeps in





I'm not jealous in the traditional sense. She can have ten irons in her fire. She's not mine, so I have no claim to get anyway. I am not the first too reach three summit of this mountain. She has become Everest, allowing a train of people to ascend her slopes as long as they have the money to pay for the expedition. I still want to summit the bitch. So I pick her up after work, having resorted to calling the number she gave as an escort, and took her to my place to mercilessly pound her. Don't worry. Of all the women I have known, this girl could wear our a football team. I am irrationally thinking that I want to get her pregnant, and that will make her mine. Now, the retinal side of me knows better. I will never knock her up. Even if I did, my fantasy scenario is different than the reality that she would not suddenly change her ways. However, when you are balls deep in a whore, you like too think these thoughts. It's the only time you can feel elated, let yourself go, and allow yourself base, happy thoughts. 

Then you come, she gets dressed, and you have to drop her back off to her dealer/pimp/next client. Reality is not fun.

 

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