Last weekend had me hosting the friend of a friend’s friend. He’d come to my town for auditions and needed a place to stay, and I was the most comfortable option for him. He was to stay till Monday morning, and I was fine with that arrangement, especially since he’d feed himself and I’d spend minimally.
He arrived late in the evening with his tinted hair and soft voice. And I was quite friendly towards him as we cracked jokes and stuff. That night, hands roamed and things happened.
He told me the next day that he hadn’t had sex in ages (that explained some things), but that he felt a connection with me and all. And I could tell that he wanted to have another go at it. But I was not interested any longer. I felt bad. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I felt I’d used him to satisfy an immediate desire and now that it had been quenched, I wasn’t interested in touching him anymore, though he did have a cute butt.
Then the rest of the days were a bit trying for me. I live alone. And though sometimes I wish I had a roomie, it feels good to live alone. It appears that social interactions exhaust me. I’ve gone to places where people would be plenty and I’d have so much fun but I’d suddenly feel very mentally tired and grow quiet or go outside for some air. Continue reading