whatiwas

My sex drive came back suddenly, catching my neurons and blazing a path through my imagination as rudely as you can probably imagine, riding a wave of caffeine and misplaced hormones straight down into the depths of the more salacious parts of my id. The return of my physicality, however, was not enough to resurrect my emotions, leaving me in the interesting position of being physically primed to explode, if you'll excuse the heavy-handed metaphor (one among many, my critics would unequivocably be quick to opine), with an emotional block demanding that no one so much as touch me.

I'm exhausted, I think, muscles tensing and releasing of their own accord, biologically reacting to thoughts I can't remember generating, vision frighteningly clear. Were I a tougher man, I'd say I'd be the last person worth fucking with and the first man worth fucking.

But I'm not, and so I'll just say I'm me, because anything else would be simply inadequate.