Away Too Long

And by away too long, I mean sex.  Everything eventually comes back to that.

I miss it, at least the idea of it. I ride and I ride and I ride and it abates.  Climbing hills is the best for that. I like to pedal until I am just too tired to summon desire between my legs, my crevice blissfully numb. 

I must be hormonal. How predictable.

Maybe it’s truly been too long but I am just bored thinking about it. I need substance to keep the dream alive. Vibrators and the internet aside, there is really nothing like the quiver of foreign skin intersecting familiar territory.

The other day I rode to a wine tasting. It was a great evening, a brisk ride to some viciously arresting red from a vineyard in Walla Walla named Forgeron. Taste buds at attention, warm with the glow of splendor. That night I had strangely erotic dreams. I have had sex dreams before with its fuzzy, hazy, faceless, body response writhing. You know - you wake up all sweaty and frustrated. This was different, verbal, challenging, flirtatious. By that I mean: me getting hit on, flirted with, verbal parries; several different ones as a matter of fact. Tall, handsome men with thick, thick bicycle thighs. I awoke slightly confused and rather aroused. I headed out for a hilly ride, into a headwind.

I definitely need to get out more. Socialize with people.  My bike, my art, and I are in this intense three-way right now.  Without some input soon, it might just become an insipid vortex.  

And off I ride.