Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Turns out, not as long ago as I thought.
I scroll my Instagram for only a moment when I see a picture I forgot I’d taken in my garden. It was hotter than Hades, so I only had my bathing suit on along with my fanny pack so I wouldn’t have to keep up with my phone.
There’s nothing better than putting in headphones and listening to an audiobook while weeding. It’s 100 percent meditation for a mind not built for clearing. Instead, it’s as close as someone like me can get—being able to focus on one single thing without effort. A mindless task like pulling weeds for my body to zero its hyperactivity in on, combined with all my conscious thoughts focusing on the book being read… it equals pure bliss. Producing a calmness I’d never felt before I accidentally fell in love with gardening.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I send him the link to the Instagram photo.
WillDive4Plants:
As close as I can get. I don’t have anything else that’s recent and shows more than just cleavage.
When the little checkmarks don’t turn black to indicate he’s seen the message, after a minute, I remember I have to get my ass to work finishing the book.
Four hours later, I’m more upset than I have been in the past year.
And there’s only one person I want to tell about it and make me feel better.
WillDive4Plants:
OMG I'm sobbing in the locker room. I lost everything I wrote today. My laptop shut down, and it didn't autosave, even though I have it set! 😭 FML
Thank goodness, his response comes fast. There’s no solution in it, but just his attention is enough to calm the rising panic enough I can take a breath.
RomanticSadistLL:
Holy crap, I didn't think that was even a thing anymore with all the autosave options.
I squawk before realizing he can’t hear me, “Exactly! It shouldn’t be a thing anymore. But it’s—"
WillDive4Plants:
Right?! But it's Mercury fucking Retrograde, so just… Fuck me. Of course this happened 🙄
“Great, now he’s going to think I’m extra-extra crazy when I go busting out my astrology shit. Great job, freak,” I grumble to myself, ignoring the girls giving me weird looks as they go from the steam room to the sauna.
RomanticSadistLL:
LOL! Poor little thing… Come sit on my lap, and I'll make it all better.
That makes my breath completely halt in my lungs.
First, I picture Gym Daddy… sitting on a workout bench upstairs, since that’s the only setting I’ve actually seen him. He pats his thigh, and I enter the image as he reaches out with his other big hand, pulling me toward him when I go to sit on his knees. The move makes my ass nestle right up against his cock, which is easily felt through his gym shorts. I see my knees draw up, and his thickly muscled arm comes around them, wrapping my whole body up in his embrace as he hugs me tight.
And then I watch as something happens that I haven’t allowed since my life began to slowly crack almost two years ago before it completely fell apart.
All the tension in my entire body dissolves, and as I deflate, his arms tighten even more, seeming to keep me held together while I allow myself to finally crumble, a dam not breaking but bombed on purpose. No longer needed to hold back a river of emotions and mental turmoil as it’s permitted to flow freely, redirected and safe away from destroying anything innocent nearby. As long as I’m right here, in his arms, I can let it all out without the worry of it touching anyone else.
I snap out of it just long enough to send one message before I drift once again.
WillDive4Plants:
No, I did not just read that and catch myself curling into fetal position.
Second, I picture Dumpster Daddy. Probably because that’s the last time I actually sat on someone’s lap. Before then, it had been a super-long time. I’m not a cuddler, and Art didn’t mind I’d rather not be wrapped up, where I’d get all sticky and gross, especially at night in bed, since my Prozac gives me night sweats.
So sexy.
But I was happy on Dumpster Daddy’s lap, comforted and comfortable as he first checked out my hand. Another big, strong, muscular man, clearly older than me, taking control of the situation and allowing me to follow his lead. What a relief it had been not to have to figure out how to get myself out of the mess I was in.
That’s all I want.
That’s all I crave.
My mind is too full, screaming with too many voices, to try to make wisely thought-out decisions. It makes me impulsive, where I just say “fuck it” and pick whatever is yelling the loudest, and then I have to deal with the consequences of that “make it stop” reaction.