Sitting down, enjoying the sense of physical ease. Thinking, it’s probably attributable to Jenny, half an hour with her still working its magic more than a week later. Her skin and smells and touch, her wordless understanding of my body and its needs.
Jenny having a presence, but far preferable just at this exact moment for such presence to be in mind only. For her to be here physically, that would turn this simple meal into something different entirely. I'm sure I remember reading somewhere, only part of the money you pay to an escort is to be with her, the rest is so you can leave afterwards.
Raising a glass. To simple pleasures, free of entanglements.
My thoughts no doubt fully reciprocated, she probably has her fill of men, being an escort means she can seal off her free time. No need to pander to male egos or be sent running on errands or be moaned at for spending too much money.
But thinking again, maybe she does have a man somewhere. I wonder, does she do with him the things she does with me? Or is he the last one she’d want to have sex with, too exhausted having done it all day, thinking to herself, it’s fine for money, it’s fine when the man leaves afterwards, but not now I’m home, it’s time to relax. Maybe she and her man, all they do together is argue about bills and drinking too much and not getting chores done.
Half the bottle of wine finished. Plate empty. Wonder if I should have some more, um, well, okay, as it’s so delicious, I think I will, thank you. Serving myself. Refilling the glass.
Raising another toast. To solitude. And to Jenny, I love you baby. Wonderful to have you in my mind, wonderful that you’re not here. Some time in the next week, maybe we can meet up, you can once again do all those wonderful things to my body and soul.
