In.Fek.Shun.
I ache in all my muscles, my head feels like it weighs about 20 pounds (which it may, given the quantities of tissues I'm using up), there is that tightness in my chest and the rattly "oh, fuck, don't let me cough now because it's going to hurt like a bitch" sound and sensation when I inhale.
When I cough, I spit brown into the toilet.
(I didn't tell you this would be pretty.)
But this morning, while navigating the tisues which had missed the basket on the floor beside my bed, I caught a glimpse of my Dynamic Duo on my nightstand. I seriously thought about wanking.
I didn't, thinking that an orgasm might very well lead to spontaneous combustion or, at the very least, my head would explode. I worried that I might not be able to breathe if I were to achieve bliss. Because sometimes that happens. And my nose doesn't really work anyway.
Also, my skin hurts. Like, it's extraordinarily sensitive to pressure. I was putting on lotion after my shower and it hurt to smooth it over my body. My body, which is swollen and sensitive because, along with my upper respiratory infection, I also have my period.
I thought about fucking this morning. I've been writing about it and reading about it and so I had a brief thought interlude about me fucking. About me being fucked well: Slowly, and with great tenderness and love. Let me just say that the thought of this left me feeling a not a little scared. The aching muscles are not just in my neck and back. Envisioning a cock invading my pussy makes me shudder. Which is weird.
It's because I'm sick. Because I feel like ass. I want someone to take care of me. That's why I was having disturbing thoughts about wanking and fucking. I don't want sex. I want closeness--that closeness that happens when someone knows what you need and you don't have to tell them. The closeness that lets you exist together easily. That is what's missing. That is what I need today.
I drink tea and blow my nose and feebly fold little-boy-underwear and write and help my friends with their projects. I fantasize about sleeping.
I want to lie on my new mattress (I don't have one yet, this is my dream, folks.) propped into the most comfortable position and be lulled to sleep by the warmth of a hand on my head and the sound of even breaths going in, going out.
I want to fall asleep knowing that someone is here to care for me, making soup from my kitchen and holding the cup for me later as I drink it, steaming hot and salty.
When I cough, I spit brown into the toilet.
(I didn't tell you this would be pretty.)
But this morning, while navigating the tisues which had missed the basket on the floor beside my bed, I caught a glimpse of my Dynamic Duo on my nightstand. I seriously thought about wanking.
I didn't, thinking that an orgasm might very well lead to spontaneous combustion or, at the very least, my head would explode. I worried that I might not be able to breathe if I were to achieve bliss. Because sometimes that happens. And my nose doesn't really work anyway.
Also, my skin hurts. Like, it's extraordinarily sensitive to pressure. I was putting on lotion after my shower and it hurt to smooth it over my body. My body, which is swollen and sensitive because, along with my upper respiratory infection, I also have my period.
I thought about fucking this morning. I've been writing about it and reading about it and so I had a brief thought interlude about me fucking. About me being fucked well: Slowly, and with great tenderness and love. Let me just say that the thought of this left me feeling a not a little scared. The aching muscles are not just in my neck and back. Envisioning a cock invading my pussy makes me shudder. Which is weird.
It's because I'm sick. Because I feel like ass. I want someone to take care of me. That's why I was having disturbing thoughts about wanking and fucking. I don't want sex. I want closeness--that closeness that happens when someone knows what you need and you don't have to tell them. The closeness that lets you exist together easily. That is what's missing. That is what I need today.
I drink tea and blow my nose and feebly fold little-boy-underwear and write and help my friends with their projects. I fantasize about sleeping.
I want to lie on my new mattress (I don't have one yet, this is my dream, folks.) propped into the most comfortable position and be lulled to sleep by the warmth of a hand on my head and the sound of even breaths going in, going out.
I want to fall asleep knowing that someone is here to care for me, making soup from my kitchen and holding the cup for me later as I drink it, steaming hot and salty.
7 Comments:
The fact that you're actually thinking about wanking means you're getting better yes?
Um, not to seem rude, but the fact that I'm thinking about wanking means I'm breathing.
Ok, I was going to leave a comment that was sympathetic and wished for a speedy recovery for you, but now I can't stop laughing at your comment.
feel better!
O
Madeline,I can sympathise entirely, as I seem to be in exactly the same boat right now - I have Larygitis and Bronchitis.
I'll just wish you a speed recovering, from myself and the giggling O!
With love
Scarlet
Oh Madeline, I hope you feel better soon. I relate completely to wanting closeness and caretaking, I become a weeping chaotic mess when sick. Not pretty, not in the least.
Hope you feel better soon. I've been running myself down. I so need to go wank but the kids don't give me the time or the the noise level. Have to send them to thier dad soon lol. Hugs to you and thanks for the great blog :)
That is a good feeling.
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