Dic Pics and Foot Fetishes

Dear Boys on the Internets,

Hi! Nice to make your acquaintance. I will shortly be writing to you individually I would imagine. Opening with something generic like, "hope you're having a lovely day!" Please feel free to return the sentiment. Following this banal exchange of pleasantries we can arrange to meet up in person, because, let's be honest, all bets are off until we've done the human equivalent of dogs sniffing each other's butts.

However, before we proceed, let me offer  a little suggestion. Something you really should know by now, unless you were raised by wolves, or something, because any rational human being with the minimum of brain cells needed to breathe should know this...

No, I do not want to know about your fetish before we've even shared a cup of liquid legal stimulants.

(I'm happy for you that you have found something that hits your "yes" button, and should we proceed to something beyond the aforementioned liquid stimulants, I will be happy to discover if this is a "yes" button for me too! Yay! Everybody wins!)

Just not yet...let me finish my cup of coffee first!!

Also...

Yes! Hurrah! You have a penis! I'm glad you've discovered this! I've known for quite a while that boys have penises... (I don't, being a girl and all). While I'm so happy that you love your penis, it is, after all a part of you...no matter how proud you are of having this extra appendage, now is not the time to show it off.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this letter. Just incase you are still at all confused...

No dick pics and the fetishes can wait!


Sincerely,

A generally very calm and rational girl who's patience as been sorely tried today.

Home is Where the Hollywood is...

I woke up this morning
and you were on my mind.

A hangover from a dream.
(my subconscious still converses with you)

One turn and out of bed,
the canyon air, perfect.

The kind of day you only get in LA,
in spring, before the heat.

My mind melds the dream with reality,
and I want to continue that conversation over lunch.

I mentally pack a picnic basket,
food binds us where little else did.

Soon I'm feeling the wind in my hair
with you in front of me.

Dreams are beyond the need for safety,
we're flying...

Reality begins and ends in dreams.
Though not real, Facebook smacks of reality.

Post on my home feed
of how to love yourself more.

I am confused.
This is not the problem, it never has been.

I love me and have the capacity to love you,
but you don't, not me or (I have a sneaking suspicion) you.

This perfect late morning in the Hollywood hills,
it should be a movie.

My subconscious makes it a movie,
"You're supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for [fuck] sake!"

The setting may be right,
but the players are not.

Obviously I have not reached the arc.
My plot is still being written.

Until then, I will be kind to myself
and remember that reality begins and ends in dreams.