chocolate croissant

i've gotten into the bad habit of picking up a chocolate croissant and a coffee from the 'bucks down the way from The New Boy's place when i leave in the mornings. at first, i tried to tell myself that it was hangover prevention. however, this morning, being no hangover to ward off, i used the "wow these must be fresh - the shop JUST opened" justification. i can feel my gut grow even as we speak - sadly, my ass remains un-plump.

goshfukkit i need an adventure. The New Boy is off surfing with 'the boys' for the weekend. i look forward to laundry and a market day with my mama. how did i become so dull so quickly? i recall the heady days of fucking in a churchyard in the pouring rain. that was, what, six weeks ago? no.. longer now i think.

hold up here, it's not all that bad - yesterday morning i arrived home at 5.35am, covered in olive oil and sweat - still half drunk on red wine and sex - hopped into the shower and went to work. last night i went to the beach to eat sushi and drink beer. crawled into bed. arms wrapped tightly around me.. slow kisses on the lips, the cheek, the eyes. the neck. whisper in my ear - "baby did you come lots last night?" oh yes. "kiss me. take me all in. make me come with your mouth".

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(colleague says to me "what's up with rori?" not sure, i reply. he's 'making things work' with his g.f. i only hear from him when things are rocky or he's bored with the sex. "well you wouldn't fuck him anymore anyway, would you? because of The New Boy?" no, i respond. of course not. but that's not really the truth, is it? would i fuck him again? i don't know.... that's the true answer)