I'm back from riding my bike. I went to 93rd ave and 43rd st. Far. I made 2 detours. One at F's apt complex, and one at the gas station to fill my tires.
No luck at the apt complex. I only did one loop then left once I realized what a goddamn freak I was being. So F, if you ever read this, I still have no idea where you live.
I'm tired. And sweaty. I probably rode 20 miles. Going to take a shower, fall asleep and wake up in time to go out with Dara. Maybe we'll do something physical tonight. It's the second date; is that time for kissing? I forgot the rules.
G'night.
Oh my fucking God. FINALLY. A blog about wanting to fuck my psychiatrist. I can totally relate. My psychiatrist isn't my type either, but he is just ... so fuckable? Something about the self-disclosure and the way he smiles ...
ReplyDeleteHaha, you're pretty darn brave for confessing and just generally moving on from all this "transference" drama. Purple shirt guy sounds cute and a younger and more ethical fuck!
Anyway, I think it'd be cool to have someone intelligent to talk about this psychiatrist-lust. I don't really know how to co-ordinate this shit since I kinda don't wanna put my email out on the internetz so I made a fake one (naturally): omgpsychsex@hotmail.com