I should have called.

I considered calling him to come see me for lunch. I didn't though, figured it was the dick fiend in me telling me to do that. I'm determined to regain control of myself, so I ate lunch alone. I remember the last time he came to have lunch with me, it was about a month ago. He had on this E.ddie Ba.uer shirt and these jeans from Ol.d Na.vy. He smelled like that giv.enchy cologne I like so much. We didn't even eat. I spent the whole hour in his lap, riding his dick with my face buried in his neck while we were parked in a remote corner of the lot. There were some folks circulating around nearby but I quit trying to figure out if they were in fact looking at us. Once I quit thinking about them, I quit trying not to make so much noise. Good times. I remember he took my panties home with him that day.

I realize I'm an exhibitionist. I have no problem getting down in comprimising places, such as cars with no tinted windows, behind the screen door with the wooden door open in the dark when I know people can see through the door. The porch at 2 am has also seen that side of me, unfortunately.

That lunch time (and a few more like it) were no exceptions to my new-found exhibitionism. At some point I decided to quit being scared, and I've been digging the public freakdowns ever since. When I think about what coulda went down today instead of me eating pizza alone, I feel like I cheated myself.

But I have to remember my goals, and for a little while, my anger. That nigga still owes me an apology for last night.

I don't think I'll be able to keep my draws on long enough to force one out of him, though.