I had worried this morning about how I would feel coming back to my flat tonight, but it turns out that after getting sucked and fucked by thirty beautiful women, I'm feeling pretty great, and the overall sense of well-being I had this morning is still with me.
And anyway, it won't always be like this, coming home to a house full of all the non-sexy items she owned. I'll hire someone to clear it all out tomorrow, and the sense of absence around the place like there's things everywhere for two people but one's missing, will vanish. The underwear she's left behind makes me feel disappointment further, as they're not the small or colourful or sexy ones; but the huge white ones that are a let down the instant you realise they exist and that most women wear them, most of the time. They only save their best pairs for the nights they know they're going to sleep with somebody. My childhood dreams of growing old with a beautiful woman and being surrounded by her small skimpy under-garments were dashed and crumbled to dust a long time ago.
I clear away the evidence of last night's events, the spare duvet on the sofa, the empty beer and premix cans, and I put on a jazz record for some background music, then pour myself a large scotch before looking for something to watch in the sports channels before settling on World Series of Poker.
In the same way that female roommates end up having their period at the same time, my best mate always end up calling me while I have a scotch in my hand.
"Hey bro."
"Sup?"
"You right man? I heard that Lust walked out on you."
"Yeah, it's okay."
"You sure? You don't want me to come round and bring some girls for a few drinks?"
