Crave. Need. Only half-awake, my body turns to present my ass with an expectant moan.
“Fuck me…” I exhale in a whisper, “please…”
I know there’s nobody to hear, and I for a moment I halfheartedly toy with the idea of digging around for a toy — when I suddenly realize what woke me after barely 5 hours of sleep.
“Fuck!” An angry, muttered curse this time, as I hear the landlord banging on the neighbors’ door again. He’s there to do some repairs; apparently the main plumbing line issues have caused enough damage that some shelves in their kitchen fell down from a water-soaked wall. He still refuses to acknowledge that all of the water-in-the-wall issues are related, or might be symptomatic of a much larger issue, and insists on doing little patch-up fixes here and there, and insists on doing the work himself instead of hiring a licensed contractor to do the major repair work the place really needs.
So instead of having even a moment to slowly wake, or the luxury of pleasuring myself, or even the freedom to go back to sleep, I’ve spent the last 3 hours listening to slamming doors, hand saws resonating through drywall, stomping up and down and up and down the staircase… and as if that weren’t enough, it seems that the Bitch-Child has returned after several days’ absence. I’d forgotten just how much my body tenses from hearing her voice. I haven’t heard her Boy Toy yet, though it’s often later in the evening that he arrives so I won’t be surprised if I have to deal with him tonight.
The sawing sounds are still coming through the wall, there’s a car sitting on the street with bass blasting, and the dudebros upstairs are thumping around as usual. If I don’t get dressed and get the hell out of here as soon as I can, I’m not going to keep my sanity.