The London Beer Garden

Something about London that drips with repressed sexual urges. The people, men and women alike, here are so subdued and polite but look very frustrated. There is a show on television right now called "The Girls Guide to Sex in the 21st Century" and I'm not kidding they've said three times "Most of us have sex is only one or two positions". They're now teaching me the Lotus position. I have to admit, that looks like fun. I am happy to report though that the women on this show all have at least racing stripes - fuck yea, no folliclly challenged vagina in the UK. God save the Queen for that.

Anyways.

I was sitting at the Three Magpie's pub tonight outside in the back. This area of the pub is known as the Beer Garden. After a few pints I relaxed a little and started to let my mind wander through it all. I couldn't imagine how much better this trip would be sitting out in that garden with a lover.

I don't care what the other title is in the relationship - girlfriend, wife, etc.. tonight the lover aspect would have been the one I'd have catered to. Heavy petting, deep kissing, and slightly inappropriate hand placement under the table. It's dark, it's 65 degrees, it's breezy, the 3/4 mile walk to the pub had a light sweat worked up, and the beer was just perfect. and I've been away from home long enough to realize that I'm not just a day or two away from being back.

Strange what the mind can pickup on. I should be missing my dog, my xbox, my office, my friends, and my ability to order sweet tea. I'm not. I'm missing a lover that doesn't exist. I'm missing lovers that once existed. I can't decide how much of the person it is or how much of the acts.

I wonder how much of it is "take me home and fuck me" or "we need to go, now". I wonder how much of it is the desire to see the new panties sliding off to the floor or missing the impromptu blow jobs. Maybe it's the fucking over a jack-o-lantern or that feeling of stepping into a hot shower with whispers of lust coming from lips that are moving below my waist.

There isn't anything about a lover I don't miss. I might miss other things about the relationship, but not tonight. Tonight I don't want tender. Tonight I don't want soft. Tonight I want to feel body heat, sweat, finger nails, hard deep kisses, and thoughts that would make a porn star blush. No holds barred sex. No, not just sex - some wild monkey super zebra sex. Primal.

Will it be different when I wake up? Maybe. Maybe then I simply long for that emotional connection and soft touch - but not tonight. Not this minute. This night belongs to a primal urge that won't be acted on. It's nights like this that are simply tragic, tragic because they're wasted alone in a hotel room in London.