I actually do have friends

Anonymous.Boy (that would be the boyfriend) and I had a disagreement this evening. And then he promptly went to sleep. Well, that sucks. So, I went back home and call a friend. We went out and ended up, as usual, spending a few hours chatting over drinks.

I won't lie and tell you that I was totally not hoping that A.B had tried to call or email me, and was worried when he couldn't get in touch with me. But, no. He's probably still sleeping anyway.

I have very very very few people that I feel are truly my friends. I can count all of my friends on one hand. With room to spare. This person, let's call them Anonymous.Friend (I am so fucking creative, let me tell you). No, let's pick something less generic. Quail. This friend is called Quail. Guess why (don't worry. It's really obscure; you'll never get it). ...

Anyway, Quail is genuinely one of the few people that I can really talk to. I wonder if I talk to much and get on Quail's nerves, but I never actually feel that way when I'm with Q. I'm just terribly insecure sometimes. We meet frequently for drinks and spend hours in conversation. Some mundane, some less so. Past sex lives. Religion. Academia. A little gossip. The thing is, I really couldn't careless if I had two friends or two hundred. If I have a couple friends like Quail, I don't need a bunch of sorry acquaintances whose toes I'm afraid to step on. Who I feel awkward around when we talk about sex.

Like, most of my friends don't know about my walk of shame, while my shirt was covered in stripper makeup. Or how the stripper make up got there. Or why, in fact, I was doing the walk of shame. Most of my friends don't know about that weekend when Ex.Boy and I tried to really push the limits of reason and had sex 13 times. That was pretty ridiculous. We're counting Friday 6pm - Sunday 10pm. That's like once every four hours. My pussy was so tired. Muscles I didn't know existed were tired. I love sex, and we were pretty hyper sexual. But I'm more into erotica and stuff, rather than having sex EIGHT TIMES in one day (Yes, quickies counted). I'd rather draw it out; something slow and sensual.

THE POINT IS... I can talk about that with Quail. I don't have performance anxiety with Quail (I have performance anxiety about everything. Including yellow lights. Weird, huh?)

Quail and I made plans to see the play tomorrow. I wish it was South Pacific (which is in town). Oh, god, I wish it was South Pacific. But, it's just a play at the local college. Hopefully we'll share a bottle of wine and have another great night of conversation.