Last week, I had a pang of insecurity thinking about you doing sex work. I got into my head about it, and for the first time since we started dating, felt threatened by it. You could have been annoyed or frustrated, but instead you made room for my moment of insecurity. You let me talk my way out of it and reassured me, and suddenly I felt like hot shit again, like your bf and capital “D” Daddy and future husband. We fucked three times in a row and now you are sitting across from me reading me sexts by weird horny men who want to send you pictures of them sucking on a dildo, and all I can think is, “I can’t wait until you’re wife.”

When you’re sitting on my couch with your dog, drinking red wine, wearing my Feelin Groovy t-shirt and 32 Degrees Cool black boxer briefs, I want to fill you up with cum even though I filled you up with cum about 45 minutes ago.

We started an exercise competition. There are apps and Apple Watches and points involved. I don’t entirely understand how it works… only that we are getting healthy and plan to live a long time because we are spinning a roulette wheel in your uterus and if we are going to repopulate the earth with progressive artist babies, they need to be raised by parents who stand up at least once every hour and get 10,000 steps and don’t vape and climb a dozen flight of stairs. We are training for parenthood and the civil war and the apocalypse. I’ve never felt so young even though it’s 38 days until my 48th birthday.

Update: it’s been pointed out to me that I used the expression “multiple children” in a previous post. I’d just like to clarify that I have recently lost touch with my ability to reason due to being extremely happy and in love, and things come out of my mouth of which I’m not entirely responsible. What I’m saying is, I’m under a spell… the pheromones have me in their clutches… I see children lately and I don’t cringe… I am being pulled into a vortex of sexy, creative fertility and I don’t want it to stop.