The Hunt is On.

I need to get laid. Simple as. I’ve figured out what’s missing. Aside from Number 42, I’ve had no meaningless sex during this breakup and this is something that needs to change… and fucking pronto.

The Fireman (Number 4) has been texting me recently. He’s breaking up with his girlfriend of about five years and not handling it well. He thinks she has cheated on him which is kinda hypocritical seeing as we slept together a couple of years ago. He’s turning to me like I’m some kind of breakup guru. Pah! I can’t handle my own breakups although apparently I am very good at giving out advice for other people and their’s.

We’re meant to be meeting up on Friday. I doubt it will happen. I seem to have gotten somewhat of a handle over the whole non-cancer situation that’s going on though. I’m even contemplating going back to work at the end of the month. I can’t just sit at home and feel sorry for myself any longer. I’m no longer pining for Jock like some kind of obsessed teenager and I’m just bored. It’s time to get back out there. I’ve signed up to pole dancing lessons because I want to learn how to do aerial silk acrobatics, and I think it might help me get the whole ‘lose weight – tone up’ thing back on track. With the illness, I’ve put on some weight and I can tell you this – I’m not fucking happy about it.

I don’t think I want to go to back to work though and that’s half the problem. I want to quit my job and be a writer. I’m getting so close now. The new websites are doing what I want them to… Well, they are heading in the right direction anyway. I’m just not rich enough or ballsier enough to do it yet… But I will. Soon. I keep promising myself that.

I need to have meaningless sex. I need to feel the weight of a man on top of me. I need to feel sweat on sweat, skin on skin, hearing the explosion of his breath in my ear as he climaxes hard inside me. He needs to be hot and he needs to be my rebound. I don’t want a relationship because honestly, I don’t have time for all that shit again. Not right now. I want to go back to work soon and I need to write more if I want to get rich. I want to start working out again and then there’s the pole dancing and aerial acrobatics I want to do too. I just want a man to come in, bang me and then leave. It’s as simple as that really. I’d like him to be hot, covered in tattoos, preferably with a beard, and a killer body but not bald; I hate bald guys. I’m a body-hair kinda gal but not too much. No one likes a gorilla.

I don’t care how tall he is as long as he is taller than my little five foot four ass, but he must have half decent teeth. There was this one cutie on POF that I started chatting too but after a bit of Instagram stalking I discovered he was basically missing the front sections of both his upper and lower teeth. Sorry, missing teeth is a deal-breaker for me. I don’t care how great his personality is. Big Love had missing teeth and he had these weird ones that he popped in whenever we went out and that was fine for me. If he could, so can the other tooth-less guys. End of discussion.

I just need to have sex. I need to have sex with someone new, someone that isn’t Jock. He can’t be the last person I fucked. He can’t be the reason I’m not getting laid.

The hunt is on.

It’s time for a new boy toy.