Very long day today.

Woke up fairly early, because I wanted to get a decent amount of stuff done before my haircut at 3 p.m. and my 5 p.m. shift at The Store. I applied to some jobs as usual, then did my workout and left the house.

It’s weird. My bathroom scale says that I haven’t lost any weight. However, I feel thinner than I have in a long time. To the point where, sometimes, I’ll suck in my mid-section, and be slightly alarmed at the sight of my ribcage. Although I’m not even close to the unhealthy weight I was back when I was sick in October 2013, it makes me nervous to be around Mom or Dad shirtless, or even in a t-shirt. I don’t want any comments made. It’s as though I’ll never be satisfied with my own body, and it’s frustrating to say the least. Maybe frustrating isn’t the right word. It all goes back to what I was writing about a while ago. This is something that I’ve wanted for so long – my whole life, as long as I can remember, my one “wish.” Now that it’s coming to fruition, why don’t I feel any happier?

I got my hair done at 3 p.m. – it looks fantastic – and then worked with Alicia at The Store from 5 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Alicia was slightly aghast when I told her that I would need a minimum of two weeks off for my foot surgery, but it is what it is. If The Store were a desk job, I could return to work right away. However, I won’t be able to don the footwear mandated by our head office, so tough luck.

Work was okay. I’ve become a little too good at mentally blocking out my time at The Store. I am also now convinced that the entire town of Newmarket and the surrounding areas are collectively missing a chromosome. That, along with most of their teeth, makes for some very interesting encounters.

Newmarket is also a completely different town than it was when I was growing up there. When I was a kid, we were lucky if we had one Asian and one Black student in every grade. Fortunately, judging by the demographics of the mall, I don’t think that’s the case anymore. The growing diversity is great, but the hicks don’t seem to have gone anywhere.

Work finished on time. I jumped in the car, and headed downtown to drop off my stuff at the Witch Cave. After that, it was time to meet up with Ashton. I took the subway to Rosedale Station, where Ashton had an Airbnb at some random girl’s bachelor apartment. Or, was it a bachelorette?

For never having met the guy in person, my initial encounter with Ashton was surprisingly relaxed. For once, I didn’t feel awkward. We talked about Ashton’s job, and I asked a bunch of questions about random crap that I didn’t really care about to avoid any moments of silence. That lasted for about an hour. The exchange was so ridiculous, though. It was basically Ashton and I going through the formalities of talking first before we finally got down to what we both knew what was going to happen – the whole reason I was there.

While scoping out this random chick’s apartment, I went into the bathroom to freshen up. When I returned to the bedroom, Ashton and I started kissing. It was almost comical how Ashton was rubbing his hands all over my body. The way a kid would pretend that he was making out with someone, in an attempt to make fun of his older sister. Like, rapid hand and arm movements up and down my torso. It didn’t bother me – it was just fucking funny.

Ashton is 34. Despite his New Zealand accent, which would normally send me into extreme heat, I really didn’t find him all that attractive. I was there for penetration, and that’s what I was going to get. The only problem, however, was that Ashton had the sharpest stubble I have ever encountered. It was incredibly painful for me to make out with him. That’s not an exaggeration. I was convinced my skin was slowly being sandpapered off, so I tried to maneuver my face to lessen the impact. This would be a problem on any day of the week, but even more so when you have a wedding with all of your extended family happening in a few days.

I immediately began having flashbacks of a guy I knew while I was working in Florida, who came to work one day with a full-on bloody chin and face. He had told everyone that he fell, but word quickly got around that it was from making out with a beard. I forget the name for the condition, but there is one. Note to self: look it up.

Eventually, Ashton and I moved to the bed. Things moved along pretty fast from there. Tents were pitched, buttons were undone, pants, shirts, underwear, and socks came off, and eventually we had both exchanged some sucky-sucky action. After a lengthy amount of foreplay, I told Ashton that I wanted him to fuck me.

Ashton acted surprised, which was a surprise in itself. Since I “met” Ashton online a year ago, he has always talked about doing the deed with me. Why so shocked now? Performance anxiety? I don’t know. After about five minutes, Ashton got up and grabbed a condom from his suitcase. A very slow entry and a bottle of lube later, it was finally happening.

Ashton was pretty good. I was enjoying things, but he couldn’t last that long. Ashton would be really fast, and then need a breather. As if he were a sprinter or something. It had hardly been five minutes, and then Ashton said that I was going to make him come. I made the foolish mistake of saying that he should. Within a couple of minutes, it was all over.

I thought that I was going to be able to finish as well, but I encountered an unexpected problem: my anti-depressant medication. With these new meds, it takes me even longer to climax than usual. Although I tried once Ashton was done, I knew it was a lost cause. There’s also nothing more unattractive than your partner furiously masturbating, and you having to fake interest until they get there. I dropped it, and we both began getting ready for bed.

Then, the worst thing happened. I had horrible gas. Like, the kind when you’re so backed up that your chest hurts. I coughed, and would fart. Another time, I was just talking and another toot came out. Even though I started moving my leg around frantically, as if I could pretend that it was the sound of a joint popping, I knew Ashton heard it. My stomach was in so much pain, but I didn’t want to go to the bathroom. I knew any relief I could find on the toilet would sound like World War III.

I waited until Ashton fell asleep. I could hear him snoring. Then, I would silently – oh, my God, this is so gross – relieve myself. Ew! We went to bed at midnight. By 3 a.m., I was finally able to fall asleep comfortably. I also had a horrible case of blue balls, but at least that didn’t make any noise.

Goodnight xo