Exile in Guyville.

So it's 2 minutes after I was supposed to have been at work, and I'm sitting here in my fleece shorts (dressing gown?) in front of my computer, dicking around on livejournal. This is how I want to handle that half hour, jerk offs. And the next 3 hours.

I wouldn't go in at all, but I have plans to pick up checks from our ex-building and thus fraternize with I.T. Guy. It's nice to be around a dude who gives me cupcakes and makes excuses to touch me, and not the fag I work with who only talks to me when he wants something. Yesterday he came up to ask what our address was. I asked why. He said he was having something delivered. I said what, your Real Doll? I don't think he appreciated that. He would've appreciated it less if I'd specified which gender of Real Doll I suspect it is.

Ay de mi.

:[

God, that went wretchedly. It's a wonder I ever lost my virginity. I may as well be a born-again one at this point. We can meet on Sundays and stand around in awkward silence with 3 feet of sexual tension between us.

What do normal people do? When I stood up to leave, I ruffled his hair and lingered for a bit to pull it between my fingers and scratch his head softly. When I was sure he had a boner, I moved away and waved. "Well, see you in a month!" He didn't suggest otherwise, and I left. Oh, I.T. Guy.

What is wrooong with meeee.