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Need a nap...

S arrived Sunday night about 6.30, and by about 8.30 we were fucking like monkeys..  Not too hard to see that coming. Though, I feel a little weird about it, so closely following on from the family tragedy I have been through this last week.

I woke up at 2am yesterday morning with S nibbling my ear and stroking my nipples, and shoving his hard dick up me from behind again.  Then at 6am, same thing.. He's a horny beast, and I think that's done me a world of good, in some ways, though my cunt feels uncomfortably bruised at the moment.

I am glad E has been out of town this week, as I smell of S today, and am a bit bow-legged.  And exhausted.. I always go through this dilemma with S, we fuck, I feel guilty, I don't want to do it a 2nd time, and he's panting for more. Feeling a bit covered in S's scent, and not really liking that.

I love him, but I always get to this place where I realize I'm not 'in love'. I was, for many years. Having this kind of relationship with S was my number one goal. Funny, that. Now he's the one pining for me, telling me he wants more, and I'm not wanting to give it.  I am just tired and stressed out, from my difficult week, and I see the pain E is in, and it kills me. 

Oh, how complicated life can be sometimes. I make it that way. I just don't really know how to say no to S, my trouble is I hate hurting people's feelings, and it always leads me to the wrong place.  Last thing I ever want to do is hurt E or S.  I am such a fuck-up.  And all this while, trying not to think about my Ex's horrible 'fuck you' this week, when he didn't want to be friends.

Argh.. I just want to go take a long nap, and wake up next week some time, when S will have gone home, and I have been to a funeral I never wanted to go to, for a wonderful man, who will be much missed by friends and family.

Yes, a death occurred, and I haven't been ready to write about it just yet. Too intense, and strange and crazy, to hold the hand of a dying man, look into his eyes and see his soul depart, while his family stands behind me, weeping.
Somehow, I was called in to be psychopomp for the moment. An amazingly intimate, but taxing service. The family of the deceased had no preparations, and I have been spending hours and hours, in the still air of a small town funeral home, trying to stop the cash-drain on the family, but still make it a tasteful funeral. That's hard.
I never want to have to go with a friend to buy a suit for her dead husband to be buried in again, either.
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