Pleasure and Responsibility

Clothes thrown everywhere. The books I want to read are stacked high, collecting dust. The books I have to read are scattered about, some opened, some closed. But all used. An open condom wrapper lies next to the bed, along with her clothes. Nothing is in order. Mother always told me that a clean and organized room is a sign that one has his life in order. Mine clearly isn’t. Staring at her long brown hair, I realize that I’m doing what I want, but not what I should. The 2 ideas of Responsibility and Pleasure are tearing me apart.

My thoughts wander decades into the future. It’s right now that’s impacting my later destination. Is financial security really that important? Will I look back, wishing I had worked harder? I know I will, but at what? Long hours for the raise? Peace of mind? Knowing that, even though I’m old, I’ll be OK, that has to be a decent goal.

But something brings me back to right now. My eyes ride the waves down her hair, to the small of her back, and back up her ass. I worked to get to this point. Hard. What I want is lying right in front of me.

Getting good at game is like a full time job. You’re working long hours, and there’s no paycheck every other Friday. Sometimes the results of the hard work are just good enough. Other times, it’s very rewarding. It comes in the hard currency of soft skin, tight abs and an apple bottom. It brings the most satisfaction, but doesn’t pay the bills.

Thinking that I wish I worked harder in the past never goes away. If only I had studied harder. If only I had approached more and pushed the interaction further. It’s usually one or the other that occupy my thoughts. Now it’s both.

Will I ultimately regret my decision? I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t have the time or energy to pursue both. I’ve chosen one over the other. But both require so much attention. My only fear is that, instead of being very successful at one, and good enough at the other, I’ll fail at both. I know that won’t happen. But the thought lingers. 30 years from now I’ll look back at nights like this and wonder if I should have done something different.

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. My only regret, right here, right now, is that I didn’t fuck her like it would be my last.