I don’t like New Year’s Eve.
It’s one of those nights that always has a big build-up, and is always an anti-climax. But that’s not why I dislike it.
I hate NYE because every year I spend it thinking “next year will be the one. Next year I will fuck somebody”.
It’s the most boring and repetitive resolution, and it never changes. It’s tediously predictable, and inevitably results in me getting angry about life in general, and usually taking it out on the ones I love.
Today is special; this is the tenth year – a decade of wishing to slip between the warm moist folds of flesh, of wanting my cock between a pair of willing lips, needing to taste a wet dripping cunt and squeeze and suck a pair of soft breasts with hard nipples.
This year was the closest I came, but things didn’t work out. Perhaps they will next year, who knows. But suffice to say that in a few hours’ time I’ll be listening to the midnight chimes and mourning the passing of another fuck-free 365 days.
Happy New Year.
