Plaid wool skirts change everything

Penny is goddamn wearing me out.

I swear to god, she is wearing me out like a pencil in the hands of a sixth-grader.

I gave into temptation, and ended up at Penny's Friday night, after I had said I wasn't going to go up. But to give you an idea of how my mind works after a few drinks, there was a woman in the bar -- somebody I'd seen for months -- but this time she was wearing a really short plaid wool skirt that, to top that, was slit up the left thigh, and that got me thinking about how nice it felt to run my hands up Penny's skirt, and before I knew it, I was on my way up there.

We ended up going out for a drink, staying for mroe than a few, closed the bar and talked to this young couple that was getting married, and then went back to her house and laid around on her living room floor talking about... stuff. Christmas ornaments, and stuff from the past, and sex, and who knows what else. I ended up with my head under her plaid wool skirt, enjoying the fact that even on this cold night, she wasn't wearing underwear.

We eventually retired to the upstairs and just frickin' wore each other out. I slept until nearly 3 in the afternoon (though admittedly, we were up until 4:30 in the morning). One of those days where you wake up and think it's already Sunday, but it's not.

Penny now has a very nice, placid white-and-orange cat. Right now it takes up residence in her bathroom, but it seems like a pleasant enough cat and should have the run of the house soon. I can now be comfortable there, knowing that there will be cat hair on things.

I wonder what the hell it is about me and women. I just... adore them. I love almost everything about them. Thinking about them. Touching them. Thinking about touching them. Their smell. Their taste. The sensation of running my fingers over all the fabrics and textures they wear. I just adore all of it. The nice thing about having a girlfriend with a sense of adventure is that when I find myself wondering what it'd be like to touch that thirty-something woman with the great ankles, or that forty-something woman who flashes me a little too much thigh getting into her SUV at the mall, I can call someone and... find out what it'd feel like.

And she enjoys it, too.

Everyone wins.

And everyone is tired afterward.