Idle Hands

I’ve been sitting here with my journal staring at it for hours, yet instead of writing in it, my hands have remained idle.

Yesterday with Levy had me spooked. I don’t know if he was just being kind to try and get in my pants or if something was really wrong. My gut says it is the later; hell tiger can get pie anytime he wants, and he doesn’t need mine.

Still I was glad to be going to the penthouse to get a bunch of things to work on for Queen Blackwood. I can imagine her being less than thrilled with the idea that her liaison is making difficult situations in the two-natured community instead of helping to facilitate them.

Roman had even asked me if I was still comfortable going with him to Fang. The truth of the matter was that I was for now, but I could see where that might not be the case soon.

What is it about fertility and a woman that just seems to go against us if we aren’t trying to draw attention to ourselves? Even if there isn’t a pheromone scent there is that air of sex that just permeate our clothes and our surroundings. That earthy clean yet spicy musk type of scent that reminds you of how your essence might taste if your body could be broken open and consumed like oysters on a half shell. Hell, even food took on different feelings and textures.

My body was craving milks and cheeses, chicken was the only meat I could stand the thought of and I went through more strawberries, bananas and apples than a family of four.

I would have worried about having cravings except I knew I wasn’t pregnant. Despite Roman and mine’s joking talk about us having kids it wasn’t possible and it had only been Roman for months.

Still my boobs seemed more full and were so sensitive I usually avoided a bra, my waist seemed to shrink but it all moved to my ass, not that it was needed there. I swear my hair was even having better days. I swear Mother Nature is a fickle bitch, if I was trying to get a date I’d look like lye soap.

So with all those outward appearing changes one thing didn’t change. My libido, I was still as crazy for Roman as ever. I was having to be more careful because my desire to bite was in overdrive and I would not let a special moment like that between us be brought on because I had a bitch in heat mentality.

I had finally called a doctor and asked, although I didn’t like the answer. 4-8 weeks, depending on varying consequences. Apparently Roman feeding me but him taking my blood was like a fertility drug.  I was well fed and my body was in a state of constant regeneration, the leap to nourishing a child and creating one wasn’t that big of a jump, still there was one major missing component and I wasn’t going looking for that one.

So I was getting ready to stay home and put the finishing touches on mine and Roman’s home, at least until this passed. Don’t call it nesting; I’m just trying to stay busy.


About TXMoonbaby

Farmgirl, caregiver, furmommy and try-to-be-writer who floods Twitter with the antics of the characters in my head, like @TammyJo__.

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