I overthink things.
That’s not really the half of it, of course; I like overthinking things, and I know that overthinking things can be bad for me. But I still do it, and I know I still do it, because I overthink the way I overthink things.
I’m overthinking the trip we’re taking. I’m leaving work early to make the half-day drive to sunny Las Vegas. Not a bad place to hold a conference, mind you… *theatrical sigh*… One is sure one must be able to find something with which to pass one’s time…
I, of course, am busy thinking about all the delectable delights that await me in Sin City: Beth’s lips, Beth’s breasts, Beth’s sweet nether regions… And the things we could do together! Like… Beth in the shower, Beth tied to the bed, Beth shackled to the railing of our hotel room balcony… part of me gets shivers thinking about making Beth come to the conference wearing a onesie under her blouse and skirt… and under that, a butt plug…
And then the overthinking starts. We’ll be in the Mojave Desert. What if it’s too hot out on the balcony for sex, even at 11pm? What if it’s too hot indoors to wear a onesie under a blouse? What if the butt plug falls out while we’re walking around the Casino?
Right now my answers are, respectively, “Let’s do it anyway, we’ll just be quick”, “yeah, on second thought we’d probably better skip the onesie”, and “Butt plug? What butt plug. Walk away, do not look at it, do not make eye contact, just keep walking until we reach either the California or Arizona border”.
Until we’re actually in the moment I’m not sure what our contingencies will need to be. Until then, I can savor the anticipation. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be cool enough at night. Maybe the onesie will be just right. Maybe the butt plug will stay in and keep her horny all day.
Hey, I can dream. Or, at least, I can overthink.