Lying awake in bed at night, Friday night, alone and horny is the definition of what it means to be single. But at least I am able to take care of myself when I need to. It’s a gaurantee. LIving in an overpriced studio apartment, that’s another definition of single. Single serving meals, single “tax” on travel, single seats at the movie theatre. All of these define what it means to be a woman alone in the world. And most times I am happy to be that person. But last night my shower curtain fell down. And I couldn’t get it back up. It was then that I realized I need a man! I couldn’t fix the damn thing and I couldn’t take a shower. Arrg…the single life – this is when I need a man the most! Good for several reasons, men are the best at fixing things that fall, hauling up heavy groceries, cleaning out the gutters and maintaining the car. This is when I need a man most. It’s better to be two sometimes. It’s easier. And the cold November nights seem a little less lonely.

Over a boiling pot of oil and while making sure the samosas weren’t about to burn, IndiaLove and I had the most incredible sex. What is it about food and distraction that makes making love so much more delectable? It must have something to do with the urgency, the heat of the situation and the thought that you really should be concentrating your attention elsewhere. Sexing it up when you’re not suppose to is fun, dangerous and erotic – even when it’s in your own kitchen deep frying samosa! Somewhere between the passionate kissing, the turning over of the samosas and the pulling off of our clothes, we managed to make not only a dozen fantastic little snacks but also some spontaneous love.

Masturbating. It seems to be  the only way to guarantee me an orgasm these days. I’m not entirely sure what is going on in bed with my partner but it doesn’t always figure me into the picture of orgasmic release. I’m enjoying the sex we have, but it always ends the same way – his orgasm and not mine. I’m not so sure he’s confident in the art of “being there” or even in the art of any kind of subtle seduction. He just “goes for it”. Hands and fingers right into the honey pot without even licking the lid first. Too direct. Not enough eroticism. For me, that is. For him – that’s all he needs. A whiff of potential and then it’s all over. I have to wonder what I am not communicating. “Slow down” seems to be fairly straightforward. He is like an eager little puppy that piddles at the first sight of the leash. I may be forced to take this Indian Retriever back to Listening to Commands 101. In the mean time, as he rolls over and sleeps my own fingers and fantasies go to work. Satisfaction 100% guaranteed.