The Hot Attorney and I met at my office on Friday because no one was there. We had wrapped up a demanding three-day conference, so my coworkers were taking the day off. He was quite excited. We hand’t seen each other in weeks. I called him when I got to the office and commented that a storm was brewing outside. He said it was “Hurricane Geoff.” I laughed so hard!

He had been to a funeral and was in a suit. Damn, he is good looking. He never took off his pants, just unzipped and pulled it out. I licked and sucked…deep throated…bit his nipples hard (he loves that) and knelt below him as he jacked off and came on my open mouth, tongue and tits (which he greedily sucked beforehand).

Then the mailman knocked on the door and scared the shit out of us!!!!

He stayed and we chatted for a while. He is an absolute doll. So fine, funny and smart.

I really needed to be a naughty girl. Earlier, I got an email from my boss (long story) that pissed me off so bad that The Husband told me to quit, so I think that’s what I’m going to do. It’s not an easy decision to leave a job you’ve loved for 18 years because your boss is a self-centered asshole who never shows appreciation for your dedication and generally excellent work. After seven years of working for him (after 10 years of having an ideal boss), I’ve had enough. The Husband said he can’t stand to see how working for Mac is compromising my emotional well being on a fairly consistent basis.

Last week, I was in the throes of working my ass off to prepare for a three-day meeting for 300 people. I needed a time out, a brief pause to catch my breath, so I went to my bedroom one afternoon, closed the door and stretched out on the bed for a little bit to zone out with some tube time. My favorite show right now is The Great British Baking Show, a BBC program that airs on PBS. It’s the perfect reality show. Everyone is civil, constructive and supportive and it’s about baking! Hello?!?!?!

Plus, one of the hosts is dreamy—Mr. Paul Hollywood. What a fantastic name. He has gorgeous steel-gray hair and piercing blue eyes. And he bakes!!! HELLO?! That, right there, is my fantasy. Couldn’t you just eat him up?

The episode I watched was “Biscuits and Traybakes.” God, I love the British…such an Anglophile. About halfway through, I found myself feeling a little turned on—a combination of my lust for Paul’s blue eyes, British accents and sweet, crispy shortbread. Since my kids were at home (and using my Magic Wand would be too loud), I fished around in the bookcase headboard (never taking my eyes off the screen) and pulled out my trusty magic bullet. Within seconds, I found a much-needed release and discovered a new sense of the term “food porn.”

This afternoon, I finally reached my friend Kerri on the phone, after we had this text exchange on Wednesday:

Kerri and her husband Will started marriage counseling a few weeks ago and I assumed “major things” were bad things. She asked for time, so I gave it to her, but I was really concerned about my friend. When I asked how things were going and if she needed me for anything, she said, flatly, “Will got fired and we are getting a divorce. I just need you to still be my friend.” Kerri is eternally bubbly so hearing her this way was alarming.

Of course, she has confided in me along the way about their struggles and Will’s alcohol abuse, anger, aloofness and being on the Ashley Madison list. Despite all this, she believed him when he said things were going well at work and that purchasing two guaranteed hook-up packages on Ashley Madison was an “accident.”

For a few months, a little more than a year ago, Will and I had “thing”—spending hours sexting and talking on the phone and even getting physical a couple of times. At the time, I wrote several blog posts about him, which I since removed (along with everything else, for that matter). My surreal interactions with Will and subsequent conversations with Kerri made me realize that fucking around just for fun isn’t always what it seems. Looking back, I see how what I did was unhealthy on many levels. Thankfully, it ended without consequence (for me, anyway). This summer, he tried to start it again, but I didn’t bite. Kerri had opened up to me about their problems and I knew things were quickly spiraling out of control in their home. The stories she told about his behavior, especially in front of their 11-year-old, broke my heart.

They celebrated 20 years of marriage in April and now their world has fallen apart. It makes me terribly sad for all of them.

Perhaps it’s a middle-age thing, but several of my friends are getting divorced. Most of them have been married about 20 years. The Husband and I are at 19 and things are pretty fantastic, overall. After spending about an hour talking about Kerri and Will’s situation this afternoon, the Husband looked at me with bedroom eyes and within minutes, we were on each other like a couple of teenagers. Just before he came, he said, “This is good for us.” It’s true. And like most partners, we’re working on the other important things as well.

(Aside: Today was the third day in a row I’ve had sex—Sunday in the park with the Husband; a spank-tacular hook up with Mr. Yummy Cock at his office yesterday [worthy of its own post]; and the Husband again today. Dare I aim for FOUR days and see what the Hot Attorney is doing tomorrow? He is back from a week at the beach with his wife and three young kids, so he’s bound to be ready for some fun. Four is my lucky number.)

Beyond marital discord, several of my friends and I have reached crisis points in our careers/jobs. One friend said that seven years is her limit for putting up with someone else’s bullshit and she was at year 14, double her timeframe. August marked seven years for me. My friend Andrea is at five. I have applied for and want a specific job that is practically across the street from my house! And although no work situation is perfect, I am certain that I could put up with a different set of people’s bullshit for at least seven years.

Have the planets and stars misaligned recently? I read somewhere about Mercury being in retrograde. Is there something in the water? What in the hell is going on? Maybe it’s an age/stage-of-life thing. Do modern 40-somethings just wake up one day and decide they’re mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore? That about sums me up…tired of the bullshit…and bad drivers…and kids these days! Get off my lawn!

A couple of weekends ago, I went on an annual girls weekend trip to a nearby documentary film festival. Jann and I always find a funky hotel/motel to stay in and the other women drive down for the day. We stay up way too late drinking, smoking, talking and cussing. It is something I look forward to every year.

Walking to dinner on Saturday night, she asked me what I fantasized about doing when I retire. She and her husband want to buy a cottage in Oaks Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard. After she told me about the picturesque place, I want a cottage there, too! They’re many years and dollars away from realizing that goal, but I think it’s great they are dreaming big. Her question made me realize that I don’t have fantasies about what I will do when I retire or anything else, really. Practical to a fault, I haven’t allowed myself to indulge fantasies.

OK…I do fantasize about the Husband waiting on me, hand and foot, lavishing me with attention and praise. How’s that for kinky? We’ll own a cottage in Martha’s Vineyard before that happens!

The final documentary we watched on Sunday night was Love Between the Covers, a fantastic peek into the world of romance writers and readers. I highly recommend it. Hearing the stories about how these women became romance writers was intriguing. They have incredibly vivid imaginations and tell compelling stories. Their followers are hard core, too.

Learning more about their amazing work made me realize that what I write is 100 percent flat nonfiction, no embellishment. It must be all that journalism training I have. Moreover, it made me want to work on developing and writing about fantasies in the context of character and place, even if it’s a thinly veiled version of my story.

Jann and I talked about people we know who earn money from following their bliss and how much we envy them. You know…”Do what you love and the money will follow.” I finally figured out that writing, editing, telling stories makes me happy. What I actually do with that fact is another thing entirely.

Perhaps the last thing the world needs is another romance writer. Regardless, I plan to start learning and writing during National Novel Writing Month in November. If I come out of it with a few fantasies under my garter belt, I will consider it a resounding success.