Reid. Reid. Reid.

Beard and piercing eyes. Soft hands. Warm heart. Stong lead.

My dreams are haunted. Literally haunted. Every night, I dream. Every day, I wish, hope, dream. I don't even do it intentionally, it rises forth from within me, unsummoned.

Is it really from you, God? Or is it just another Joe-virus?

I don't want to be like those ladies...I don't want to be an illustration point. I don't want to be secretly pitied like I pity them. I don't want to wake every night feeling dirty and less-than-pure just because some slimball awakened in me a passionate thirst before I was supposed to even know what passion was.

I fight with my own thoughts everyday. I fight with feeling dirty, used, unwanted, impossibly undesirable coupled with this intense sexual fire that can't go without flaring every couple of days.

I don't want to be that lady with cats or a hobby or a demanding job.

I don't want to be that statistic. I don't want to have to find fulfillment in romance novels, stupid TV movies and always shying away from looking at real couples with real kids with real Callings just because it hurts too much.

Am I damned to this permanent state of just not being good enough? Of being caught in limbo?