A weird fantasy

I have a fantasy.

It comes when I get sick, and I get sick very often.  The last time, a few days ago, I was spontaneously combusting with fever.  I forced myself to keep the blanket on at least halfway because I knew the night was cold, and my legs were like two tubes full of magma.  So, some trouble sleeping and plenty of time for my diseased brain to obsessively focus on and develop my fantasy.

The fantasy is: I am sick.  There is a girl who loves me.  She wets my brow.  She rubs my shoulders, if I can bear it in my weakened and sensitive state.  She asks, are you okay, Nikki?  You’ll get better.  She kisses me on the cheek then lets me sleep, keeping a wary eye on me in case my condition should worsen.

Sometimes I hold her.  Sometimes I lie apart.  But always I’m next to her, feeling her warmth, taking strength from her lovingkindness.

But there aren’t girlfriends any more.

I had one who brought me over Pocari Sweat and vitamin water when I was ill.  Then she glared at me when I tried to sleep.  She was angry because I’d told her I was moving away to another prefecture and that I didn’t necessarily want her to visit, and I worried that she might stab me when my eyes were closed.  She was a dentist so she’d probably have had some sort of anatomical training that would have helped her to aim strategically and do some serious damage to my internal organs.  But she brought the drinks.

That was twelve years ago.

I’ve had plenty of girlfriends since then, but none who looked after me.  Did I ever look after them?  I don’t think so.  The last time I cared for a sick girlfriend was back in Australia and she didn’t like it, just wanted to be left alone.  But that was true in several respects.

I suppose the girls since then have been more casual, seen only for a good time so if one of us is unwell, we do not meet.

If I want a girl who loves me and cares for me I might have to go out and find one who’s suitable, and then treat her well.  Sigh.

The trouble with this is, I now know for certain that I do not want children.  Any normal young lady who might make a suitable girlfriend of the fevered brow-mopping variety would no doubt want to someday marry and start a family, and even if I told her the truth and she ignored it like they always do, she’d still begin to hassle me about it down the track and we’d have to break up.  I’ve been through that cycle before.

Perhaps I would be happier with an older lady (not older than me, let’s not go nuts) or one who has already had a kid or two.  I would not want to be a step-dad; rather, just be the weekend boyfriend to hang out with.  I’ve dated single mums before and we get along well.  They are more appreciative.  Their expectations are so low they reach down to about where I am.  But eventually they try to get me to meet the kid so I’ll fall in love with it or something, or if Pinay, try to get me to pay for a babysitter when they come over.

Also their boobs look like New Year’s party balloons on the 4th.

Why does no one love me?


  1. dickycone · May 9, 2019

    “The trouble with this is, I now know for certain that I do not want children.”

    I suspect wanting to have kids with us is the only reason they ever really treat us with “lovingkindness” (good word) of the kind you’re talking about.


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