Sometimes (like this time) they last too long (and not in a good way.). Because we’re done.
We can take it personally when erections don’t go as we’ve hoped. We wanted to feel the excitement, the pleasure, the release.
Was it our fault that it was a dud this time?
Things looked good at first. But now there’s anxiety. We don’t know what to expect.
We don’t want to worry but we’re uptight. “It’ll be okay,” we say out loud to ourselves. We’re in it together - we think.
But it feels threatening somehow. Like we don’t know what’s going to happen next. Like it could be really bad. But we hope not.
So we imagine it’ll be good enough. Fine. Solid. Safe. The way we’ve experienced it in the past. Like when we would lie down afterwards and have a cigarette.
If we smoked. Which we don’t. But we might start.
We phone a friend to talk. They tell us to relax. Don’t worry. It’ll turn out okay. It’s not a threat.
Our lesbian friend says not to worry. But does she have a dog in this fight? Not so much.
When will we know?
We have absolutely no idea.