Cut to the Chase

He wants an explanation.  Says I OWE him.

I fucked him "no questions asked" for three years then he calls a year ago January, after a year of total silence, to meet me in St Louis, then after that week decides he's in love with me but, as time goes on, absolutely won't answer any generic, oh, for fuck's sake, or otherwise, like personal, questions, much less my "hoping for commitment" questions, then while being clear in his visit here, this January, he doesn't like how I live; I notice, the last two nights he's here, before I take him to the airport, that he doesn't make love like a man saying goodbye to someone he's in love with, so, of course (the only rational action) and making an executive decision:  I decide it's over. 

Exhale.

No more waiting.

Oh, well, de rigueur, par for the course, unexpectedly, now he wants me to drag this dead cat around my neck until the ammonia of its stench asphyxiates me.

I just don't believe I'm that stupid nor do I care for a moment to hang on. 

I do not want to hang on, not that bad.

In other words, I don't think I owe him any explanation.

No autopsy will help.

So sad. Sad that I don't care.

Yawn,  I suppose.

More important to note that I have other fish to fry.





Without those other fish to fry, I would have a migraine lasting days and days.

Onward!