This post was going to be very different from what it’s turned out to be. I was going to share with you some of my marital history, but that proved too heart-breaking. I was going to tell you about my relationship with my pathological narcissistic father, but that proved too misleading. Instead, I want to tell you about being too much. Always too much.
I’ll survive this nonsense with The Neighbor. As much as it pains me to say so, I’ve been through worse heartache. The death of my father, for one, the end of my marriage the other.
So there I am a year and a half ago. The proud owner of two hurts so great I feared I’d buckle in half and never open up again.
I was promiscuous in my 20s. You might all think I say that with mirth, but I don’t. I lost my virginity at 19 to a boy I thought I loved. We were drunk on room-temperature Costco wine, locked away in my bedroom with my family somewhere outside those walls. He stuck his tiny little penis inside me and broke my hymen, pumped twice and was done. I got up off the floor and sat at the end of my bed looking out at the night sky. The stars held no new message for me that night and I sighed. “That was my first time,” I said.
“Oh, wow, really? Um… sorry, I haven’t had sex in, like, six months.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
I started racking up lovers swiftly from there. Not at an alarming rate, but a swift one, nonetheless. The animal had been released from inside of me; my fear of boys beaten down by alcohol and a lifetime of impatience to feel that thing finally addressed.
A few months later, college found my face buried in my girlfriend’s pussy for a while and after graduation, instead of finding my face buried in musky folds, my nose was filled with cocaine, my system with just about any drug I could get my hands on plus all the alcohol I could buy, and my cunthole stuffed with cocks from every walk of life. Barbacks, bartenders, grad-students, travelers, neighbors, friends, foes, strangers, friends’ uncles, drunks, coworkers, Swedes, married men, friends’ ex-boyfriends, boss’ little brothers, internet friends.
When I met my husband at the age of 27 I’d slept with 33 men and 4 women. Since leaving him a year and a half ago I’ve nearly doubled that number.
Finding who I thought was the love of my life, I thought that thing inside of me was all taken care of. I was grown up, I had a man at my fingertips, I loved myself. Only it didn’t go down that way. Too late I realized that I had banked my entire sexual future on a pony with one fine trick who was gun-shy of its master and I never really knew I needed a goddamned destrier instead.
Nothing this man could have given me would have been enough. That hole, that little hungry beast inside of me, was insatiable. Not only were we mismatched in life in general, despite deep fondness and caring for one another, but we were like oil and water in the sheets. And I didn’t come out of it unscathed.
I’ve spent years rejecting myself — before my ex, during my ex — always denying that I need so much because, I’m told, I’m supposed to need no one, love myself, be enough for myself. But how is that even remotely possible when I yearn for another there. To be high on a pedestal, matched, loved, pounded. It’s always been there. I can’t get rid of it.
I remember being 6 years old and laying in the bathtub on my back, touching my hips and flat nipples, the spot where my legs joined, and staring at the little rectangle window high above imagining Billy Valley peering in watching me. He was 7. Over the years I always had a longing to be watched. I believed they’d truly see me then and I would be more than a particle in a sunbeam, I would be light.
Billy was first, but then it was Ben, then it was Jason, then it was Zack, the boy for whom I’d undress in front of my bedroom window for from the ages of 7-13 — a strange little gift he doubtless saw. As a teenager the thing inside of me only grew darker as I realized I wanted to touch a girlfriend and taste her lips, stroke her skin. As an adult it’s a raging inferno inside of me. My pussy dampens when I think of my loneliness and my cravings.
There is nothing about me that isn’t “too much” to someone on this planet. My boisterousness, my ribald humor, my filthy language, my energy, my volume, my sexuality, my need. Over the years I’ve mastered the burden on friends and family, but for a lover, I have fallen short and I am at an impasse. I don’t know how to fill the hole alone.
I am working on being all those things to myself, but this experience with The Neighbor has illustrated how I have once again found myself in a “be yourself, get rejected” type of situation. I understand that not everyone would reject me, but I am continually rejected by those I form close bonds with, with whom I find inspiring and with whom I let in.
I have received the kindest, wisest counsel from friends through the 1s and 0s with whom this medium has connected me and it seems to all be clearer, like seeing headlights through fog. Maybe I allow this last bit of hollowness to just be a part of me; walk into it with open arms and accept my darkest depths and hope I find someone with whom I can travel them.
It’s not about change. It’s about acceptance.
I am in completely uncharted territory and I’m so scared. I thought for a little while that my sweet, sexy, demanding lover next door wanted this of which I speak, but I’m not so sure anymore. He’s said some things that have made me wonder and I realize my journey is very different from his. Yes, we both aim to get laid, but it’s so much more for me. I’m experimenting with the devil and it’s a dangerous game.
I wish it was him, I really do. I trust him, he’s seen me, but maybe I need to regroup. I don’t know anymore.
In an effort to fill the hole that The Neighbor is leaving unattended this week I have a rendezvous planned with Kevin tomorrow afternoon. His big cock is going to give me what I’m longing and then he’ll go back to his girlfriend. Later, after Kevin, I have a first date with someone else. I am going to put my young lover out of my mind for a bit and just focus on what I’m discovering in me. If he falls between my legs, so be it. If not, I’ll live with the loss for that day.
[Update: It's 4:45 am, the puppy woke me up twice earlier already and I have a 6 am alarm. In this dawn I am not at all looking forward to my dates today and I am sad that TN never returned my texts to hang out last night. But then I think of cock, any cock, and I feel better and worse all at the same time. I want his heavy hand on me and his beautiful cock inside of me. My emotions are ruling. I don't know why I haven't heard from him, but I'm waiting patiently to find out and I'm not too concerned about it. Maybe I'll take the day off and sleep. God only knows I'm fucking beyond tired. I have been doing heavy emotional lifting lately, after all.]