Thursday night The Neighbor and I fucked each other’s brains out. Friday night I went out with friends and stayed out all night. I came home at 10:30 am and TN’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. He’d stayed out all night, too. Saturday he came home around noon and his car was there when I left with my baby to stay the night at a girlfriend’s. I got home this morning at 9 am and his car is gone again. I know his general habits well enough to know he was with 4 am girl. And I just can’t figure out why.
I can’t roll my eyes enough at myself, trust me. Nor can I identify what it is I’m feeling. It’s not that gut-stab I’d have felt 5 weeks ago, it’s more like a pinch. I think back to all the supportive comments I’ve gotten — particularly from Ella and her similar story — and I realize that my head is still in my ass. I can’t make sense of the nonsensical. It’s impossible.
Can a feathered fish explain its existence?
I have to accept reality and walk away. He doesn’t want to be with me. That is his message to me. Mine to him is similar, though I ache for it to be different. I won’t be with him if he has ridiculous deal breakers.
For me, Thursday night was simple inertia. We’d both been drinking, 4 am girl had been out of town for a week and a half, I hadn’t found anyone with whom I wanted to lay with, and we both wanted each other. It doesn’t prove anything except how stupid we both are; that I have few scruples and he may have even less. Nothing has changed. Dissolute, indeed.
I’m trying to come to terms with feeling smug. When I realized he’d stayed with her Friday night I felt amazing. This morning, seeing his car gone again, not so much. I want to throw up a little on the one hand and hold my head high with the other.
I imagine that he still hadn’t had the official “Let’s be exclusive” chat with her, which is why he was willing to put that gigantic cock inside my pussy Thursday. Perhaps they’ve had that chat over the last couple of days. Who knows? I also imagine that he finally understands, viscerally, my intense, nearly all-consuming desire to keep sex between us going when we were together: because we’re so goddamned good at it. His inexperience always felt like a shackle. If he only knew, I thought, then he would want it as badly as me.
Both 4 am girl and TN have said she’s a prude when it comes to sex. I can only guess at what that must be like for him to go from me to that. Like eating at French Laundry to then munching on a dinner for two for $20 at Chili’s. It’s why I’ve avoided most men since him, it’s why I stopped fucking everyone but him eventually. Mediocre sex just wasn’t worth it. I only wanted to eat at the 4 star restaurant.
I once told him I hoped I haunted him. That when he was with her he’d think of me. “She doesn’t taste like Hy,” “She doesn’t sound like Hy,” “She’s not moving and writhing and crying like Hy.” He’d laughed at the time because he hadn’t fucked her, yet, but I hope my words are burrowed into his lizard brain like a weevil today.
Does this make me a shit? Sometimes I think it does. Other times I just throw up my hands and say, “Fuck it. I can’t help any of this.”
It hurts less and less every day that goes by. Every time I see TN slip up and lose his iron-like grip on his self control I heal a little. I’ve never taken pleasure in anyone else’s discomfort before, but somehow seeing him struggle helps me. I feel less crazy, less alone. That it’s not just me, he feels it, too. He’s told me that his biggest problem right now is his feelings for me. I’m thrilled to know he has them even if he is working to shove them out of his heart.
New men don’t hurt, either. Beefy, but nerdy and I are hanging out again on Monday and we have plans for him to bury his face in my tits. Seriously. I can’t wait to feel his hard, hot skin under the pads of my fingertips. I’ve never been with anyone as muscle-y as him before. Or as tatted. I hope to god I like what’s between his legs, too. Wednesday I invited some hilariously irreverent and somewhat cocky 27 yo to meet me for drinks. Don’t ask me how I learned this, but he claims to be well-endowed. We’ll see. And this weekend one of my oldest and best friends in the entire goddamned world is coming for the weekend.
TN can have his girl. I’ll be fine.
It may seem like there’s an obvious prescription to fixing my life, but I assure you it doesn’t feel that way. I am confused, determined, thoughtful, selfish, and a life-long masochist. This is the best I’ve got. And I swear I’ll try harder to not talk about it in the future. I just can’t figure shit out and it drives me nuts that this riddle seems unanswerable: how do you recover a lost heart? Surely there’s an answer out there, and I bet it says, “Don’t fucking live next door.”
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