I’m of the mind that love is a cruel and wild beast prone to moments of affection rather than docile, long-term cuddles with only the occasional outburst. It’s a tough mount to ride, but I’m stubborn and determined to stay on.
Every thought and feeling I have is bared here and you will likely become frustrated with me as I go right when you really want me to go left. My only apologetic offering to you is my lascivious, raunchy tales along the way. And boobs. Lots of boobs.
The story goes like this: In the fall of 2010, I separated from my ex-husband and began fucking my way through grief and sorrow finding solace in a cock between my thighs. When I felt bad, I went and fucked. Sad? Got fucked. Happy? Got fucked. It was a simple equation. I never thought much about it beyond the fact that I had a need and I wanted to fill it.
While doing all this liberal fucking my heart began to ice over. I ate men for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In the fall of 2011 I hit a wall. I was formally divorced and the cocks weren’t filling me up so much as they were splitting me apart. I decided to take a snapshot of my dating life and follow those trails to their ends.
Originally, there were four men, more than a year later, I am still entangled with one of those men, The Neighbor. The ubiquitous young man who taunts and teases me and loves me in his own strange and distant way. I believe we are both thwarting the other’s ability to move on, but we are like helpless, rutting magnets. And I love him.
It started out as a Friends With Benefits Thing, then a Love Thing, a Pain Thing, an Angry Thing, and now a Fuck Your Best Friend Thing — which has morphed into a kind of D/s thing with some swinging thrown in for good measure. Therefore, I was fully ensnared when I realized my feelings.
I would never have otherwise dated a man who wasn’t interested in me long-term because I’m “too much older” than him, I’m divorced, and because I have a child. I am the frog in the pot. Ribbit.
If all this is confusing, I suggest starting at the beginning of our affair and I hope it’s more than evident that I love him despite my pain and despite my occasional anger and confusion.
My heart continues to fight for equilibrium. Life isn’t about forever. It’s about now.
Here are some pertinent posts about me that you may not find unless you troll through my archives. I believe they tell you a lot about me. They’re in no particular order. They just stand out significantly in my memory. A Dissolute Life Means…
And here are 11 of my most commented-on posts:
I encourage discourse, disagreements, and dialogue. You may email me privately or make everything public, it’s up to you. This is such a fucked up time in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without this space to create and be truly me: Hyacinth in all her ugly glory. I am a libertine.
libertine:a person who is unrestrained by convention or morality; specifically : one leading a dissolute life