Friday, May 26th, is Boobday!

hy_tits_banner

What a crazy week.

I’ve started a Whole30 again and Orange Theory Fitness, helped Peyton do some really fun school things, worked my ass off at work, cooked dinner, done all the dishes, fed all the animals, made my bed, cleaned the house, went shopping, ran errands, made calls, not had a drop of alcohol, wrote a post about emailing the man who broke my heart, planned two back-to-back international trips — which are happening due solely to my friend and family’s graciousness and generosity — and even remembered to do Boobday on time.  I’m proud of myself and it’s only Thursday.

This week we have only one woman who is participating, but it’s a haunting, beautiful image from Miss S.  I’m sure you’ll love it like I do.

Thanks again to everyone.  I hope you feel my love.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

First pic I’ve taken in a couple of weeks.

NOT my tits:

The longing Miss S…
Just out of the bath…looking up thinking of him.
Lost my husband unexpectedly 2 days before Christmas.  This is for him <3 I always took pictures for him. Since I can’t send it to him I figured I’d send it to you.

 

 


I emailed The Neighbor.

I emailed The Neighbor two nights ago.

I’d had a glass or two of white wine, there was a late Spring chill in the air, Sinatra was playing on the record player.  Every sock drawer had been organized, every bill paid, all the laundry folded.   There were no hanging chads in my life, so to speak and it was as if suddenly I had nothing else to do but email him.

So I did.

As my fingers slid across the keys it was an out-of-body experience.  Was I really doing this?  It’d been a year and a half since we’d seen each other, more than two since he dumped me.  Why was I doing this??

Even as I wrote I knew it was an awkward stream of consciousness.  “I’m genuinely curious to know if you’re great or struggling.  After two long years apart I continue to work hard to trust and be open.  I basically trust no one; it’s almost a joke.  So, I guess I’m admitting to you that I’m not great.”  But I didn’t care and hit Send anyway.

The next morning I did a game recap with surprised friends.  Ann and Meredith were supportive, but both wanted to know what my hopes were.  Why now after all this time??

I had a toothbrush in my mouth when it hit me: breaking the silence I imposed upon us was for me.

My stoic acceptance of his decision to end the relationship without so much as a discussion about it, my reluctant agreement to be friends because that’s what he needed, my heartbreaking realization that I still loved him and had to say goodbye, my stifled, private rage at discovering a trail of lies and blatant dismissal of everything I’d ever wanted, my enduring pain at seeing his car every day and sustained, low-level anxiety of running into him while at home.  I did all of that alone — he bore not one ounce of the burden, not for one second — I kept it all.

It seemed to me during our few times meeting as friends in the 9 months after we broke up that whenever I let my pain become evident, let it slip out ever so slightly, he would cringe.  Whether it was from guilt, fatigue, or disdain I have no idea, but I was intent on buttoning up more tightly for two reasons: 1) I didn’t want him to have anything of me and 2) I didn’t want to hurt him.

As I wrestled with the leaching reality of abandonment and betrayal I believed that responding to it would be losing something.  I didn’t want him to get anything from me ever again — not one calorie of energy — even the pain, sorrow, and stifling lack of trust he left behind.

And even though he absolutely deserved to see the lacerations of his lies upon me I didn’t want him to feel badly.  That would be a direct link to my issue with ever being open about my real feelings about someone or something.  If my feelings hurt or upset someone then they are implicitly wrong, right??

And now it seems that what I did was create a void where all that feeling had no where to go but to me and so I have festered.  I have fucked, flaked, fought, and floundered until I am completely and utterly uninterested in not only men in general, but even sex.  Why bother when every time I let a dick get near me it literally disappoints me?  Think about the double entendre there.  It’s intentional.

He replied today, overly friendly to be honest.  How dare he call me his pet name after everything he’s done to me?  Should I list them all for you or just hyperlink like crazy??  The point is, the tone of my note was not familiar, so why respond to it in such a way?  It wasn’t appropriate.

He said he was saddened to hear of my trust issues because he can relate due to his own.  Not that he was saddened to hear it because he clearly contributed to them.  But because he can relate.  Well, awesome.  Thanks.

He gave me a better email to use and invited me to text, but I no longer have his number and I don’t yet know what to say to him.  I feel a volcano of emotion about to erupt, that needs purging.  I want him to know what the last two years have been like for me with his odd internet stalking of my AFF profile, seeing his goddamned car every goddamned day, and the anxiety of a run-in I carry with me despite my best efforts to exorcise it.  (It’s possible had I never run into him and his girlfriend at the gym that the threat would have ever crossed my mind, but it did and so it does.)

Some will think this is a huge mistake; I’ve already gotten closure, moved on.  It’s been two years! they’ll say.  Others will think there never was closure and this is a good path forward; Show him, girl!  Tell him!

But what do I need from this?  I didn’t write the first note expecting anything in return, but what I got was friendly in tone and communal.  It wasn’t bad.  But there was a sensitivity missing, a subtle nod to what that must have taken for me to finally write.  His response wasn’t somber enough.  This man broke me and he replied to me like a long-lost close office mate whose 9-5 life he once shared.

I’m still contemplating all of this.  What I want to do is not at all clear.  That stupid 150 word email has begun to peel a long-suffering scab atop a festering wound and I feel like a stranger in a strange land.  I only know how to be controlled and at a protective distance.  How do I do this whole This is the truth deal?

I hope there are still some who read me; any words of wisdom are more than welcome.  I need help.  I am at a complete loss.  But maybe this will be the end of it?

 

e[lust] 94

Exposing 40 Elust 94
Photo courtesy of Exposing 40

Welcome to Elust 94

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #95 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Always Coming Second

Balance

THREESOME – the card game

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The #500words Project ~ 2

#Pussy Pride

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

No Eligible Posts

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Forgiven
Finally A Prostitute
On Display
World Traveller
Red
Ms. Mona’s Online Dating School for Dudes

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

BDSM is Not My Source for Life.
Pure and Simple
Discussing Consent & Scene Negotiation

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

You can
All for one, or one for all…
He haunts me.

Erotic Non-Fiction

Oh no, I’m not.
the shoot begins
Raylene’s pain does not matter

Poetry

-05.05.17_00:21-
White Tee Shirt

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Orgasm Challenge

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

A Kink Couple Fantasize About the Waitstaff

 

 

Elust 88

Friday, May 19th, is Boobday!

hy_tits_banner

Another beautiful Spring week has flown by.  I haven’t written much just because I haven’t felt like it, but not in that I can’t bear it kind of way that I have felt recently.  Mostly I just didn’t want to and that feels ok.

I also haven’t taken any pics of myself in quite a while and have been taking a break from Snap and IG.  It feels glorious.

This week Ms. Over 50 sends us all a special message, so be sure to read below.  She is the exact reason I host this meme rain or shine.  Love you all!

Enjoy the tits, friends.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

I took this pic on my couch last night, watermarked it for Boobday and then promptly passed out. Very sexy.

NOT my tits:

Sandy is a veritable rose.

Pretty in pink.

::

Kate gets saucy and cleavage-licious.

This is a photo of me braless and ready to go out on a date. Hubby will wait patiently at home hoping he will get to enjoy me later!

::

Ms. Over 50 shares her beautiful curves.  And you’re very welcome.  You are everything.  xx
Today’s submission drops the artistic presentation and shows a bit of realism.  In the past, realism meant rejection, feelings of ugliness and an overwhelming desire to keep my body hidden. Today is our 5th anniversary and this less than ideal photo is a thank you to the man I wish I had found 30 years ago.  He accepts me the way I am and has helped me move slowly from disappointment to acceptance and finally to appreciation of my own body. He introduced me to this site and repeatedly ask me to post until I was willing. I still am amazed that I have come this far.  Most of my posts have been of one breast because I am quite lopsided.  Even when showing two I have plenty of tricks. Lifting one shoulder works wonders which I am doing in this pic but remember I said a “bit of realism” not completely natural.  Anyway, my purpose for being verbose today is twofold: I want to encourage Hyacinth by saying that her sharing has encouraged me and helped me become more comfortable with my own body and to say thank you to my wonderful husband who accepts me the way I am (trust me, I can’t go around with one shoulder high in the air to balance the one drooping boob).
Happy Boobday to all!


He couldn’t believe he did it.

He’s checked in 4 more times since the first.

Once from a crowded lobby where he’d said it’d only been a quick check-in.  He’d felt a “flutter of excitement”

The second time was for insurance in case he couldn’t check daily like I’d initially asked of him and he instantly hardened as he began to text me the update, he said.

He only got to mentioned staring at my profile in his third note during a very long and very busy day of mine.

And the fourth was from his bustling shared office — his cock had been “pressing [him] to steal away glances” as he could — and it got engorged from our exchange, but he didn’t think he had anywhere private enough to take care of it.

The Neighbor used to ask for things to do, little subby tasks, but he would inevitably fail despite him agreeing to the terms and the tasks beforehand.   That meant I was left with punishing him, which ultimately is what he wanted in the first place I suspect, so I wasn’t dominating anyone: he was topping from the bottom and I was left with the shit end of the stick.

I hated every second of it and couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong; it highlighted my insecurities with him and make me feel inadequate in an area where I’d once felt competent.  It was a colossal mistake to keep trying…

But this man, this boy, he seems so different already.  I hesitate to be hopeful, but I will admit to experiencing a sense of calm, a gentle lick of joy as I see him go to great lengths to meet my expectations.

It is a wondrously quiet thing for me to experience as all the vanilla men in my life either drop off the face of the planet after days of warm exchanges, pander to me until I push them away, or rocket off into the outer limits of some crazed hysteria revolving around unresolved childhood traumas.

This kinky, submissive man is cool as ice and he’s melting in my hand.

    Checking into CS. Today i can’t stop looking at your breasts. My goodness.

    Mm
    And?
    What’s happened?

 Well i’m by myself in my office so i’m playing with myself a little. Someone could come in though so i have to be careful.

    Can you lock the door?

    It’s locked. I share an office w 4 other ppl and we all keep long hours, so hard so get privacy. Some of them are still here just in a meeting right now. I can hear them when they unlock the door so i’m ok with what i’m doing. But i prob can’t take it out right now.
    I’ll run to the restroom. It’s not very private but i can at least take it out and hold it for you if you’d like

    Mm yes

    Ok i’m here. Holding my cock. It feels heavy in my hands :)
    Stroking gently to that photo

    Wow
    I’m doing mommy things >:)
    While imagining you

    Haha should i stop?

    No, it’s ok.  Was at sports class with all the moms lol Headed home now
    Pretty sure I was the only one there with a good boy stroking himself to me across town

    Hahaha
    Do you have an honorific you’d like me to call you?

    Are you hard?

    Yes and stroking

    Yes.  Call me Ma’am and Miss
    I don’t care if they’re capitalized or not.  I imagine you saying it

    yes Ma’am :)

Mm fuck
    Gets me every time!
    And you?  What gets you?  

    Do you prefer one or the other?

    I prefer Ma’am, but also like Miss

 good boy, but i also like to be called slave or pet or slut. Haha i’m def blushing now
    Any of those work?

   I like boy and pet and slut – in that order – and also each deepens the meaning and is dependent on the context
    Boy feels right for now.  Pet later, possibly as things progress and for certain things, and slut for when you really are my little slut

 Ok sounds good! I mean i’m stroking my cock in the public restroom, flushed red, Miss… pretty slutty  
    :)
    i mean you can call me anything you like, sweet or degrading, if there’s something you like. i’ll like it more if it’s what you want
    those are just things that have got my blood running in the past

    I want to call you my little pervert right now ;)

    :)

    Perfect little slutty pervert playing with himself in a public restroom bc I want him to >:)

    that text is going to make me cum, Ma’am

    Can you hold on another minute?

    yes Ma’am

 Can you cum by the time you count to 50?
    Sooner?
    What if I counted down?  Could you cum that way?

    doubtful. i take a long time. i always fail at those countdowns

    It’s ok

    I can try

    Mm

    I wish i could! I could try if you like, ma’am

    Yes

    Are you going to count?

    From what number shall I count down?  What do you need, pet?

    Try 50

 Ok
    Imagine me laying on my bed
    50, 49, 48
    42, 41

    Yes

Imagining you
    36, 35, 34
    In a stall
    29, 28, 27
    Jeans unbuckled
    24, 23
    People in the halls
    20, 19
    Your hand wrapped tightly
    15, 14, 13
    My breath held
    10, 9, 8
    Your hand moving
    5, 4
    Your cock so hard for me
    3
    Hot and dripping
    2
    Aching to spill for me
    1

Came
    haha too soon

Hardly

    It was hard to gauge exactly

    Seemed fucking right to me
    I drew out the last 10 ;)

    I can’t believe that worked

    Oh yeah?

    That was so hot

Mmhm
    It was :)
    Very

    Haha all those texts are still coming in. My service is slow!

According to my thread, you came the second I counted 1
    Lol
    So you were reading my mind, apparently

    I got 1. The late ones were all out of order

   Lol
    How funny
    So you came from even less  from me!

    I can’t believe i did that tho, good thing no one came in

    Good thing indeed
    You were a perfect little slut :-*
    I loved it
    I feel warm all over

    :)

Friday, May 12th, is Boobday!

hy_tits_banner

Wonderful, busy week.  I haven’t taken one pic of my tits that I can post here without blowing my anonymity and I don’t really feel like it anyway, so I’ve dug up the very first Boobday post from me instead.  Oh, how far I’ve come lol.

I hope you’ve had a fantastic week!

Love you all.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

NOT my tits:

Sandy is one brave soul.

Tasking for the BoyToy

::

I love Lauren’s idea here; I do this kind of thing myself.  Click the image to get to her blog.

Cream on black.

::

Meredith is draped and caressed in all the right ways.


Sometimes, we should remain lost.

Lincoln loved me when I was an innocent 18-year-old girl.

His love burned bright and inexorably for months as I struggled with his attentions.  I couldn’t understand why this handsome 19-year-old boy liked anything about me, but he clung tightly.  His letters came regularly, his beautiful cursive unmistakable.  His words inked so tenderly my young heart often broke as I read for I was confused and uncertain about my own.

He had no car, so I would drive to the shipyard where he’d be waiting for me, the giant Navy ship he called home loomed heavily behind him like a sleeping mountain.  He’d pick me up and squeeze me and I’d sigh not with pleasure, but with impatience.  I wished he didn’t like me so much.

Our little misbegotten love affair ended when my little sister caught him reading a letter I had written, but never sent.  A note which captured a vulnerable moment wherein I contemplated loving him.  His earnest search for me in that letter caused me to evict him from my life instantly and without remorse.  I crushed him irrevocably that day.

Years later I hunted for him online.   Little tidbits of information he’d told became the only leads I had.  He was from Texas somewhere, I had his last name, he’d been in the Navy.  I poured over people-finder and high school class websites, but to no avail.  And then Facebook happened and there he fucking was.

I found him married, with many children through different marriages and configurations and discovered that he had lived 60 miles away from me for 5 years until he’d been restationed to somewhere in the south (via the Army this time).

We quickly caught up, but it came to a screeching halt one day when he announced that his wife was uncomfortable with him talking to me.  My husband understood my excitement and had blessed my discovery that Lincoln wasn’t dead.  Apparently, Lincoln’s wife had very different feelings about me.  And so, amid his many apologies, we said goodbye again in 2008.

In 2016 I became curious about him again and re-found him on Facebook.  I was no longer blocked from his account and messaged him, fingers crossed.  He was instantly receptive this time: he and his wife were separated and he was now 80 miles away, not several states.

We texted and talked on the phone round the lock for days, a virtual love-fest of lost innocence and crossed signals.  Our youthful romance figured prominently for him throughout his life and explained his wife’s misgivings of me.  I apologized for being such a broken girl.  He revealed he had been a virgin, too.  Our words were tender touches, two blind people rediscovering their surroundings with gentle explorations, every sense at attention.

Tearfully one night I revealed my double life.  He said he accepted me no matter what and was proud of me.  I shared the blog and Hy and everything I had ever done.  Still, he accepted me.  We set a date to meet.

He was a card-carrying biker now, literally a member of a national biker club with initiation rights and rivalries; the whole nine yards.  Tattooed all over, short, brown beard with a handlebar mustache, a Harley-Davidson hog his only form of transportation.  He looked formidable in my doorway, leather vest covered in biker paraphernalia, but his big bear hug was just the same.  And my immediate response to pull away was the same, too.

We reacquainted ourselves as adults side by side on my couch for the duration of a single drink.  I called a Lyft and we headed out to my favorite bar.  I didn’t want to just sit and drink at my house, the bedroom around the corner.

We laughed and flirted for hours.  The sun set and tears flowed as we finally said the things we’d always yearned to share.  I felt like a star-crossed lover, pulled away from a sweet tenderness I’d never again know.

Back home on my couch, we kissed.  His plump, soft lips were the same, his sounds, too.  I mounted his lap and he suckled my breasts — a move far past the Second Base of our youth — and I rubbed his crotch.  But I couldn’t go further.

I dragged him to bed, pulled the covers over us, and we fell asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to his big arm flung over my waist, his belly smushed warmly against my back.  I felt trapped.

He murmured and wriggled closer to me and I held still, but wanted to run.  His sweetness felt foreign, wrong.  I didn’t deserve it.  We got up and I made us coffee.  He had to head back to the club for a meeting that afternoon.

I was nervously distant and felt as if I could see the pain on his face, but it’s possible I only suspected to see it.  It was me at 18 all over again.  We hugged and kissed goodbye and the last I saw of him was the menacing skull and cross sewn on the back of his leather vest.

Over the next few days he’d call in the mornings to see how I was and we continued to text.  The intensity of our reunion clung to me like old perfume.  How could I fit him into my life?  I ate men for breakfast and Lincoln was no piece of sausage.  But I wouldn’t have to figure anything out.

One day, the texting didn’t happen.  I checked in and his answer was cursory.  Another day passed.  Again, barely a response.  And then he said we needed to talk.

My stomach dropped.  “Only one other man has ever said that to me,” I told him.  “And then that man left me.”

“Things are complicated,” he said.

A day or two went by without any other word and I guessed that he was reconciling with his ex and we could no longer be friends.  “Am I right??”

“Yes you are. Did some soul-searching. I appreciate your friendship but this is the path I choose.”

I burst into tears and tried in vain to get him to reconcile with her and still be friends with me.  He refused.

“I can’t believe this… I mean, of course you have to do what you need to and I support that, but… fuck.  This hurts.  Not gonna lie.”

“I know and I’m sorry. But I have to make her and my son my priority. Not just over you but the club and everything else.”

“I get that, I just don’t know why you can’t do both: be in my life as a friend and make her a priority but, ok… I guess now it’s my turn to have my heart broken, huh?  I wish you the best, Lincoln, and I’ll always be here for you.  I’ve got to go – need to pull myself together before I head into work.”

And his final words to me:

“Take care.”

He unfriended me on Facebook and has remained silent since, just as he said he would.

I doubled over and sobbed.  Lincoln seemed to be my lifeline to so many things.  The innocent girl I was to the wanton woman I am, the past to the future, from Hy to Me.  And he had chosen something else outright over any of it in even the slightest form.

I cried for a few more minutes, took a deep breath, and brushed myself off.  I had lived most of my adult life without him thus far; there was no reason I couldn’t easily go on without him for the rest.  But now the story is sad for far more reasons than youthful misgivings and childish anger.  Now I’m sad because I know I have truly lost him — forever — and I wish I had never found him again.

Soul searching, indeed.

 

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

My wish is his command.

I told him to text every time he checked out my profile on CollarSpace; a first little test of our roles and how well we play them.

    just checked out your profile on CollarSpace

    Mm
    Did you get aroused?

    and texting you about it made me hard

    Yesssss
    So your cock is throbbing for me

    yes it’s pressing so tight against my jeans

    Omg
    What a good boy you are
    I’m pleasantly surprised by this

i would love to come show you the effect you had
    it would be embarrassing to walk out in public with my jeans bulging out though. i’d have to use a book to cover it

    I would pay good money to see that
    And to touch it
    Feel the fabric warmed by the heat of your skin and flow of your blood
    Mm

    oh please yes

    So very hot
    As a little reward… I’ll tell you… I’m going to cum to this
    I’m going to read your words and cum

 oh yes please cum!
    my cock is pleading with my jeans for release

    Are you somewhere where you can take it out?

    yes

    Then do
    Take it out and stroke it
    I’m about to cum
    And imagining you somewhere stroking to me will make it more than I can stand

    i took it out and it flopped heavy into my hand and i started stroking earnestly

   Mm good boy
   I just came for the first time

    i want to help with the second so badly. i’m aching for your summons

    My summons?

    if you asked me to come i would come. i’m swept up in the thought of it

    Yes, and be loud as you dare
    Mm imagining you cumming right now has me so aroused
    Think of your face buried in me, barely able to breathe

    just came so hard

    Me too

    haha again?

    That very moment your text came through I’d finished
    Yes

    excellent

    Vibrators are beautiful inventions

    hahaha

    As are words ;)

    yes, that was fun

    Mm indeed
    You like that little reward?  Lol

 haha. yes, very much
    thank you :)

    You’re welcome

I’m hiding.

I’m hiding from myself and what I know I need to do.

I need to drink less, stop all the horrible men, focus on my body, my baby, my work.  More.  Not as something to do, but as something to be.

I cried today on my new blue couch as the man with the same name as The Neighbor, the non-drinker who took me to breakfast many weeks ago, told me he missed me.

I had just told him I wasn’t up to seeing him tonight.

I can’t.

I don’t have it in me to poke beyond the failed morning we shared after a night spent playing pool and me drinking more than I needed to prove I wasn’t self-conscious that he wasn’t at all.  I don’t have it in me to give of myself, to his sweet attempts to connect and build a real friendship with me.  I feel my insides churl at the thought of anyone reaching me.  Least of all him and his soft, apologetic way.

The other day I let slip my iron grip and browsed the library of photos of my beautiful ex, the one who left me, The Neighbor.  I fell headlong into pictures of our long, three-year liaison, our passionate affair.  His giant, beautiful cock jut out from his thick, pale thighs in photo after photo and I sat still with tears in my eyes longing for what I felt with him.

This afternoon after I came twice to a submissive’s texts of obedience I was triggered to look for my old submissive’s gift: a video he once sent while I was in California.   A video of him cumming to me, calling out my name as his hand, a Caucasian blur on his giant erection, created an arc to and from the black lace panties he’d somehow procured while I was away.  “Fuck me, Hy.  Fuck me,” he panted “I’m gonna cum, Hy,” and then his body jerked and cum spurted onto his taught, furry belly as he moaned my name one last time.

But I couldn’t find it so finely buried deep in the tombs of my email.  It appears to be as gone as he is.

I feel as though I am festering, deliberately mistreating myself with booze, men, and inactivity.  Instead of moving or creating I sit, nearly comatose, binge watching this show or that.  Sex and the City, Golden Girls, Masters of Sex.  Each a parable, a lesson in human sexuality and society in its own right.  Be daring, be open, be free, be happy.

But I am none of those things anymore.

I am scared and alone and above all else lonely.  I am trapped between worlds and between decisions and I don’t know which way is the right way.  I am in some sort of stasis, my heart trapped in this place of low and sustained pain as if a pen were driven into it; not so far as to be fatal, but far enough to make every movement painful.  I don’t even fantasize about life without the pain.  That almost doesn’t seem possible.

But this – this feels like the moment before I choose to do something.  This paralysis surely predates movement and traction.  My psyche is merely gearing up for the heavy work, right??  For making the choices I know I need to make.  The tough, “This is the right thing to do,” shit.

Because if the thought of a kind man coming over because he cares about me and wants to get closer reduces me to tears then I do have work to do.  And lots of it.

Don’t look at me.

 

Sinful Sunday

Friday, May 5th, is Boobday!

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I’ve been a zombie this week.  It started out with one of the worst dates of my life, possibly one of the worst I’ve ever heard of that didn’t end in a police report (honestly).  It’s left me shaken all over again after just barely having regained my composure after the abandonment of that kid.  Let’s just say that the Trump divide is great.  About equally as great as some men’s lunacy and brokenness.

The middle of the week I was completely limp with exhaustion from work and the end rounded out with a very bitter fight with my exhusband over his poor parenting choices and our flailing, hurting child.

I cancelled two dates and have nothing set up for the weekend and plan on laying very, very low until Monday when I get my poor, sweet Pey back.  I wonder where my fucks for anything else have gone.  It’s nice.

I almost didn’t want to do Boobday today and I marvel at the discipline of other bloggers… but this is just the same shit from me.  You all know I’ve been limping along for at least a year now.  But I’m here and the love is still here, too.

Enjoy, friends.  Love you.  And happy Cinco de Mayo!!

xx

Hy

 

My tits:

I woke up and snapped today.

NOT my tits:

Lovely Kate, all warm and fuzzy.

Trying my best to own all those curves and folds.

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Sandy blowing it out of the water. Or the kitchen…

Someone asked me recently why if I live alone I’m not naked all the time. Duh, I usually am.

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