A new normal.

I started a post Wednesday afternoon and wrote:

I’ve had sex a grand total of 10 times with 8 men in 2017.

I went back to pick up the thread today and realized I need to strike through those numbers.  It’s now 12 times with 10 men.

The post was going to be all about how I’ve slowed down, how my insatiable thirst for men and their dicks, licks, and tricks had all but subsided.  But then Wednesday and Thursday happened to me.

In the span of 24 hours I had sex with a sexy dad I met at a birthday party for a mutual child-friend a few weeks ago, lived out one of the hottest fantasies of my life with my massage therapist while on his table and clock, and spent an evening filled with laughter and a little lust with a 6’6″ ex-con whose open candor disarmed me completely.

A post about slowing down doesn’t exactly fit.

But I’m not up to my old tricks, either.

Six weeks ago I wrote to The Neighbor, started a(nother) Whole30, and began working out 4-5x a week at Orange Theory.  Not drinking freed up a lot of my energy and dedicating myself to my fitness recalibrated my priorities.  I also did some heavy lifting with TN.

I wrote another letter, revised it, sent it, and he responded.  All while 100% sober and focused on myself, while sticking to my guns (and standards) with the men I’ve been attempting to date.  I feel like a completely different person.

One of the most important things I’ve just learned is that when I make choices that ultimately harm me — be they drinking too frequently, not caring for my body, or not facing the demon of a bad breakup — it fucks me up.  I suspect it would fuck up any human being.

Confronting bad men and kicking them out of my house when they yell at me, not dating someone whose beliefs are at odds with mine, cutting off contact with someone who assaulted me and telling him why, eating better, exercising.  All of these things have helped me to feel like I’m valuable and once I feel I’m valuable it doesn’t matter what other people think of me anymore, does it?  And their attention is no longer such a crucial aspect of my life.

Take me or leave me, but I know I’m worth effort, compassion and love no matter what you do to me.  And the very newest trick I’ve learned is that you have no place in my life if you don’t fit that criteria.

No more excuses or second-guessing.  I don’t care if this is your first ever Tinder date or that you remember things differently from me.

And so I rolled around with Mr. Young while his baby slept in the other bedroom and his kisses made me melt into a shimmering puddle of desire.

And then after 90 minutes of what can only be called a sustained post-coital response to his deep and connective touch I asked if I could touch my massage therapist and he said yes.

And then the felon arrived exactly on time and opened up about his time in prison in a way that touched my heart and I felt nothing but admiration for him, even as we lay wrapped in each other’s arms after he eventually lost his erection in a puff of his frustration, regret and embarrassment.

There’s also The Hippie, a tall, gentle, pot smoker with a daughter on the opposite custody schedule as me.  His magically curved cock is a delightful ride; his fuzzy face and deep eyes are safe.

So I’m not slowing down; there is just a new normal.  A wonderful new normal.

 

Friday, June 30th, is Boobday!

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I was so busy yesterday there was no way Boobday was going to make it at midnight and today I’ve just been feeling lazy, to be honest.   And yesterday was an epic 24 hours for me.  Truly.  I’m still walking in a daze.   But don’t worry, it’s a good one and I will definitely share.

Anyway, today we have a gentleman joining us, a Rebel-inspired pic from Miss Over 50, and sexy Sandy.  Thank you, as always for your willingness to share with us, guys!

And to all my fellow American’s, I hope you’re doing something fun for the holiday this weekend!  We’re an incredible nation and we’ll get through this!

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:

The end of a wonderful 24 hours.

NOT my tits:

This is so damn hot, Miss Over 50! Clandestine, shadowed, unbelievable!
Rebels Notes’ post with a seat belt inspired me to try a pic from the driver’s seat.

::

Sexy ass Sandy.

Morning office, playing around.

::

Mr. Freckles is surprised by his hairy chest, but I noticed all his lovely freckles.

Until this picture !, I never realized how hairy my chest was, although I know it does tickle the nose of the woman who rests her head on my thorax.

 

 


Friday, June 23rd, is Boobday!

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Another great, busy week.  I’m re-watching Game of Thrones in preparation of the new one.  I’m kicking ass and taking names at work, though finances are still tight as fuck, I’m doing 4 days a week at the gym, and I’m basically walking on clouds.  It’s so sweet and easy.  I wonder why I’ve spent most of my life contorted and full of pain.

This week I have a couple of anonymous submissions.  First I have a newbie and then I have an IG friend.  Both are amazing and creative and open and I’m so thankful.  (Can you feel the love??)

xx

Hy

 

My tits:

All curled up.
NOT my tits:

First contribution ever by the lovely Miss J.

I have had a really terrible year, and this morning, I wanted to do something fun, just for me.  I want to feel attractive again…

::

Sandy loves her coffee.

Lazy Sunday cup of coffee

::

I love the locket and how it frames Mrs. MnM’s assests.


I’m feeling good.

There’s a spike in my desire to post and take pics.  

I could say it’s entirely due to sending the letter or I could say a month of working out, being sober, eating right, working hard, and some really nice sex with a really nice man have also contributed.

Or maybe it’s all of it.

Friday, June 16th, is Boobday!

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I’m going to have to cut back a little on the working out as some weird posterior/interior ankle muscle of some kind has decided to flare up.  My chiropractor said it’s a common thing from overuse.  I’m a little chagrined by that, to be honest, but I’ll take it as a warning that my body isn’t quite the wonderland I’d hoped – at least not yet.

Softball has started up again, too, and with that a whole host of minor injuries.  But I’m in pain anyway, so might as well live life, right?

And speaking of which, I’m feeling quite proud of myself.  Next Tuesday will be the end of my Whole30 and I plan on easing back in to the cut out food groups to see which I react to negatively.  I honestly can’t wait for some fucking bread and cheeeeeese, though I know I’ll have a bad reaction.  Oh well.

Anyway, it’s a small set of lovely breasts that I have to bring you here.  I don’t know where Kim from South Africa has wandered off to (I hope you’re on a wonderful vacation or something!), but we have our stalwart star, Sandy with us still!  To the bloggers who faithfully link and post every week, THANK YOU AND I THINK YOU’RE AMAZING.  The fact that we all look so different, yet present ourselves as not only beautiful and sexy, but as normal and real makes me so proud of all of us.  Please don’t ever stop!

I hope you’re all having a fantastic June!

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:

Feelin’ fine.

 

 

NOT my tits:

Sandy looks like spilt milk on a gingham tablecloth.

Basking in the warmth of the sun like a content kitty. 


He wrote back.

Suddenly, I’m filled with words.

I admit my stomach dropped when I saw his name in my inbox.  I didn’t expect to hear from him that quickly, let alone at all.

I had held no punches, pulled back the curtain to reveal my years of suffering.  Before I’d hit Send, my finger had wavered over the button, unsure.  I knew it would hurt him and that wasn’t what I wanted, but I pressed it because of my pain.  I had to at least attempt to stop the flow.

His response was short, curt almost.

He had misinterpreted my very first shot across the bow as an olive branch as I had feared.  I thought I’d been very clear of my confusion in writing, but perhaps his hopes overshadowed my words.

He asserted his memory of our history was “different” from mine and said he didn’t want to argue over it.

He will be moving out the beginning of October, “so there won’t be further cause for you to feel anxiety about possibly running into me after that.”

He then suggested that it was best we didn’t communicate anymore and he would no longer be responding to my emails (as if I were wanting a dialogue).

I had sat down to read, but as I finished I realized I’d held my breath and my heart was racing.  I let it out and with it the wall began to crumble.  A tear sprang to my eye, but quickly dried.  I was pleased with the response — he seemed shaken, which means I got through to him — but also sad.  He didn’t address one thing other than to say he has a different memory “of our history,” whatever that means.

And I knew I’d hurt him.

I felt vindicated, but equally ashamed.  Proud and embarrassed.  All this time, though, he has believed me to have happily moved on, free of guilt or responsibility.

Then the anger came in large, indignant swells.

What do you mean by you “have a different take on our own history”??  Did you not come over to my house one day and say you wanted a break?  Did we not then not discuss a single thing?  Did you not then dump me?  Had you not denied anything being wrong for you for the entire preceding year whenever I’d asked?? 

As I drove home I fact-checked my own memory.  No, all those things had happened.  I didn’t know what he was remembering differently from me.

Perhaps it was my claim that him dating that woman from the gym overlapped with his insistence he was happily single and wanted to remain that way.  No, I fact-checked that the moment I’d seen the images.  They began around August/September, clearly at odds with his false claims.

Maybe it was that I knew he’d lied about other things which I didn’t list?  He doesn’t know to which I’m referring so he can’t possibly refute my belief there.

I had attached the very first and last screenshots of his AFF visits.  He didn’t mention that either, but perhaps he believes AFF just randomly listed him in my visitors.

The only thing he addressed was my anxiety, which to be honest I’m thankful for.  I now have something to look forward to in regards to him for the first time in 2 1/2 years.

He could have said so many other things, really grown up things.

Things like, “Jesus Christ, Hy, I am so sorry that I hurt you like that.  You’re right, I should have told you so much sooner, I just couldn’t muster the courage and I didn’t want to hurt you; I hoped my feelings would change, etc,” or “I’m sorry for looking at your AFF account.  It’s been hard not being your friend and so I periodically check in on you in hopes you’d know I was thinking about you.  I won’t do it anymore,” or “You’re right, I did lie to you about wanting to date other women because I was afraid I’d lose you.  I really fucked that up,” or even, “I can see how it looked like it over-lapped, but it was just really close timing and I even surprised myself by dating her when I thought I wasn’t into dating.”

But he didn’t.

He doubled down and shut down.

My version of events likely fly in the face of the story he’s told himself so he can sleep at night.  It’s his very human right to remember things differently, but now it’s my turn to sleep.

I wrote the letter for me, not expecting anything in return, but what he did give me has lightened my heart immensely.  He knows how I feel – possibly for the first time ever – and that’s all I needed.  I just needed him to know.

I sent it.

I sent the letter – a revision of the first – that neatly explained the things he knew nothing about.

  1. His abandonment of me has really fucked me up.
  2. I know he’s a liar.
  3. His proximity by virtue of remaining in our complex causes me great anxiety.
  4. I don’t appreciate him openly viewing my AFF profile.

I kept it as short as possible – and narrowly focused – so that my message would be received.  I wanted him to know that his choices hurt another human being, and hopefully not irrevocably.  I wanted him to know that I was still in pain due to all of the aforementioned things and, most importantly, I wanted him to know that I was making a choice to no longer hide or hold onto them.   I needed him to know.

I’ve set them down and I’ve backed away.  What happens next is entirely up to the Universe.

Thank God I see my therapist later today.

Here’s to moving the fuck past all this shit.

Friday, June 9th, is Boobday!

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School is out here and I’ve spent the week juggling work and child.  I don’t have enough money for camps this summer again, so my parents are coming in for the big win this summer.  Bike rides, sewing lessons, watching the lead up to the Comey hearing.  The usual things you do with your grandchildren.

I have two posts I need to write.  One where I had great sex with a really nice man and one where I was coerced and groped by a really not nice man.  I’ll write those this weekend.  I’ve held off writing them because it feels like a reward to write when I haven’t yet written to The Neighbor.  I am revising my letter to bullet points.  If he wants to read the narrative I’ll happily send it on, but I’ve decided short and sweet is the way to go.  Wish me luck!

This week I have more lovely women to share with you.  Miss S shares her longing for her husband who’s passed, Sandy and Miss Over 50 also join in and we have a new participant, Mike’s Lady.

Here’s to another week of holding on!

xx

Hy

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 hurt my back and couldn’t do this right now if you paid me.

NOT my tits:

I love the pearls and the darkness in this image of Miss Over 50.
Lace and pearls and a glass, I mean bottle, of my favorite wine…

::

Miss S sitting with her loneliness.
I was laying in bed the other night thinking about my husband and how much I miss being touched by him.
::
Sandy’s beautiful jugs.

Just hanging out in the office

::

Mike’s Lady has long wanted to post.

She is a a huge fan of yours and always wanted to participate on your page and as her husband I want her to do what she wants.

Click below for more ladies!


I finished the letter.

And now I don’t know if I’ll send it.

The world seems to be crumbling around us and I can’t be bothered to focus on my anger today.

Instead I’m focused on surviving, trying to pay rent, being healthy, my baby, just living.

But I’m ashamed to admit that a part of the reason I didn’t immediately hit send once I’d proofread it three times and signed my name is because I’m afraid of hurting him.  Even now, two-and-a-half years later, I’m afraid of saying something that will hurt him.  And I’m afraid he’ll say, “No, Hy, you were the asshole.”  But I’ll have to handle it, I want to handle it, I need to handle it.

He’s probably thinking that this is the beginning of us being friends and it’s that misinformed expectation that causes me pause.  I held no punches and described what the last couple of years have been like for me, which have not been pretty.  God, why am I so afraid of hurting him??  All I’m doing is sharing what my life has been like in the wake of our relationship, his lies.

I’m afraid of being wrong.  That’s all it is.  I’m afraid he’ll say, “None of that is true and none of your feelings matter,” just like I was always told as a child.  I have zero experience telling someone they’ve hurt me and getting a sincere and heartfelt apology back and this is even scarier because I don’t have a relationship with this man anymore; I don’t expect an apology, but I suppose I do expect a retaliation.  And I’m ok with that.

I am not expecting him to help me move on or bring closure. 

I’m doing that, that’s my job.  The creation of this letter is purely for me to send it, not for me to receive something back.  I am responsible for me, he’s not.

It would be a dream come true, though, if he came at me on his knees and confirmed all my suspicions of lies and deceit.  It’d be poetic because there’s something sick about having a gut feeling things are off, but being told you’re crazy and not to worry only to discover later you were absolutely right when your boyfriend of 3 years walks out on you one day.  A lot like that paper cut on your tongue as you suck a lemon.

It’s late and I have an early start tomorrow.  I wonder how the letter will read in the light of a Monday morning.

Friday, June 2nd, is Boobday!

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I’m on Day 12 of the Whole30 and I’m almost past the headaches.  It’s funny how for weeks (possibly months) now I’ve been reliant on wine to wind down after a long, stressful day.  I don’t even think about it now.  I just chill and have some nice peach iced tea.  The mornings are infinitely more pleasant without the vestiges of alcohol to muddy my start, too.

I’m sore constantly thanks to Orange Theory.  Like, so sore I can barely sit on the toilet or walk up stairs.  I remember when I was an athlete in high school and the first couple of weeks of swimming were pretty brutal.  But we all got back into the swing of things eventually and that’s what I’m waiting for now.  I may be 41, but my heart is still in the game.

I had yet another horrible first date with a handsy, creepy Frenchman (I’ll post about that soon) but also some really great sex with a new guy who’s so nice it hurts, but whose overall aesthetic isn’t really my style.  I’m focusing on all the orgasms I had, though, and not all the hair that was in my face.

I’ve written a draft email for The Neighbor.  It’s not finished yet.  I’m still thinking and feeling it out.  A reader left an incredible, heartfelt comment this morning with a nothing short of mind-blowing quote by Mary Oliver: “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

Love you all with all my debauched little heart.

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:

Pretty much my mood always lately.

NOT my tits:

Sandy has curves.

 

 

 


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