We’re all just here to hurt one another.

I’m in a mood.  A bad mood.

I spent another magical night with The Golfer last night – our eighth since February.  He’d texted to confirm that morning that he would be too busy to hang out and said he didn’t want to disappoint me by making plans.  Two hours later he took it all back and asked me to come over at 4.  He apologized again.

Suddenly it all made sense.  He was actually thinking of me all week, worried about letting me down.  He wasn’t being a dick; I found it a kind gesture and agreed to come over at 6.

He met me at the door with a giant, sparkly smile and wrapped his arms around me from behind and filled his hands with my breasts.  He may have nibbled on my neck.  He told me his plan to talk to me, bathe me, tease me, feed me, then fuck me and that’s just what he did.

We took a shower together then fit ourselves together like a puzzle in the Japanese soaking tub and he massaged my chest and breast bones and watched me intently as my head lolled and my eyes pinched shut from the attention.

We sucked and fiddled with each other and both came close to cumming before we remembered The Plan.  Sushi arrived, we dove in to the food, me wrapped in his monogrammed robe, and then we went at it.

I clawed and bit him as he ravaged me with his perfect cock.  He rained down blows on my ass and hips and twisted and bit my nipples until I cried.

I came so hard I hiccuped my ecstasy and when he finally came buried deep in my ass I sobbed and laughed as eveyr cell I have seemed to fuse into one giant ball of molten feels.

We took another shower and fell asleep an arms reach apart.

I didn’t sleep again.

I dreamt that Dream TG callously dismissed me the next morning with a brushing away motion of his hand as he looked at important papers.  Go, Hy.  I won’t be walking you out.  Bye.  I was devastated and humiliated.

I awoke with a headache and sense that I’d only been asleep for an hour or two.  I got some water and went back to bed and hoped we’d fuck again in the morning.  We didn’t.

He quietly got up and let his dog out and got in the shower.  I took that as my cue to leave and got dressed while he casually watched from the shower.

“Do you want me to help you with the bed?” I asked him.

“No, that’s ok,” he answered, looking me up and down with a hungry look.  That was new.  Usually it’s just a look.

“Ok.  I gotta get home to the dog.  Thanks for everything last night.”  I opened the shower door to kiss him goodbye.

“Thank you,” he replied and gave me my usual peck on the corner of my mouth.  I’d hoped using his mouthwash might encourage a real kiss, but I was wrong.

I drove home listening to Lizzo with the windows down.  The post-dawn roads mostly empty, my body and mind still.  So this is how it is.

We smoked pot and drank wine and laughed so hard I cried.  We flirted and fucked and talked about what I don’t know.  Then the sun rose and it was all over.  Poof.

And as much fun as it all was I spent a tremendous amount of time processing our interactions: why don’t we touch when we sleep?  why don’t we fuck in the morning?  why won’t he kiss me on the mouth?  why has he said stupid things to me about other women?  why don’t we see each other more often if he knows what we have is so rare?  I was completely emotionally exhausted and couldn’t wait to see Peter for our Sunday pool date, to fill up on his sweet, loving energy.

I needed a hug and I knew he’d wrap me in his arms, kiss me, tell me how much he loved hanging out with me and hang on every word I said.

Home and still warm and buzzing from TG I texted him before 8 asking if he’d like to come over around noon or 1. At 10 he texted back to say he’d just woken up, but wasn’t feeling that well.  He was hungover; he’d be over at 1.

At 1 he texted to say he was freaking out – he’d found blood when he went to the bathroom -and he was en route to an emergency clinic and he’d call me as soon as he could.  I haven’t heard from him since and am not all that surprised.

I also don’t believe any of it.

I think he’s hungover and wanted to hang out with his new lady and I couldn’t quite argue against blood in his urine, now could I?  Short of emergency surgery or death, there’s no reason he couldn’t text me an update or answer any of my worried follow up texts.  None.

But the point is: I don’t trust him.  And if I’m honest, I don’t trust anyone.

People are dangerous, men even more so: they take and use and discard.  They’re precious and weak.  They’re selfish, unenlightened, and fragile.  And I bear it all like blisters on my skin, suffering, but still able to function and hike the mountain.

The Vet answered some recent veterinarian questions for me the other day and we briefly caught up.  I called him on his offer to be friends, but I know that was just bullshit.  He’s done nothing to foster a friendship since he said that’s what he wanted.  And despite saying he couldn’t handle even something casual I can see his online activity in search of such a thing.

My loneliness hit a peak as I sat on my couch, my makeup recently touched up for Peter’s imminent arrival, and my child’s absence palpable.  I put my head in my hands and cried.  Why does no one want me?  Why am I so bad at this??

Then I thought of the wife of the married man I’m talking to and how she thinks her life is perfect.  She thinks she has a loving and devoted husband – and she does – but he is also duplicitous and conniving.  She would be obliterated with the knowledge of what her husband does for his survival.  She’s “got someone” and it’s about the cruelest kind of fantasy one can have.

And I thought of the friend with a lifelong partner who’s a raging alcoholic who’s nearly lost his job because of it and only miraculously not killed anyone when he’s wrecked his car during blackouts.

And of the friend who’s cheated on her husband over the years as she’s dealt with his neglect and battled her depression and sense of unworthiness.

And of the friend whose baby daddy comes and goes as he pleases and isn’t reliable.

They’ve all “got someone” and I wouldn’t want what they have just so I wasn’t so alone on a sunny Sunday afternoon in June.  But I’m still sad.  I’m still lonely.

I swiped a thousand times on my reloaded dating apps and lazily browsed through Instagram when I came across this:

View this post on Instagram

 

I have such a crush on this guy. He repeatedly shows me how big his heart is and that it’s the little things that make up the best part of a relationship. After replacing my license plate covers at 5:30 in the morning because I forgot to the night before a road trip, and then setting out a beer in ice for when I returned from said road trip after being stuck for HOURS without snacks and a bathroom break (and not letting me enter till I had a few sips to relax), I’m reminded how lucky I am to have him as my sidekick through this life. He constantly makes me want to be a better version of myself and to continue to grow in love, patience and kindness ❤️ now I just gotta find some creative ways to repay him 😉

A post shared by Becca Kufrin (@bkoof) on

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  Everything this reality tv star wrote is what I have longed for my entire life: to be seen.

I’ve never had a boyfriend or husband do anything remotely close to this.  I’m so starved for attention that when anyone does the absolute minimum that would constitute human decency I feel softened from the inside out.  It’s nothing short of pitiful.

I haven’t lost sight of my two big epiphanies, either: I have long entangled getting something from a man with him loving me; I do things for others in order to make myself feel special to them – they don’t make me feel special to them.

These broken survival skills are most obvious in my dating life, but easily apply to my life in general.  I don’t feel seen by my friends, either.  They overlook me and fit me in when convenient, even when I’m explicit in my need for help or caring.

It’s like we’re all just here to hurt one another.  Take one look at the news and it’s confirmed: babies crammed in rooms with no beds, separated from their families, my rights to my body being stolen away, one state at a time, more assault victims being panned and crucified.

And in my pocket, my little corner of the world, wives are being lied to, burdened and hurt, men are stifled and stunted.  I’m constantly being slighted and cast aside.

I’ve come at it from every angle.  Caring, not caring, hard, soft, all ages, all attractiveness levels.  I’ve abstained, I’ve indulged.  I’ve paid for dating services and done all the free ones, I’ve done nothing, too.  I’ve been Me across the board and all I feel I have elicited is an erasure of myself.

No matter how hard I try to draw the outlines of myself to the world I seem to remain hidden.  Except here.  Here I am seen, here I am real, here I am heard.

I’ve never needed Hy more.  I’ve also never needed someone more.  Looks like it’s gonna have to be me…

 

 

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Mammograms are important.

First nudie pic I’ve taken in recent memory is [fittingly] during a cancer-screening appointment. That should tell you something about my sex life.

Before the grabbing and pulling.
After the smooshing, all plump and warm. The mammographer said I “had a lot of ‘pack’,” which means my breast tissue is dense and makes for pretty pictures and high fives. Also makes it harder to find cancer…

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Friday, May 21st, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

Yay!  I remembered Boobday!  Small wins.  Though I did forget to post on Tuesday and just played it off with a nice e[lust] post.

I haven’t taken any pics in days.  The married man has been away at a work thing and he’s been entirely MIA today – which is not what I expected.  But whatever.  Married.  Who cares?

I also haven’t heard from Peter which makes me as nervous as ever that he’ll flake on Sunday.  We’ll see.

I went ahead and reopened all my dating apps since the last crop was a colossal bag of poo in terms of potential (I’m sure they were all really nice men).  Nothing to report there except to say that when I’m not actively looking for a mate (of whatever variety) I feel like I’m not taking care of myself, like I’m not putting myself out there.

So, I’m back out there.

Also, still nothing from The Golfer.  No big surprise there.

I never did get around to posting my and Miss B’s pics last week, so you get them this week!

We’re now in the home stretch for Every Damn Day in June and I am so proud of all of us!  Way to go, team!

Ok, gotta jam.  I still need to write for Thursday!

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’ve always loved stripes.

NOT my tits:

Miss B’s pretty gossamer bra.
This is a sheer Gossard bra that shows the breasts/nipples in a beautiful way.  I also have a red sheer one; both favorities.

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Click here to enter

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


I’m invisible.

When it’s quiet, it’s a roar.

Stillness doesn’t suit me, yet I’m certain it fits like a glove.

Goddamn I wish someone loved me – even a little.

I keep seeing men from my past who swore they weren’t interested in a girlfriend Now, with girlfriend!

I am like a stinky cheese.

I sound decadent, but when I’m on the palate once is enough.

I suspect Peter is with his lady friend as I haven’t heard from him all day.

The Golfer is likely busy wooing some other woman he’ll probably make plans with 5 days in advance without bitching about it.

Or making love to a bottle and some Titleists.

It’s so quiet I can’t hear.

I can’t breathe the suit is too tight.

I am so completely invisible to the men I am in front of.

I don’t exist.

Hy, Hy, Hy.

Why can they not see me?!

I must just be too quiet.

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Little joys, little pains.

It’s really freeing to not give a shit.

It’s also simultaneously lonely.

Peter came over for an impromptu night together on Sunday. He groaned into my ear how much he loved the way I fucked. For a moment I thought of the woman he’s newly entangled with, the one he’d told me he hung out with by the pool all day the day before.

I guess she doesn’t fuck like me.

We have plans to hang out by my pool this Sunday. I want to do that better than her, too.

But then I think he’s going to cancel on me. Something will come up. It’s like I told The Golfer repeatedly, I just don’t trust that men will follow through and I was surprised each time I ended up at his doorstep the day we planned.

To that end, TG is sensitive. “I can’t commit first thing Monday morning to a Saturday. I have a ton of shit going on and I don’t want to disappoint.” Maybe he doesn’t know what’s disappointing to me, to any woman.: to not be important enough to lock in a time to see me is rather a large let down.

So congratulations for not failing to follow through on a Saturday. Too bad you left me standing there grinning ear to ear all dressed up with no where to go. Silly, Hy, it’s Monday morning. Give the guy a break.

Peter said yes to Sunday on a Monday, though. Good for him. Only, I doubt he’ll actually show up. One-Month Crazy Lady will likely have a moment of some kind and he’ll need to tend to her.

I’m having 4 am girl flashbacks. — Oh, that reminds me, I saw The Neighbor again today. Pey and I were walking up the hill after swimming chatting away. I saw glimpses of him walking to his car then he drove slowly past us. Peyton didn’t even notice him. My baby only noticed the woman with a broken arm.

“Look mom,” Peyton pointed. “Now that must’ve hurt.” I had to look where the finger was pointing and it was right at TN pulling out. I wondered if he thought my baby was pointing at him. Fuck if I care. —

But yeah, 4 am girl, the one TN tried to date after he told me he didn’t want to date me. Crazy Lady reminds me of her because Peter has claimed he doesn’t want to date anyone either, but here we are.

Hot messes getting the guy.

My therapist asked if I could ask Peter why I didn’t seem to be a candidate for him. I’d told her I could, but I was too afraid of the answer to ask him on Sunday. Maybe I will at the pool.

Then again, I’m not sure I give a shit, but fuck it if I’m not lonely as hell.

Post kiss at a swanky downtown riverfront hotel. My date had to go back to work. I decided to stay and languish with my feet up and some bubbly rosé.

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e[lust] #119

Photo courtesy of Floss Does Life

Welcome to Elust 119

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 #119? 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 ~

Poly wobbles

Friendly Concern

Unmentionable

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Breakthrough

Wait Silently

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Sensual Indulgence, Familiar and New

*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!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Teaching (from) the bottom (part 1)
An Intro to Ethical Cum Tributes
What is Dominance?
Reader Q&A: Femdom Podcast 105 [w transcript]
Unmentionable Lifestyle
In the wild

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Laughter, The Best Aphrodisiac
I Hate Bullies!

Erotic Non-Fiction

Devilish Threesome Fun
Cumming Awake
Flying Chaste

Body Talk and Sexual Health

How Taking Nudes Taught Me To Love Myself
Guest post: Trans access to abortion

Erotic Fiction

Milky Way
More Than Friends Prologue
Desperate
Twisted ~ Into The Woods ~ Lana’s Story
A Gift to the Gods
A New Fetish
Coitus Interruptus Vampyr
Making herself available

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon – Round 4 Thoughts

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A True Friend
Trust your landmark and run through the smoke
I’m not interested.

Poetry

-06.06.19_12:20-
Elust

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I’m listening.

I see the way, the obvious choice, I cannot ignore it.

I listen to his words, keenly and intently, like my wings are pinned to a wax board.

I believe him when he shows in a dozen different selfish, crushing ways that he cannot show up for me – even a little, even for a moment – to prolong the magic of our meeting.

I know he’s spent what little energy he has on me already and now it’s gone. Poof. Down a vodka on the rocks and the 18th hole.

You know what’s also gone? My lady boner. She has died – may she rest in peace. It was fun while it lasted, but I need a break and my wings need repair.

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I survived a very long, boring day.

I woke up before dawn and took Peyton to a swim meet.  I ran around for a few hours and hit my 5000 steps by 11 am.  And then it was over and my ex took my baby back home to his house and I was left to my own devices.

I ran errands, got stuck in that weird Target shut down (which saved me $150, actually, so thank you, Target!), and window-shopped for hours on my phone like my life depended on it.  I sorted through important life documents, did a few chores around the house, loved on the dog.

And I was thoroughly, completely bored.  I mean, so bored.

But, I managed to not do a few things, too.

I didn’t prowl for men, I didn’t hit up men I already know, and I didn’t mindlessly eat or drink.

So while I was devastatingly bored, I was also busy.

Busy sitting with my discomfort, busy trying to manage my need to be around people, busy getting organized.  Basically, I was busy making better choices for myself for a change.

And it’s 11:53 and I’m going to post just under the wire and day dream about London and about being like the couple I saw come home an hour ago from my perch on my balcony.  She ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around him and he turned into her and kissed her even as they kept walking to their apartment.  The cicadas seemed to chirp with delight at the little show of affection.

I haven’t felt that kind of abandon with someone in years, the freedom to show that kind of fairy-dust-affection and guilelessness.  Maybe soon…

Shit, it’s 11:56.  Better hustle!

It’s been a minute.

 

Sinful Sunday

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Friday, June 14th, is Boobday!

Jesus Christ. I cannot be trusted with this blog. How I forgot today was Boobday is beyond me, but maybe not y’all. I assume you’re used to my absent mindedness. Maybe? Hopefully??

In any case, I’m sitting in a parking lot far away from my house after getting my chin whiskers lasered, pecking this out on my phone before I go and have another vanity appointment.

After that appointment I’ll be meeting with the married man. The jury is still out on whether or not I’ll engage, but his attitude is wild and fun and free and – like every other cheater on the planet – doesn’t want to change his situation at home. Additionally, he’s never been faithful to anyone. Not sure why he hasn’t just admitted to himself and all his partners that he’s not monogamous, but that’s a thought for another day.

For now I’ll focus on his tight bod, his English accent (that’s right, he’s a Brit), and his attention on me because God knows I dig that.

My impromptu date from last night was a bust, but I did get my extroverted urges met, so that’s good. I also (re)learned that I’m not into men who live with their mothers, especially for child rearing help despite having a great paying job and a house of his own to live in. Boohoo, man, grow up. Ugh.

I also need to go and do links on some of my past couple of posts. I don’t presume y’all remember who all these revolving characters are. I can barely keep everyone straight.

And don’t forget!!

BOOBDAY IS OPEN THROUGHOUT THE WEEKEND!!

So post as you please and double up on memes! Lingerie is for Everyone ends today and Sinful Sunday is, well, Sunday!

Ok, c’est tout! Love y’all!

xx

Hy

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:

(My phone won’t upload the image, so I’ll have to do it later, but just imagine a side shot of me on my balcony sitting in a chair with my boobies in the sun.)

NOT my tits:

(Again, phone is being a fucktwat, so I can’t upload Miss B’s lovely gossamer bra, but I will later!)

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Click here to enter


You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


I’m in extrovert hell.

I told my therapist today that I worried I might get myself into trouble this weekend, my need for contact with people is so high.

Imagine that urge, dark and insistent, to seek solace and quiet when you’re overloaded and stretched so thin you think people can see right through you. A clinging, persistent hiss in your ear to be the fuck alone. I get that to be with people.

It’s like dry mouth and I must have a long, cool slug of something lest I fucking die.

First I reached out to friends about happy hour, but they weren’t available. So I reached out to another friend and while I waited to hear from her I decided to pick up a dropped OKC thread.

Then while I was sipping rosé with her – feeling largely dissatisfied still – he and I made plans to meet up later at my favorite little wine house at 9 o’clock. I felt moderately better.

He’s tall, goofy looking, fit, funny, and a single dad. And 10 years my junior. Of course.

(My meeting with the married man this morning never happened: kid stuff popped up.)

I am going to keep a close eye on myself this weekend and maybe just contemplate my navel instead of actually finding that trouble I’m worried about falling into.

Hopefully this goody fella will do the trick for my thirst.

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