I am a mentor.

I found this welt Saturday morning.

After the onslaught of painful emotions a couple of weeks ago, I feel more stable. I spent time with my child last week and was Mommy again; a place I love, a place from which I draw strength and balance. And I even got fucked a couple of times by The Neighbor.

The first time was the night he shared this photo with me. I’d made my friends pasta with a homemade spaghetti sauce and topped it with arugula and goat cheese. We drank 3 bottles of wine and scarfed everything off the table. My kid hung with us and chattered away with my friends as though being far from an adult were no big deal. We all took turns reading Sandra Boynton books and then we reclined on my sofa, opening our hearts and our ears to each other’s lives. Ten o’clock came around and I was alone with a brand new text in hand.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry I forgot about tonight! I got busy. Are they still there?” he wanted to know.

“Nope, they just left.”


An hour later, his meaty cock was cradled in my hands and I was sprawled on top of him, inhaling his clean, soapy scent.

“Maybe we should go somewhere where there’s a locked door between us and the rest of the house.”

Good idea. I always seem to lose my head when he’s around. Naturally, I would be devastated if my little one came walking out to find me with our neighbor’s private parts in my mouth.

So, we went to my bedroom — a pleasant Thursday night surprise for us both — and we rode each other until we were shiny happy people. I drenched us, he wailed on my buttocks and flanks, we talked and cuddled and kissed, and I was alone by 12:30 am.

Friday was a planned outing for us. He had to work late, but I didn’t care. He came over at 9 and surprised me with dinner plans at my favorite restaurant on the planet. I jumped up and down and didn’t believe it. This place is unrivaled in my city and it’s expensive as fuck.

We arrived at 9:30 and the place was jam-packed. We loitered with 30 other hipsters with money-lined pockets in the warm waiting area drinking wine and brushing up against each other.

He would occasionally pinch my nipple and I would lock gazes with a stranger over his shoulder knowing he could see us misbehave. I still couldn’t stop the giddiness from bubbling up and I would jump up and down and beam at him for my happiness was uncontrollable; my heavy breasts jiggled against his chest and arms as if to celebrate, too.

Dinner melted in our mouths, conversation flowed. We talked about the sex toy I was going to surprise him with later, how he would never fuck me without a condom, and how I wanted to fuck a couple and he didn’t braided in with his work, my work, how I wasn’t going to completely dump Jason because a bi-sexual man is hard to come by and I shouldn’t burn that bridge, life in general, hopes, dreams, family. You name it, we talked about it between morsels so delectable I swear I came a little. Then it was time to go.

I thanked him profusely all the way home and then beat him soundly at strip poker.

Naked in my chair, I told him how pretty he was. He seemed surprised. A lovely creamy man, sprinkled with dark hair, and his arousal jutting up to his belly button. I don’t know why he was surprised.

In my bedroom I produced the new toy. A little vibrating cock ring. It was interesting, but it threw us both off our game. Lesson learned. So we went to old-fashioned fucking and spanking. I impaled my face on his tumescence and delighted in his rod pulsing and straining against my hand and lips. His arousal caused me to sprinkle ejaculate on my feet folded beneath my bottom as I did my cock work.

Later, his fingers curled deep inside of me, with a bird’s eye view of my cunt, he drove me to an orgasm that split me in two, just like the night before. I sobbed into a pillow and laughed some more. He crawled up my body and pulled me into his arms still quaking. He kissed my mouth and my temple. I played with his chest hair.

At 3:30 he went home.

I have promised myself numerous times that I will not decode another’s behavior, but I find it nearly impossible to resist. The point of this post is more or less to document understanding of myself gained. He’s 27. He’s an incredible human being, but he has me neatly in a box and I am struggling to find one for him.  It’s my job to make this work for me.

The thing of it is, I have to admit that he has my heart and I also have to realize that it’s ok if I don’t have his. Full stop. It’s my decision to keep on with him. Someday I will have someone’s heart, but it’s not now, and until then, I am going to look on this as if I am his mentor.  Maybe it’ll save my heart.

I will teach him how to stroke my body and how to be with a woman; I will praise him and lavish him with support and kindness. In return, I will allow him to take my trash out and lift boxes for me; to be kind; to bring me to passionate heights; to tell me I’m beautiful; and to gently share my life with him under the auspices of neighborly friendship only.

I hate that this post has morphed into some kind of relational/emotional document.  God, it’s tiresome and tedious.  I want to be the old Hyacinth; the one who eats men for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the one who tumbles with new men every month and week sometimes.

I don’t like having feelings.  I don’t like them at all.  The closer I get to healing the more the feelings come and I am conflicted and confused.  Why can’t I feel nothing while simultaneously having the ability to feel on command?  It doesn’t seem fair.  But, shit ain’t fair, is it?

I am holding off bringing more men into my sheets because of TN.  If he finds out, which of course he would because I’d tell him, I feel as though I run the risk of turning him off of me all together.  I’ve slept with only two men since I’ve met him due to my grand experiment to slow down and now I don’t know what to do.  I am lost and lonely and often bored, overwhelmed by unrequited feelings, and ready for more with someone, or at the very least to be kept preoccupied by many.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that this is what this post has morphed into??

So, yeah.  I am a mentor.  Let’s see how well this works for me, my lizard brain, and my thumping heart.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

You Might Also Like

15 thoughts on “I am a mentor.
  1. Hy – You are channeling my fantasies! I literally was constructing a fantasy just like this …”He would occasionally pinch my nipple and I would lock gazes with a stranger over his shoulder knowing he could see us misbehave.” the other night for a little happy rub out time! I’m plan to use it to jump off my blog games on Friday…Do you think there’s a sexual Force???

    I sense real friendship (at least) growing between the two of you and that is a good thing. I think one of the hardest things for abused children to rewrite (and I’m including myself in this) is that we were never wrong for loving or caring, our abusers were wrong for perverting and exploiting it. Your feelings are not the enemy, there is NO enemy. You’re just two people spending this time in your life together, the hard part is just accepting that without trying to change it.

    Much love, my dear.

    P.S. You’re my vicarious mentor!

  2. Trying to acclimate to having “feelings” when you’re accustomed to being cold and calculating is an incredibly difficult proposition. I wish I could say that the destination is worth the journey, but I haven’t made it there yet, either. I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my dear Hyacinth.

    By the way, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I adore the picture at the beginning of this post.

    1. I love your honesty, Bi. I think the notion of happiness, and its assumed pleasure, is what trips us up. Maybe I am to lead a life with tension and pull…

          1. Well, I can’t speak definitively toward preservation of anonymity (which is of the utmost importance to me as well), but I don’t see enough detail here to justify worrying about that.

            If you’re worried about people judging the picture… well, I don’t see how anyone could look at it and be anything but pleased. You have an absolutely lovely figure.

          2. Yeah. Anonymity is a huge deal for me. I take care to erase identifying objects in my apartment or on my person. I’ll take my licks if I’m ever discovered, though.

            Re: my body: thank you :) TN talks a lot about a hot, young thing with a tight body as his fantasy so I sometimes forget I have a pleasing figure to most (even him, obviously).

  3. You have the most beautiful breasts I love the slight fold under each one It expresses the weight I would feel If I were fortunate enought to cup them in my hand. I kinda like that welt too a visual reminder of a passionate moment. I think I need a tissue :)

    The hardest thing about changing behaviours is that feeling of being without ground. The quiet moments when you are able to accept the good and the bad without judging yourself are worth every moment of suffering. Those feelings are just a sign that you are in transition follow your heart and live for now.

    xxx’s Cruel

    1. Thank you! My breasts, my hair, and my eyelashes are my only vanities (and I will never really get to share the last two for obvious reasons).

      Quiet moments can suck it. haha But you’re all too right. You’re always right, Cruel. And I appreciate all your guidance and kind words. xx

  4. Hi Hy, (I like that, like an echo!)

    Maybe I missed what you are really saying, but your post made me think that no matter how much I like the idea of an Only sexual relationship….somewhere along the line I always have to care about the other person. I don’t want to. I think I can fall in love (in spite of myself) with even texting partners. I always end up caring, hurting, dissecting and analyzing. Maybe that is why I write.

    Hope you are well. With such a well-endowed neighbor…I know I’d feel better today!


    1. No, you nailed it. I’m trying to accept this part of me while also protecting it: I’m caring. I can’t help it. But I can help falling down a rabbit hole of anguish. At least I’m going to try.

      Also, I ran into The Neighbor on my way home today. He was headed to his car. I asked him what he was doing. He said he’d just had lunch. I said, “Aw. And no nooner.” He promised me a raincheck. Wish me luck!

    2. @ Dawn “Hi Hy”, Kinda does have an echo resonance

      @ Hy, While we all have our own nuances we all suffer the same fears, because I too have suffered I share my concern and compassion with an understanding learned from my own experiences


  5. Dear, as everyone has already said, you are beautiful (and brave!). And the question I have is were you happier as “the old Hyacinth; the one who eats men for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the one who tumbles with new men every month and week sometimes”? Because that is what counts. It doesn’t matter what we think will make us happy, what we want to make us happy. Our heart rarely follows our head, unfortunately… Anyway, great post. :)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.