This sex blog affects my life. I think about it constantly. I frame encounters with it, interactions, images. It is a direct reflection of my mind, my eye, and my heart. The images I post are what I see and how I want to be seen. The words are my art, the thoughts my deepest secrets, the behaviors the paint, my life the canvas, and this little bundle of 1s and 0s the art dealer to reach the masses.
But, I don’t want to “just fuck” anymore.
I used to have stories every week of this man or that man. Different, all of them. Threesomes were my bread and butter, as were random hookups. Now I just write about the soap opera that is my life with my next door neighbor with the occasional frolic thrown in for good measure.
All I want is this one who is so close, yet so far. I force myself to go on dates in hopes that maybe I’ll get my hair blown back by one of them and I can finally let go of The Neighbor monkey bar and grab onto the next. But they all fall short. Always.
I think back to how I met TN, innocently enough by inviting him over when I had some friends over. The beginnings were a little weird, to be sure, but there was something there immediately, and though I fought it for a few days — stating loudly that I don’t shit where I eat — I finally gave in to his charms. And here I am 8 months later in love with him; forced to see when his car is missing at 6:30 am, forced to hear his comings and goings, forced to acknowledge we have no fucking future whatsoever, forced to admit that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
I feel as though I’ve lost my muse.
What am I to write about at A Dissolute Life Means if I don’t want to fuck anyone else but him and I’m tired of whining about our situation?
TN mentioned last weekend that we had a shelf-life until September (I wish I could remember why he chose that month) and I thought, “Hmm, maybe I can hang on a couple more months. My birthday is in September, it’d be nice to have him around for it.” These are seriously some of my thoughts and I’m ashamed of them. If he didn’t live next door and if we weren’t such good friends I’d cut ties immediately. Oh, right, and if the sex wasn’t so goddamned amazing.
My current thoughts on the whole mess have been that I’d end it by the end of July. I have a speech prepared and everything. But things just keep getting more complicated. He renews his lease in the next couple of weeks, he’ll be in the same softball league as me, he’s friended some of my friends on FB whom we met at the wedding. I want to fucking scream. He’s so enmeshed in my life that this is like a full-blown goddamned breakup without all the benefits of having had a whole boyfriend. I’m pissed and confused.
So, here I am boyfriendless and in love, undesiring of anyone else and horny as a 13 year old boy, with an audience waiting to hear my next lurid tale and all I’ve got is sniveling. Boohoo this, boohoo that. Thank god I have memories to pull from. Lots and lots of memories. Because while, and until, I work all this shit out it’s going to be more of the same TN Drama Direct and I’d rather be some place else. Like maybe on Noodle’s porch sipping some Pinot Grigio while lamenting over our hearts’ betrayals of our pussies.
Fucking hearts. Fucking pussies. Fucking fuck it all.