I am filled with resentment and confusion. I have needs I don’t want to have, things that aren’t fulfilled. I am mute and afraid to voice them.
I was going to spill it all out last night; I was going to crack myself open and admit that this isn’t enough. That all the wonderfulness, all the everything he’s been doing doesn’t feel like enough and I am afraid. Afraid of what that means, if it’s even real.
I feel out of control, body snatched. Is it an outside, unrelated storm that’s causing this tremor or is it from within? Everything is passing through me, it seems.
I moved away 8 weeks ago and three weeks ago he started his new 70+ hour work week. It is a bad coincidence, terrible timing. I am simply not happy.
So last night I was going to spill it all, purge it from my gut.
But I couldn’t.
He was there as soon as I said I’d be ready, filled with hope and love and a desire to please. I was running behind: noses to kisses, bedding to tuck, shower to be had.
He was there cupping my bottom beneath my towel as I tried to remove the black from my eyes in a steamy mirror. “Here,” he said and turned my face with his hands so he could be my mirror. His eyes roved over mine and he lightly tapped the places where the cotton had missed.
He kissed me then, soft and deep and I fought to push my sadness away.
He took my hand and led me into my room. I dared him to say something snarky about the pile of clean clothes on my bed. I wilted a little knowing that these days a gentle warning is needed, he is short with me. He only smiled at me and kissed me passionately.
I lit candles and he tugged on my towel and dragged me towards him as he knelt on the bed. I joined him and he gently took the towel from my head and unwrapped the one from my body. I released the ribbon of worry and it floated away as I melted into his touch and his love.
His hands roamed over my body and I heard him groan as he bit my collar-bone and neck. I arched towards him and rubbed his erection and deftly unbuckled his belt. He pulled off his pants and rejoined me and as we knelt together I guided his hand to my aching pussy. It was covered in stubble, no longer bare.
My anger and resent came back at me like a boomerang in that instant. “I’m letting it grow back,” I said.
He giggled not knowing. “Ok, then I’m shaving my beard tomorrow.”
All I could say was, “We’ll talk about it later.” I forced myself to release the ribbon again, willed it to stay away.
We threw ourselves down on the bed and he hooked his fingers into me. I writhed on his hand like a fish on a hook and whimpered into his neck, nibbled his ear, clutched at him with desperation. I wanted to forget, remember, and be transported away from myself and from us.
The first orgasm came big and full, lusty and loud. He moaned into my mouth as I came again and felt myself pull apart in a beautiful tangle of emotions. Separate. Puddled.
As I lay there basking he quickly rolled on a condom and positioned himself between my legs. The entry was smooth; I could barely feel him.
We rode each other, I exclaimed at his size, teased him I was likely a virgin again and I came two more times. And as I filled with happiness I was reminded of how not happy I’ve been these past many weeks and just like that, the goddamned boomerang was back.
I begged off for a minute and held him, wrapped my arms and legs around him and laughed that I was like a lemur. “A slutty lemur,” he chuckled back. I squeezed him with all my might then hoping that loving him would ease some of my discomfort.
It did not.
“I’m done,” I said softly. “Are you?”
He said yes and slipped out and lay next to me. No orgasm for him.
I lay there beside him, full of the knowledge that he loves and adores me and yet sad. We have barely touched each other this month and I often feel as though I am squeezed in whenever he can get over. The thing is, the pattern is no different from when we shared a wall, but for some reason, the landscape is wildly, painfully different. I’m still trying to figure it all out, what to say and how to say it.
Too afraid to bring it all up, instead I only explained why I was growing back my pussy hair, “I don’t know that you even appreciate it, TN,” I said gently. “You don’t talk about it, touch it, or acknowledge its existence. It’s a pain in the ass to keep up and I’d like a little attention for it. I rave about your beard every single day, don’t I?”
He nodded, “Yes.”
“Well, I’d like a little of that, too.”
“I’m sorry,” he said into the candlelight. “It’s unbelievably sexy and I love it and think it’s quite pretty.” He gave me a one-armed squeeze and kissed me.
I’ll shave for him tonight. And I’ll spill the rest of my guts.