I’m at a plateau of quiet discomfort. It’s like sitting on a hard cold rock surrounded by beauty.
My heart is in a not ungentle vice. Its movements are restricted, but it beats.
I have subtly moved myself into a position of distance from The Neighbor and the other men who are vying for my attention. No to one, and yes, maybe, not yet, sorry to the others. My moves are deliberate and calculated. You must come for me; work for it, want it, need it. I am of high value, fellas.
I am peeking around the bend. When I masturbate I think of TN’s giant cock and his furry body and I still cry when I cum imagining his warm skin and thick muscles, but it’s spliced with what the other cocks might be like. I think of their smells, both real and imagined, and I’m transported back to the time when I played with many bodies, not just TN’s. I feel some excitement.
I am in between a past and a future, but it doesn’t feel like my present somehow. It feels somehow other worldly. Who is Hyacinth Jones if she isn’t fucking? If she isn’t loving The Neighbor?
Well, I’ve answered that to a degree this past month of being alone and sexless:
She’s a mother.
She’s a businesswoman.
She’s an artist.
She’s patiently impatient.
What I’m afraid of is what makes this entire process more difficult: I’m afraid I’ll never find anything as great as what I had with The Neighbor. His disposition matched mine perfectly, his cock was magnificent, he was a spectacular lover, he was whip smart, he was financially stable, he was good with my baby, my friends, and my animals. The fear is because the bar is set so high I may be denied all these things I love and need so much for a very long while and then what? Will I find a new muse??
Well, something else I’ve figured out is that I don’t have to have it all figured out. This is my life and my journey and I can do what I like with it and there are some things I need to discard entirely from the fringes of my life, contraindicating factors such as, “If I don’t have sex, then I am not sexy.”
I relied on sex to help me dig myself out of years worth of a sexless relationship, but I don’t need to use it for that purpose. Now, finally, sex gets to be something else. Sport, perhaps? Connection, depth, fun, release, exploration, fill-in-the-blank. Once I release sex from Hy as a personal identifier I am free from its trappings to deliver upon it.
When sex began to wane between me and TN I knew it was a red flag — who couldn’t think that? But he denied it and excused it and I was left to wrestle with the question on my own, “Am I sexy if I’m not having sex?” It’s why I started my Instagram account. I needed more feedback and then I realized I didn’t need it anymore. I am sexy with or without the sex.
I’m hoping my new outlook serves me well and the cocks I’m dreaming about really are the stuff that dreams are made of because it’s beautiful out there. Just look.