The hurt is like bad cologne.

I wrote yesterday that it’s been nearly a month and a half since I last spoke to him.  Every day past the month mark is uncharted territory, a new scar on my heart.

So, tonight, I visited a profile of his I stumbled upon online some time this summer.  He’d written it when we were together because it says he’s 29 in the text (we were together from 27-30) and that he’s “single and employed.”

I went back there tonight to remind myself of the pain, the marrow-slicing deceptions I lived through with him and why I am better off alone and away from him.

And then I think, “If he came back to me, hat in hand, willing to be honest and come clean and work on whatever hurdles we had I might…”

I might do something.

I might yell, I might sob, I might even throw something — at him, but mostly at me — for being so trusting and so loving and so still in love with a man whom I didn’t really know.  I might take him back.

I read others’ pain, Charlie’s in particular, and I feel her words as if they’re my own.  This sense that I have only myself to blame because he was always up front with me: he never wanted to make us real or lasting.

And once we fell in love — at least I hope he loved me — I suspect he did what he had to do in order to remain separate and distinct from me and so he opened or maintained online profiles claiming he was single.

My wounds over accidentally discovering these things are not healed, indeed, they appear to be as deep as ever; I am leery of men and of people in general.  Couple this with my recent experiences of being catfished and basically abandoned, months worth of awful dates and the hundreds of insignificant texts and ridiculous emails I’ve had to wade through and I am drowning in the waters of dating duplicity.  I don’t know if I can ever trust again.  And that breaks my heart all over again.

I was once proud of my ability to trust in the face of adversity.  Now, I scoff at it.  What a silly woman I was.

I scroll through my phone and cringe.  Cocks with big, meaty hands wrapped around them — some of which I don’t even recall — mixed in with my angel’s face, my family, my dog, peppered with more of my iniquity, my tits and ass.  I feel dirty and desperate, powerful and prideful.  I don’t know what I’m doing.

I read an old post of love and lust between us and I question its reality while I heavy-handedly wipe my tears away.  Were his words true or were they convenient?  Did he ever love me?  That question sits on me like stink on shit.

I told him I found his profiles left sprinkled on the internet this summer.  He became angry with me.  I told him they were public profiles and I was curious, I needed to see.  He said he’d never pry at my profiles.

“I need to be hurt so I can move on,” I explained.

“I avoid them because it hurts,” he replied.

“Well, that’s how we’re different.”

The night I told him I could no longer have him in my life he said he might call me despite my rule not to, “Just so you can hang up on me.” I felt hopeful he might, but the truth may be closer to that of me never seeing or hearing from him again. It wouldn’t be unlike the others who slipped out of my life this year, The Russian, The Soldier.  It’s what I expect.

With each passing day I lick my wounds and try to be hopeful and confident, but I am more or less reminded that the men I meet don’t tend to find me all that important beyond my “perfect fucking nipples.”  How many times have I heard the refrain, “I wanna suck on your gorgeous tits”?  Enough, already!

I have tried dating too soon, not at all, and at the right time, but I am only exposing myself to more emotional vandalism.  Tinder and Bumble increased the tempo with which I had to swat away impertinent comments about my looks or willingness to fuck or brought me quintessentially unavailable men.

I found a sexy, smart, striking fellow who spoke attentively to me for hours and drove me home where we made out in the cramped cab of his little pickup only to have him text me the next morning to tell me has a girlfriend.  Fucking great.

Adult Friend Finder passes my way men who want to drink my piss to help with their allergies or men whose drive for sex is so great they seem to forget that there is an actual woman attached to my vagina.

“Why can’t you call me?” the no-name, pushy man asked me last night after sending me washed-out and glistening pics of his erection.

“Dude, because I can’t.”  FUCK. OFF.

I wonder how he’s doing in all of this.  His car is often gone now that he’s a man-about-town.  On the one-month mark my stomach clenched to think he was languishing on some woman’s couch, happy and lazy, periodically getting up to fuck her, to love her.  Not leaving.

That’s the thing: he was always leaving me.  Every day, every week, every month.  Always leaving, always having an eye to get back to whatever it was he was doing at home.  I tried to focus on all the time he did spend with me, but I knew he’d rather be at home.  He’d say, “Hy, I spend more time with you than anyone else on the planet — you’re my favorite person — but yeah, I’d always rather be at home, you know that.”

I am better now that I have shut the door, but I am left with the locusts that made it past the barn door and I struggle to keep them from destroying what I have left inside of me.  I’m trying not to be eaten alive, yet I am the nectar to their greed.

This is not a call for platitudes, simply an honest acknowledgement of the tatters I now seem to call Me.

I want to believe that his feelings for me were real, but as our relationship shrinks into the distance of my life I am left with the humiliating idea that it might have been my desire for it to be true and not reality.  A small, sharp thing to hold in the palm of my hand that I might keep in my grip, to not believe in anything so much again.

I have hidden so much of my pain because I am embarrassed by it.  I want to be stronger and more rational, but the truth is I am not either of those things.  I loved a man very deeply who did not return my feelings in kind and that kind of wound breaks a person, her belief in hope and herself.

I am working on repair, on mending my broken spirit and heart, but I worry that they will not make a full recovery.  Perhaps I will carry the memory of it all with me like a limp and be functional, but obviously different.  Perhaps I will struggle to love again, but never achieve it.  Or perhaps, I will just sit here quietly alone and wait for things to knit back together.

And thanks, strange dudes I don’t know, but I don’t give a fuck if you think my tits are great.  I’m trying to remember it’s what’s underneath them that’s most important.


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.

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16 thoughts on “The hurt is like bad cologne.
  1. Hy, it’s okay to hurt.

    bleed and scream, weep and crumble. let it out. over and over and over if that’s what it takes. our hearts really are the most beautiful and miraculous part of who we are and i tend to think we forget that they can work and be broken at the same time.

    let it do what it’s meant to do. love and hugs. xoxox

  2. It sucks. The little pangs in the heart during the day sucks. Waking up with him on my mind first thing, sucks. It has been 2 months and 18 days for me and tho I have a boy toy who fills my sexual needs, it is not the same. I miss the man who I thought knew me. Who had all the right words when I needed them. I have a very hard time accepting I was scammed for 6years by a married man who still lies through his teeth about being married and berates me for “not trusting him”. The embarrassment some days is too painful to bear. I do not want to go back to the things he put me through, but I know I would run back in a second. Hello, my name is Sandy and I am an addict and I call my drug “The Man”. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, I was willing to do anything for my fix.
    Such a pity, really; the prey falling for the predator. The victim in love with the killer… A mere mortal girl dreaming a demon was capable of love.

    You have my empathy Hy….. Keep writing about it…keep talking to your friends about it…keep doing whatever you need for you to help you heal.

    1. Oh, I’m sorry to hear you can relate so closely. And as one who is slowly, but surely walking away, I say you do the same. Just keep walking your way. xx

  3. I hate to see you like this. You needn’t keep beating yourself up. Why is not normal to still have wistful feelings? Why are you angry with yourself and everyone because you’d like to understand? Even though you may never get all the answers, until there is the understanding, I don’t think you’ll get closure. Let’s face it, he deceived you the whole time. You are so widely open, he hid behind a mostly closed door, allowing you only brief glimpses of what was within. And from those glimpses you constructed a man you thought you saw, built a relationship from what you had constructed of him. It was all shadowy, way less concrete than needed. Pursue the understanding. Get it all down. Then the closure will come. I once carried the guilt for more than 2 decades until I finally could understand.


    1. I know it’s tough to see me like this, but really I’m ok. Just another step in the right direction, right? You know how I do. I lay it all out even when it isn’t pretty. I’m actually afraid he’ll read this and think I’m an awful person. I have a loooong way to go, I know.

  4. TN is avoidant and was never capable of giving you the quality of connection you need. If he had stuck around, the two of you would have continued your futile dance like two north poles on magnets. It was never about “bad” or “unworthy” or “I should have” or “I’m so ~” or “if he loved me” or “if I was loveable”. It is about oil and water. (I suspect he did love you in his way, but his way wasn’t what you needed.)

    Sending you some love and compassion, to pour into those cracked places in your heart.
    Sex Is My New Hobby (Zoë) recently posted…Sinful Sunday: visible panty linesMy Profile

    1. Preach, woman! Love this so much because I’d like to think it’s the case, that he did love me and there’s no doubt we didn’t work well, I just fervently wish we had and could.

  5. Aww Hy,

    Yeah, TN should have been honest with you. Lots of SHOULD HAVES but it doesn’t matter now does it? Like some said on here , he only gave you glimpses. I remember reading the unraveling of your relationship earlier on this year and look how far you’ve come! Still in pain but nothing like that. Or I’d like to think so.
    Take care of your heart Hy :)

  6. All the should haves, could haves etc. aint gonna fix how you are feeling now.
    Keep doing what you have been, look after yourself and hold that beautiful blonde head high girl!!

  7. your writing and your fun here shows how you are so much more than your body and you deserve all of you to be worshipped: mind, body, and soul. Hy and the rest of you deserve all of this.

    1. The word “deserve” is a tricky one, but I get what you’re saying. Why not get what we want, right? Whether I — or anyone else — “deserves” it is besides the point. Longing is a strange bedfellow. It’d be nice to be satiated for once :) xx

  8. Dear Hy,

    Firstly, sympathetic hugs from across the globe — heart pain is never easy, especially if we blame ourselves, but on the Plus Side, it reflects / acknowledges that we HAVE a Heart, that we Care, we Feel, and sometimes get hurt for it..

    I acknowledge that it can/may be cathartic to revisit elements of the pain (eg TN’s online “single” profiles) but I’d suggest you are kinda “punishing yourself” in this. It’s one thing to acknowledge what went (“wrong”?) before, but I might suggest you try attaching a different (more positive) kind of “stigma” to it…

    How about, instead of “here are the signs I should’ve paid attention to”, “here’s the truths I shouldn’t have ignored”, “here’s a reminder of how much of a fool I let myself be”, etc..
    (Whatever negative self-talk you’re allowing yourself; cuz maybe a little bit can be constructive, but please don’t over-do it..)

    How about:
    “Here’s a reminder of the Lesson I’ve Learned **from** a mistake I made, this Lesson making me a Stronger and Better person, cuz I’ll now try to pay better attention to these kinds of signs, _AND_ I know I won’t do this kind of thing to someone else, cuz I know how it hurts to be on the receiving end.”

    So, instead of “I only have myself to blame”, how about:
    “I acknowledge I saw warning signs, there were clues, but I CHOSE an aspect of Happiness that was available despite the façade he presented — I CHOSE to continue enjoying his company; I CHOSE to enjoy his body l, around, over, inside me; I CHOSE to Love, to believe his Love (not a lie), to have such companionship, for that stretch of time.
    I WAS IN CONTROL – it was ALL my Choice, and I Enjoyed it all.”

    Not to be cold, but, dear Hy, you *could* turn it into a Trophy, a Triumph, a Victory.. not a loss or failure.
    You bagged yourself a great “conquest” – hot guy, decent smarts, big cock, great sex, fun times.

    So it didn’t last.
    You’re still alive. There will be others.
    And you will CLAIM similar Victories in future, on YOUR TERMS, and by YOUR CHOICE.
    The Power is in Your Hands, Hy.

    Let the hurt go.

    As others have said, his love was probably real, but just not the right fit for you. (Witness his gentleness w your kiddo & dog; my ex told me of an ex of hers, who ignored her boys, and shut the dog out — he was only there for sex and his Napoleon Complex, having bagged a tall woman. Pffft.)

    You _were_ Loved by TN (I believe).
    Just not in a “good fit” way.

    It’s like a warm coat with short sleeves – warmed the body nicely but left parts of you cold.
    Why keep it? Why want it back?
    Cuz it’s “mostly warm”?
    I’d like to keep my fingers & forearms frostbite-free, thankyouverymuch!
    Ya been great, my bod thanks you, but I require more than you can give.
    Love ya, but out you go.
    I’ll remember you fondly. Bye now.
    If I see you, I’ll say hi.
    But you’re better with someone w dinky arms – go keep them warm. I’ll find MY “coat” soon enough. ;)

    Please don’t call yourself “dirty” or “desperate”.
    You love sex. It’s fun, it feels good, and it burns calories. (Ha.)
    You have a SEX BLOG!
    That makes you an “investigative journalist”, not dirty or desperate. :p
    It’s “field research”! ;)
    You OWN this shizzle!

    You Are a Phenomenal Woman, Hy.

    The way you write belies your obvious Intelligence. The photos of your lovely, curvy body shows you have Confidence. Writing about your feelings and how you’ve been hurt and when you’ve been happy, shows me you are Caring, Honest, tending to Wild Abandon when you so choose, yet always being mindful of people you don’t know (catfish was a slip, but that’s what cat-fishing is for; you fell once, and you’ll now be better for it). Having written about the care you employ in shielding your child from connection to this blog shows me how fab a Mom you ARE.
    You’re Fun, Feisty, Fabulous, Feminine.

    From all I’ve read (& seen) so far, I believe you’re a catch waiting to be caught. I could be so lucky to meet a woman just like you.

    Yes, fuck the platitudes and the superficial comments about your body (though I, for one, dig your hourglass); this is your blog, a window into your MIND, HEART, & SOUL, with occasional glimpses of your delicious bod.

    And your Mind, Heart, and Soul are Beautiful.

    Don’t lose sight of that positivity when you revisit your hurts. Please.

    Own it. Chin up. Stride on.
    (Re-)Claim your Power. Be Powerful.
    Walk into a new bar/club; pick a guy; hooked-finger-sign him over to you; if he comes, “conquer” him.
    STRUT, gurrrl. ;)

    Big Love,
    Chris dS

  9. Oh, and I forgot an important point:

    You’ll Get what you Expect.
    So if you “expect” that guys will “slip out of your life”, then they will.
    Before that, if you “expect” to meet a guy who’ll be “worth exploring in the short-to-medium term”, you’ll meet a guy who won’t be a “forever”.
    And if you “expect” to be “hurt again”, well, I’m afraid, darling, you’re setting yourself up for a fall. :p

    Maybe “expect”ing a “pleasant surprise”, a “new & different kinda guy”, a “change of scene/pace” (if that’s what you want), and some “fun, mutually nurturing, happiness-filled, and future-unwritten” positive months ahead might just bring you some of it..?

    Just remember, the Universe may or may not “deliver” quickly… just be guarded HOW and WHAT you Think (& Expect), ok? ;)


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