It’s been 2 years.

January 27th, 2015 I wrote about our last time together.  Only thing was, I had no idea that’s what it was.

It was a tender moment between us — good sex, spectacular sex — and it wiped out the doubt and worry I lived with about him and had me hopeful for our future.  I contemplated what we did next with our relationship, moving it forward.  I was the girl who got all dressed up for the dance and her date had entirely other plans.  Somewhere else.

And then, the day after I wrote the words he walked into my house and left me.  Technically we ended it 2 weeks later, but the truth is he left me the night he said he wanted a break.  Perhaps it was the last time he was buried inside of me; a real goodbye fuck.

In the weeks that followed we cried together as I begged him for a reason why.  “I don’t know, Hy.  I just don’t want to be in a relationship,” he’d say wearing a sad, heavy face like a drama mask.

Spring turned into summer and our meetings were less tearful and more reorienting.  “If we’re going to be friends, then you can’t hide things from me, TN,” I’d gently lecture.  “I don’t want details, but friends tell each other when they’re dating someone.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m not dating anyone, I promise.  I have no interest.”

He was working out early in the mornings by then, bootcamp at dawn.  I couldn’t get him up before 9 am when we dated.  He’d said he wasn’t a morning person and never would be.  He did yoga, was kayaking, even hanging out with his workout crowd.

My birthday was in late summer and the night he took me out to a fancy dinner to celebrate he complained about how tired he was because of the hot yoga he’d done in the morning and when I pressed and asked if he was doing it for a woman he claimed it was with “just a bunch of middle-aged women” from his bootcamp.  “Don’t worry.  I’m not dating,” he’d added unprovoked.

The next day I ended our friendship amidst his protests and angry, mournful tears.  I was still in love with him and watching him change into the kind of man I’d always wanted him to be right before my eyes was too painful, a slap in the face of my ill-conceived sacrifice to accept him as he was.  What a fucking idiot I was.

That fall, a mere weeks after saying my final goodbye, I ran into him with a woman at my favorite gym class.  A class that I had introduced him to and which we had attended together for a year.  She was pale and pretty and he struggled to ignore me even as he paid her every ounce of his attention.

A couple of weeks later I stumbled on his Facebook page filled with pictures of him with the same dark-haired woman.  I was devastated.  Everything – everything – he had told me about himself was a lie.

Apparently he was the kind of man who went out to parties and concerts and yoga.  He dressed up for Halloween and brought her to his work events.  He was snapped kissing her and beaming a 100-watt smile at the camera with her in his arms.  And he allowed her tag the ever-loving-shit out of him on Facebook whereas I was forbidden from giving even the slightest hint of our association with each other on social media beyond friendship.

I was glad I had preemptively ejected him from my life based on not only my ongoing feelings for him but the deeply held, but as yet unproven belief that he was lying to me.  (Posthumously and accidentally discovering hidden profiles seeking alternative sexual relationships with women during our active relationship helped cement my feelings about him lying.)

I was left in shreds.  Barely myself.  I limped along month after month of 2016 fully free of him in my life, but was repeatedly reminded of his existence — both because he remained in our complex and because about every week or so he would visit my Adult Friend Finder profile, deliberately leaving a visitor trail.


It’s now nearly two years to the day he abandoned me out of a troubled left field and I still — still — miss him.

I miss our easy rapport, our shared politics, our chemistry, our love.  And by far most of all — because I’m beyond and round the bend of the other things — I miss his fucking cock. 

Since we’ve split I’ve had 20, 30 more and not one has come close in making me feel the things he did.  Bones was an approximation, David was massive and fat but didn’t have the curve and length, Remington never let go despite having a lot to work with.

Everyone else had curves, lengths, and girths that just didn’t compare and despite my best efforts to refocus, let go, really enjoy and embrace what was in front of me I was left with a bitter aftertaste which was decidedly not TN.

Regardless of the shape and size of the penis — truly — the bottom line is no one has fucked me like he did, like he could.

He was a maestro with our bodies, perhaps I was, too.  Playing each other like seasoned musicians.  Eyes shut, feeling the chords, the notes, and the symphony in our bones.

Even that last meaningful night when he had assuredly decided he was leaving me and was completely checked out.

I can’t help but ask myself how is that even possible?? How can two people have that level of connection and pleasure while one is utterly gone?

I am ashamed and deeply humiliated at my gullibility and inability to move on.  I’m afraid that no one will be able to supplant the memories with new and better ones.  I’m scared I’m stuck.

Two motherfucking years and I have what feels like nothing to show for all my work, all my suffering, all my tearful, painful meanderings through the tangled paths of my heart.

I’m ashamed to share the depth of my broken-ness, of my mistrust, my longing.  No one can penetrate the fortress I have built around my heart except for those whose proximity and viability are null.  Men equal danger.  They cannot be trusted.  They don’t listen to me, they use me, they are not safe.

Therefore I will use them, chew them like bubblegum and rub my mound on their parts until my juices burst and runneth over and the sticky-sweet bubbles pop on my puckered lips.


I wonder if he ever thinks of me.  In general.  I know he must considering he visits my AFF profile regularly, but I mean in real life.  Does he have anxiety about getting his mail?  Driving in and out?  I’m long since past all that, but the ghost of his cock lingers in my psyche, my pussy, my heart.

I have fucked everything that walks in an effort to replace him and to heal and all to no avail. I’ve hoped love would find me and now I’m hoping to find love.

The only thing left to try at this point is not fucking at all except I’m failing at that, too — of course — but I’m hanging in there with the hope and the will to push forward.  If I found someone like him once, surely I can find someone like him (but better) again.  Right??

At least the thought helps me sleep at night.


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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20 thoughts on “It’s been 2 years.
  1. I don’t completely understand what you’re experiencing, because I have never experienced it. But I know that I have flashbacks on the Bouncer, I know I miss his smile, even hear his voice at times, remember the smell of him. I also remember G, of course, but it is different because I ended it, so I had time to work on it. With the Bouncer, I’d like to hear more from him, know how his doing, hope we can still be friends, at least, because I think I miss that much more than the sex (which was great, but that’s not the point). I simply miss seeing him, being with him. Which is even harder to comprehend since I do have The Dancer!

    Sorry, it’s not necessarily what you want to hear today. I’ll end by saying I truly wish you the best of luck, that you manag to heal from that relationship, manage to find love too.

  2. Abso-fucking-lutely you will find someone who will be there for you in all the ways you need. Who will stay overnight and want you to Facebook tag them and want not just you but your child and everyone in your life, in theirs. They will accept you in all of your facets.
    I have to believe it’s true. I do believe it’s true.
    For both of us ?
    Ann St Vincent recently posted…I can still get really angry – at TonyMy Profile

  3. Hy,

    Your heartbreak brings tears to my eyes. Last night I was thinking of the man that broke my heart 34 years ago and part of it still aches. It wasn’t until I quit looking that I met the man I’d marry. I know it’s cliché, but it’s true! I hated it when people would tell me that, and I didn’t believe a word of it. Eleven years later, I did meet my love. He’s a good man. Just breathe Sweetheart. Your love is out there!

    1. Thanks, Dawnie. I still have hope, too, it’s just shocking to me how much pain and longing I still experience! I’ve never gone through anything like this before.

  4. Hy,

    Are those two images from Adult Chatroulette/FriendFinder? I don’t want to shake up your reality too much, but I know for certain that the ‘viewed me’ bit gets set even when you show up on someone’s front page regardless of whether or not they click on you. If he’s listed or friend requested you that’s a different story though! I went through a similarly confusing experience with someone who I thought would view my profile every day but it was just because we lived very close and those showed up first in the list… I only found out because I met him later and it came up =)

    1. I’ve tested it with friends and asked lots of people about it and they have all visited me. It’s entirely possible AFF is fucking stupid, but they would be negatively affecting all their users by counting landing on someone’s homepage as a visit (my case in point). It could be dangerous in some situations (think abuse or assault that occurred between two people and to think one was stalking the other, etc.). In any case, I’m at the point now where I wouldn’t believe him if he denied it anyway, so it’s sort of moot. As far as I’m concerned he’s been looking at my profile regularly ever since we split :-/ I dunno… it’s all just stupid. Lol

  5. Dear Hy,

    Agreeing with NBratScott (or is that NBRatScott?!) that this was powerfully written.

    I remember sharing your pain/disappointment from when you wrote about it before..

    I’d like to say, Hy, please don’t be embarrassed or feel ashamed.
    As I’ve said elsewhere, these pains are all Lessons from which we Learn and Move Forward. Your open & honest sharing of all this with us, your audience, is to be commended, and the sympathetic replies, to be seen as blessings.

    It’s not easy to “move on”; plus, seems to me you never really had proper “closure” cuz some of what he *said* (despite his actions, as you discovered, being totally contrary) has managed to keep some part of you “hooked” on some deep-set belief that **seems** to be making you save a space for him to come back to — I see that from some of the way you wrote in this post.

    It kinda breaks my heart for you, dear Hy, cuz after all you’ve been through, you DESERVE to be done with the liar-cheat, no matter his fucking cock.. As a GUY, I daresay my own interpretation of his overt willingness to be photographed with pale pretty dark-hair (PPDH) AND tagged all over social media, in stark contrast to his insistence on no such thing with YOU… totally suggests to me that his ego requires ARM CANDY, which is what PPDH is/was/is, and that implicitly suggests that you don’t quite cut the mustard for THAT requirement for him, though the SEX WAS fucking great, and worth going back for, time and again.
    It’s superficiality, is what that is…

    I swear it stinks of Arm Candy Ego. He’d rather his guy friends were at least a bit jealous of his Arm Candy, superficially, than be put in any position of needing to “justify” in any way who he’s with and why: “She’s a savage beast in the sack!!”
    .. or whatnot.. It’s a Lazy way out — they can SEE why he’s with PPDH: the typical 21st century media-driven “model of beauty”-based stick-skinny waif-like look (yuck) is considered “hawt”. It asks no extra effort to describe anything about them.
    Such “men” have NO real taste nor appreciation for Real Beauty, both the surface / outward AND the Inner elements of Character and Mind, Personality & Intelligence.
    You’re far better off withOUT that sort of wet blanket in your life.

    Today is Jan 28th. It’s Chinese New Year of the Rooster. A FIRE Rooster, too.
    You have a YEAR (til next Feb) to explore the potential for Firey Cock and someone you can LOVE who will Love You Back.

    Let go of TN once and for all — that Power (of Closure) is, actually, in YOUR hands.
    In YOUR mind. YOU DECIDE. Choose Freedom.

    Love can’t Find You until you MAKE SPACE for it to come into your life.
    That space is presently still clogged with memories & pain which needs flushing.
    Don’t just “paint over” (your 20-30 since) or “re-wallpaper”; RIP OUT the old!!
    Go right back to Bare Walls, and let LOVE in to redecorate anew.

    Blessings of Light & Love to you, dear Hy.

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