I am overwhelmingly scared.

“I am overwhelmingly scared,” I said and stared at the houseplant glistening darkly in front of the window.  “After the third date I am cast out into complete No Man’s Land for me; I don’t know what to do.”  Tears spilled down my cheeks.

My therapist crinkled her crinkly eyes.  “I know you are, Hy, but there’s nothing about you that tells me you’re not capable of this.  Nothing.  You got this.”

I’m going on my third date with Rex tonight.  It’s not a big deal except that it is.  I can count on no hands the number of 3rd dates I’ve had in the past 6 years that didn’t include sex.  That’s right: zero.

Typically by the second date I’ve already fucked him and realized I never wanted to touch him again or he had disappeared.  Third dates like tonight mean we’re getting to know one another and as much lip service as I gave to such a pursuit over the years my heart wasn’t really in it.  But it is now.

Now I want to get to know someone and I want him to get to know me, but the fear is palpable.  It cloys to my ribs and stifles my breath.  Can I let my guard down and open up?  Do I even know how?? 

I don’t think I’ve ever done it in all my life; I’ve used this blog for years now as the outlet for me  to connect and be vulnerable, but I’ve hidden it away and only those who randomly stumbled upon me gained access.  Strangers are safe; real people are not.  Not my best friends, not my family, not my lovers, not even my boyfriend.

I consider connecting with strangers good theoretical practice, but I’ve never done it with someone with whom I could reach out and touch, look into his eyes and say the things I needed to say and know he heard every whispered, nuanced word.

Look, I know it’s just a third date, but it’s representative of this new adventure upon which I’ve launched myself.  If I want someone to introduce to my child, well, I better get to fucking know him.  I’m curious at which point the hands around my throat will loosen; I’m fighting complete panic.

I fantasize about a savage fuck, one that will take me away from all of this mess of emotion.  A soul-pounding, bone-crushing, spirit-erasing fuck.  I want my feet on the ground, but my head in the clouds.  Sex is my salve, after all, my fickle and rewarding friend, and when administered in just the right way can make the world right again.

Wish me luck.


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 “I am overwhelmingly scared.
  1. It’s scary because goes against the dysfunctional script you learned way back when. But you *can* do new things and break out of that supremely unhelpful script. Do you feel torn? That’s how I feel when my script conflicts with my authentic self. Take it slow, and after each step, observe how the sky didn’t come crashing down on you.

    You are worth getting to know, and letting someone get to know you is not inherently dangerous.
    Zoë recently posted…Sinful Sunday: arcsMy Profile

  2. Hy, it’s the “fear of the unknown”. Take it easy, if it’s meant to be it will fall into place on it’s own. Holding thumbs that this works out for you, you deserve it.

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