It’s The Neighbor.
It’s been longer now since he left than when we were together. Three years we dallied and it’s been almost 3 and a half since I thought he was mine, but still he creeps across my mind.
Occasionally he’s there in pale, blue-eyed men with dark hair. In pulsing, giant veiny meat that makes me cry with pleasure. He’s with me in an orgasm as it tears through me alone in my room. He’s in my loneliness, my exhaustion to find someone to love me.
He unfriended me on Facebook shortly after I thought to unblock him last summer. I liked that. But he also accepted my years old Venmo invitation and so he’s somehow connected to me there. I saw he bought a couch and hired an interior designer. There’s a beautiful girl at his work with whom he flirts.
I don’t want to see any of this, but sometimes I peek to justify my pain, satisfy a masochistic itch. I’ve blocked him everywhere I know him to be in the shared dark places where we hunt for lovers and friends, but recently I looked on FetLife when I returned.
Not much has changed – his profile is virtually identical to when we were dating – and my feelings, while similar, are a vague iteration of jealousy and longing. What does it mean that he’s as enigmatic now as he was to me when he shared my bed and life?
New to the menu of feelings is disgust; proof of his dishonesty never seems to wane. That is why I look, to feel that little surge of power in my anger, my righteousness. I wasn’t angry for so long it feels like a salve now.
On FetLife I scoffed when I saw his participation in local kinky book clubs and political groups. Years ago I remember he had a roommate wanted ad up while we were dating. He was elusive, downplayed his kinky side, shut me out, lied.
I wonder if I actually need to know anything about him after all these years, but so long as the urge is in me I will continue to humor it. Eventually all curiosity will pass and my TN box will be as empty as it is black.
I look forward to the day, though, when my memories of him are merely watercolors and I won’t be tempted to peek behind any internet curtains, my lovers are my own and my orgasms free. I’ll bury the box and never look back.