I’m invisible.

When it’s quiet, it’s a roar.

Stillness doesn’t suit me, yet I’m certain it fits like a glove.

Goddamn I wish someone loved me – even a little.

I keep seeing men from my past who swore they weren’t interested in a girlfriend Now, with girlfriend!

I am like a stinky cheese.

I sound decadent, but when I’m on the palate once is enough.

I suspect Peter is with his lady friend as I haven’t heard from him all day.

The Golfer is likely busy wooing some other woman he’ll probably make plans with 5 days in advance without bitching about it.

Or making love to a bottle and some Titleists.

It’s so quiet I can’t hear.

I can’t breathe the suit is too tight.

I am so completely invisible to the men I am in front of.

I don’t exist.

Hy, Hy, Hy.

Why can they not see me?!

I must just be too quiet.

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Little joys, little pains.

It’s really freeing to not give a shit.

It’s also simultaneously lonely.

Peter came over for an impromptu night together on Sunday. He groaned into my ear how much he loved the way I fucked. For a moment I thought of the woman he’s newly entangled with, the one he’d told me he hung out with by the pool all day the day before.

I guess she doesn’t fuck like me.

We have plans to hang out by my pool this Sunday. I want to do that better than her, too.

But then I think he’s going to cancel on me. Something will come up. It’s like I told The Golfer repeatedly, I just don’t trust that men will follow through and I was surprised each time I ended up at his doorstep the day we planned.

To that end, TG is sensitive. “I can’t commit first thing Monday morning to a Saturday. I have a ton of shit going on and I don’t want to disappoint.” Maybe he doesn’t know what’s disappointing to me, to any woman.: to not be important enough to lock in a time to see me is rather a large let down.

So congratulations for not failing to follow through on a Saturday. Too bad you left me standing there grinning ear to ear all dressed up with no where to go. Silly, Hy, it’s Monday morning. Give the guy a break.

Peter said yes to Sunday on a Monday, though. Good for him. Only, I doubt he’ll actually show up. One-Month Crazy Lady will likely have a moment of some kind and he’ll need to tend to her.

I’m having 4 am girl flashbacks. — Oh, that reminds me, I saw The Neighbor again today. Pey and I were walking up the hill after swimming chatting away. I saw glimpses of him walking to his car then he drove slowly past us. Peyton didn’t even notice him. My baby only noticed the woman with a broken arm.

“Look mom,” Peyton pointed. “Now that must’ve hurt.” I had to look where the finger was pointing and it was right at TN pulling out. I wondered if he thought my baby was pointing at him. Fuck if I care. —

But yeah, 4 am girl, the one TN tried to date after he told me he didn’t want to date me. Crazy Lady reminds me of her because Peter has claimed he doesn’t want to date anyone either, but here we are.

Hot messes getting the guy.

My therapist asked if I could ask Peter why I didn’t seem to be a candidate for him. I’d told her I could, but I was too afraid of the answer to ask him on Sunday. Maybe I will at the pool.

Then again, I’m not sure I give a shit, but fuck it if I’m not lonely as hell.

Post kiss at a swanky downtown riverfront hotel. My date had to go back to work. I decided to stay and languish with my feet up and some bubbly rosé.

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e[lust] #119

Photo courtesy of Floss Does Life

Welcome to Elust 119

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #119? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Poly wobbles

Friendly Concern

Unmentionable

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Breakthrough

Wait Silently

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Sensual Indulgence, Familiar and New

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Teaching (from) the bottom (part 1)
An Intro to Ethical Cum Tributes
What is Dominance?
Reader Q&A: Femdom Podcast 105 [w transcript]
Unmentionable Lifestyle
In the wild

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Laughter, The Best Aphrodisiac
I Hate Bullies!

Erotic Non-Fiction

Devilish Threesome Fun
Cumming Awake
Flying Chaste

Body Talk and Sexual Health

How Taking Nudes Taught Me To Love Myself
Guest post: Trans access to abortion

Erotic Fiction

Milky Way
More Than Friends Prologue
Desperate
Twisted ~ Into The Woods ~ Lana’s Story
A Gift to the Gods
A New Fetish
Coitus Interruptus Vampyr
Making herself available

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon – Round 4 Thoughts

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A True Friend
Trust your landmark and run through the smoke
I’m not interested.

Poetry

-06.06.19_12:20-
Elust

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I’m listening.

I see the way, the obvious choice, I cannot ignore it.

I listen to his words, keenly and intently, like my wings are pinned to a wax board.

I believe him when he shows in a dozen different selfish, crushing ways that he cannot show up for me – even a little, even for a moment – to prolong the magic of our meeting.

I know he’s spent what little energy he has on me already and now it’s gone. Poof. Down a vodka on the rocks and the 18th hole.

You know what’s also gone? My lady boner. She has died – may she rest in peace. It was fun while it lasted, but I need a break and my wings need repair.

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I survived a very long, boring day.

I woke up before dawn and took Peyton to a swim meet.  I ran around for a few hours and hit my 5000 steps by 11 am.  And then it was over and my ex took my baby back home to his house and I was left to my own devices.

I ran errands, got stuck in that weird Target shut down (which saved me $150, actually, so thank you, Target!), and window-shopped for hours on my phone like my life depended on it.  I sorted through important life documents, did a few chores around the house, loved on the dog.

And I was thoroughly, completely bored.  I mean, so bored.

But, I managed to not do a few things, too.

I didn’t prowl for men, I didn’t hit up men I already know, and I didn’t mindlessly eat or drink.

So while I was devastatingly bored, I was also busy.

Busy sitting with my discomfort, busy trying to manage my need to be around people, busy getting organized.  Basically, I was busy making better choices for myself for a change.

And it’s 11:53 and I’m going to post just under the wire and day dream about London and about being like the couple I saw come home an hour ago from my perch on my balcony.  She ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around him and he turned into her and kissed her even as they kept walking to their apartment.  The cicadas seemed to chirp with delight at the little show of affection.

I haven’t felt that kind of abandon with someone in years, the freedom to show that kind of fairy-dust-affection and guilelessness.  Maybe soon…

Shit, it’s 11:56.  Better hustle!

It’s been a minute.

 

Sinful Sunday

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I’m in extrovert hell.

I told my therapist today that I worried I might get myself into trouble this weekend, my need for contact with people is so high.

Imagine that urge, dark and insistent, to seek solace and quiet when you’re overloaded and stretched so thin you think people can see right through you. A clinging, persistent hiss in your ear to be the fuck alone. I get that to be with people.

It’s like dry mouth and I must have a long, cool slug of something lest I fucking die.

First I reached out to friends about happy hour, but they weren’t available. So I reached out to another friend and while I waited to hear from her I decided to pick up a dropped OKC thread.

Then while I was sipping rosé with her – feeling largely dissatisfied still – he and I made plans to meet up later at my favorite little wine house at 9 o’clock. I felt moderately better.

He’s tall, goofy looking, fit, funny, and a single dad. And 10 years my junior. Of course.

(My meeting with the married man this morning never happened: kid stuff popped up.)

I am going to keep a close eye on myself this weekend and maybe just contemplate my navel instead of actually finding that trouble I’m worried about falling into.

Hopefully this goody fella will do the trick for my thirst.

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A quiet night.

It’s only Wednesday and I’m exhausted.

I’m meeting a married man at 8 am for coffee.

I have no plans this weekend. With anyone.

The Vet texted me this morning and we had another inane, short chat.

I’m still angry at the 20 lbs I’ve gained since 2015. Wtf.

Im sipping white wine and watching the third season of Black Mirror and am terrified.

I wish I was obsessed with something that hid me from the rest of the world. Like golf.

The pic from Saturday night that never saw the light of day.

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I suck.

This weekend was a roller coaster of emotions, highs and lows and vodka and shitty men.

I had an incredible weekend of mommy-ing, one of the best.  We loved on each other, laughed a ton, cuddled, played in the pool, I rooted and cheered at a swim meet, we saw a movie.  It was fucking great.  Just what a summer weekend should be.

With school out, Sunday swaps make more sense, so this weekend was my first Sunday free.  Peter and I made plans for him to come over – he’d cut out of a poker game early, he said, and would be at my place around 7 or 8.

Meanwhile, Saturday night I’d gone out with friends and had vodka, which I never do.  At 2:30 am I drunk texted The Golfer whom I still hadn’t heard from – that liquor sure did a number on my resolve to not text him.  Fuck.  And it’s almost worse than drunk dialing of the ’90s because the worlds stay foreverrr, but I digress.

I texted asking if he were mad at me because I hadn’t heard from him knowing full well he wasn’t, but I thought it was a good enough ice breaker.  And then I asked him how he managed to not drunk text me.  I thought I was so cute!  But I guess it worked because he texted me Sunday morning.

Of course he wasn’t mad at me, he texted.  Then, “Come over and squirt all over me…”

I had plans with Peter so demured.  Also, I wasn’t crazy about being ignored for 3 weeks then invited to bring my pussy over to play.  I decided to tell him his silence was confusing and that I’d like to continue our affair, but wasn’t sure he wanted to.  His response was to simply reiterate his invitation.  But, Peter…

I suggested this coming weekend instead, but he said he couldn’t due to “some shit going on.”  I was disappointed – both in the scheduling conflict and myself over all.  I shouldn’t be entertaining this, right??

I decided to focus on Peter’s visit instead.  We’d texted a little Saturday, but I hadn’t heard from him yet.  I texted and… nothing.  But I didn’t fret.  It was Peter, after all.  I trusted him to keep our plans.

But 7 and then 8 o’clock came and went and no Peter.

Concurrent to all of this, a friend of mine asked if we could go swimming together yesterday – code for using my pool.  I told her I had plans to swim after a 1:30 movie.  At 3:36 I texted her letting her know we were headed to swim, but she’d found another pool and said she “wasn’t sure when we’d be done.”  Peyton was disappointed and confused, my friend’s kid is a bestie.  “I thought it was us she wanted to hang out with.”

“No, baby, she just wanted the pool, I guess.”  Nice, thanks, Amy.

I texted Peter this morning:

WTF Peter 😔 You completely flaking on me last night really hurts my feelings. That was so disrespectful and not at all what I expected from you – which is why I told someone else I wasn’t available to see him. I figured you would keep your word even though I hadn’t heard from you. Seriously, what happened?? If you don’t want to see me, just say so, but don’t fuck with me like that, please. My time is far too precious and you know that 😢☹️

I’m pretty fucking pissed right now, but I don’t hate you. Please text me back so we can work something out. I’m thinking we need to put this on the back burner or maybe say goodbye for a little while. Both make me sad, but getting stood up is worse and not good for me and I’m not going to put up with it from a man I like and trust.

He just wrote back.

Apparently he got his work truck towed with both his phones in it – though that doesn’t make sense because he said he would be too tired to come over Saturday night after work, so not sure where his truck was that it’d get towed seeing as he should have been at home.  He apologized and asked if he could see me for a quick minute to talk in person.

I didn’t post yesterday.  I thought about it, but just couldn’t bring myself to put words to paper.  I was humiliated and hurt and embarrassed.

And then this morning I texted The Golfer a video of me and my breasts on my balcony and, long story short, I’m headed to his place tonight after work.

I suck.

 

 

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I told two more friends.

“So why tell us now?” my friend asked, his wife listening intently As we sat on by the pool of their hotel.

“Well, I realized I had isolated myself over the years, only sharing parts of myself with people I really care about and if I wanted to change that, I had to start opening up.

“I’ve told blogging friends what I do for a living and where I live and even my real name and now I’m sharing with you guys my blogging side.”

My girlfriend wanted to know more, “Oooh! I want to know your name!”

I didn’t share, but I warned them of the content and the vibe of my writings. My friend said he may have already read it, but really he focuses on lifestyle blogs rather than just some random, lonely woman blog. That was my joke, not his.

We have drinks coming up, then dinner and with my other friend of ours who knows, and more hanging out. I feel so full and whole and have hardly thought of The Golfer today except to think, “Hmm, I don’t feel like texting him.”

I’d share a pic with y’all of me hanging at the bar while my friends shower upstairs, but my phone isn’t cooperating. Just imagine me with a white linen shirt with a deep V-neck avec cleavage and a black skirt topped off with a little smile.

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The epiphanies keep on coming.

Short version:

I went to therapy desperate to reach out to The Golfer; I left without the urge.

And in the middle I cried because I realized that in order to feel special to someone I believe I have to do something for them.

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