He haunts me.

It’s been roughly 2 years and 2 months since The Neighbor came over to stay the night and instead told me he wanted a break and ended our 3 year long roller-coaster relationship.

Two years and 2 months of driving past his building and seeing his car every. single. fucking. day.

Two years and 2 months of walking to the office or the pool or the gym and, knowing I could run into him, walked that stiff, cameras-are-on-me walk.

Two years and 2 months of never letting my guard down when I go out, of scanning every room quickly to assess his presence.

Two years and 2 months of keeping my head down while I grocery shop because it’s better to be truly ignorant than it is to feign it.

Two years and two months of him visiting my AFF profile and leaving a digital trail.

It’s also been two years and two months since I’ve had the kind of sex that made my body vibrate and weep with abandon.

Two years and two months since I laid my hands on a rock-hard, big, beautiful, long and achingly curved cocked.

Two years and two months since I thought anyone loved me.

Two years and two months is a long time.

The pain has faded, as it is supposed to do, but it’s like stale, lingering perfume.  No matter how much I’ve scrubbed it remains.

I’ve allowed myself to mourn, pushed myself forward, carefully kept an eye on what I need.  I go to therapy every week and write more words about heartbreak than I care to own.  And still, he lingers.

He lingers because I am not truly free.  His specter haunts me via his proximity, his fancy black car, even his downtown office.  And most of all, he haunts me because I feel violated.

I feel violated that he visits my profile and knowingly leaves the proof of his presence.

He could switch to invisible browsing at the very least (it’s how I operate the site) or he could just choose to leave me the fuck alone all together.

I blocked him for several weeks to give myself a respite from his stalking, to not see him in my visitor’s list, and it felt good, like taking my vitamins — this was good for me, after all.  And then I felt like I didn’t need it anymore, like, surely by now I’d be out of his regular AFF routine or maybe he’d have just realized how inappropriate it was and stopped altogether.  So I unblocked him.

But I was wrong.

Within 36 hours he visited.

And I was crushed.

I wanted it to be over, to not have to be the one to impose a protective shield.  I want him to leave me alone because he wants to leave me alone.  Not because I’ve blocked him.

It’s the difference between getting a restraining order and knowing there’s an outside force imposing reasonable thought to someone and your stalker moving on on his own.  One feels less safe than the other, I assure you.

The fact that he indulges in his curiosity — or whatever the fuck it is — makes my skin crawl and traps me in this static, hovering place.  I feel smothered, vulnerable, sad, confused, angry, violated.

Isn’t it enough that despite making 6 figures annually and having all the financial freedom in the world he chooses to remain at the gates of my life?  That he hasn’t fucking moved away?  I just signed my 3rd lease.  Surely his next will be the one he chooses to not renew, right?  Does he also have to infringe on my online world, too??

He could even be reading this blog and I wouldn’t know since I never tracked his IP address when I had the chance.  He could be one of the 20 or so local readers last week for all I know.  I hope he does read it.  At least here I feel in control.

I don’t know how to exorcise myself of him and I feel cloaked in his dysfunctional fog on two fronts: my life in general and my love life.

Will he be at this restaurant with a date?  My new gym?  Will I ever get to have the kind of sex we shared again?  Will I always know what I’m missing?

It doesn’t matter that I have told myself exactly what I’d say or do if I ever ran into him, I still have to think about it in the first place.  It’s a part of me I constantly don’t have; it’s always running to protect myself.

He is everywhere and I hate it.  And I hate that I hate it.

All in pieces.


He is like an infection.

My insides were tight as I walked down the hill towards my apartment complex’s gym.  The Neighbor’s car has been outside of his building the last week and a half around 9 am; what if he saw me walk past as he left for work?  What if his new later hours meant he was in the gym??

I decided to chance it because I so badly need to run and lose myself in sweat and burning muscles and possibly tears.

His car was there just as I’d dreaded.

I punched in the gate code to the pool and pulled it open.  The reflections on the gym windows on the other side of the deck shimmered with leaves.  As I approached I saw the handles on an elliptical moving swiftly.  I froze.

I moved to my right, just so, to see the shape of the person on the machine and it appeared to be a closely cropped male head.  He’s grown his hair back from bald, I knew that much.

I moved to my left to confirm and could still only barely make out a thick-ish shape, but it was enough.  I couldn’t make my feet move one more inch forward.  I turned on my heel and sped out.  Fuck this shit.

I sat on the retaining wall by the mailboxes hoping he’d either be right behind me and headed up to his apartment or prove I was completely paranoid and drive by in his car.  Neither happened.

I sat there, feet dangling, and fought tears.  I just want him to go the fuck away already.  It’s been 18 motherfucking months and I feel like a prisoner in my own home.  Why is he still here??  He makes plenty of money — a move would be absolutely feasible.  I can’t leave.  I have a child whom calls this home and I don’t have the funds.

Why did he stalk me on AFF every week?  Why did he use my 2-and-a-half-year old Venmo invitation to join when he refused for months when we were together (Venmo is a banking app where you can easily transfer money to your friends who use it, too, and leave funny memos, such as he did for a beautiful co-worker, “You know what this is for…”)?!  Why did he take that woman to my gym class??  Why did he want to be my friend??  Why didn’t he let me dump him all those times I tried??  Why did he follow me here??  Why won’t he go away???

Why why why????

I’ve deleted his number out of my phone, I got off of Fetlife a year ago when I saw he was using photos I took of him as his new profile pic, blocked him on FB and AFF and even fucking Venmo so I don’t have to see why the hot girl and him are passing money back and forth.  I hold my breath every time I come home and leave, check my mail, go to the pool, and now I’m afraid of my own gym.

I am so very fucking tired of this.  So, so tired.  I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

I feel like I’m drowning, though I am the strongest swimmer I know.  How is this happening to me??  I’ve done everything right, taken all the right medicines. I’ve kept my head held high, left him alone, moved on, worked hard to feel better, find a new friend and lover, invested more in my writing and this life, focused harder on mothering.

I have done it all and yet because he’s immutable I am stuck being forced to go around the steaming pile of shit that is his existence at the very gate of my life.  The very gate!

I’m glad to see that his life is so easy that the thought of moving hasn’t occurred to him.  I know what he tells himself; he says, “I’m too lazy.”  It’s what he told me when I raged at him for updating his age on AFF while we were together, but not adding the fact that he had a girlfriend like I’d nearly begged him to do months before.  “I’m lazy, Hy!” he yelled back.  Mmhm.  “Lazy.”

He doesn’t see me, nor is he reminded in any way of my existence, and he told me many times over when he’d be critical of me noticing whether his car was home or not that he never thought of my proximity.  Well, good for fucking you, you ignorant asshole.  Unlike you, I’m aware of my surroundings.

I can feel the prick of tears, the weight in my chest.

I need to run.  I’m going back down again.  Maybe I’ll get further this time.


I wish a giant hole would open up under him and he’d disappear forever and get the fuck out of my life for good.


I take two steps forward and one step back.

I wrote last night’s post before bed, after The Neighbor swung by for a few minutes to help me move a heavy potted plant up to my apartment.  He looked good, clean, freshly groomed.  His energy was weird and so I asked him if he was ok.  He said he was fine, he was just a little stressed due to work which was waiting for him back at home, but I didn’t believe him.

Naturally, I didn’t press — it’s none of my business — but I wish he’d lie better.  This morning at 7:30 his car was no where to be found.  It’s possible I missed it, but on my way out to take Peyton to school I didn’t see it or on my way back in.

One step back…

I think about what it means to me, the possibility that he stayed with a woman last night and I feel deprived.  Not only do I have no one in my life with whom I’d invite to have an overnight, but I also feel the void which defined my relationship with The Neighbor: always wanting more, never getting my needs met.

Of course it’s silly to say I’m being deprived of anything just because he might stay the night with some woman — it has nothing to do with me, technically — but because I am still wounded by him, by us, I am unable to see a missing car before 8 am and think, “Good for him.”  Instead I think, “I’m missing something he’s giving to someone else.”

It grinds me down to think he’d be willing to give it away to someone else, but of course he will.  Look at me, I’m giving it away left and right.  My charm, my pussy, my time, my attention.  Lots of men are getting a little piece of me and it’s been uplifting.  He certainly has every right to do the same.  I just wish I didn’t know when it was happening.

A heart still beats even when it’s laying on the floor.

I cried myself to sleep Sunday night and off and on all day yesterday.  Today, I feel slightly better; no tears or anything, though that gutted hollowness I know so well is lurking behind the bend for me.  I’m trying to stave it off.  I have better things to do with my time than keen like a suffering shrouded woman.

The cold snap that fell on us all Sunday night brings me pleasure, so I’m having an easier time being less crushed than I normally would when I want to skip instead of walk everywhere.  My breasts also look bigger in sweaters, so there’s that.

But here’s the thing: The Neighbor doesn’t love me and never, ever will.

I’ll explain all that later…

First, I need to reinsert my heart inside the birdcage.  Hopefully it’ll stay on its perch this time, the stupid fucking thing.

Breathe, Hy, breathe… it’ll be ok, honey.

I tripped and fell on his cock and then he called me “Sunshine.”

Sunday morning I lay in a strange bed, sunlight streaming in around us. A man lay curled up behind me, his cock buried deep inside of me, my buttocks pushed softly into his thighs. Our breathing was soft and deep. I closed my eyes and he pulled me back into him with a heavy arm. I drifted off to sleep content and happy.

I awoke later and we were disengaged. I turned on my side and spooned him, his round bottom pulled into the cradle of my hips. He stirred and sleepily looked over his shoulder at me, “Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he rolled onto his back and pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“Good morning, Neighbor,” I answered back.


Monday night my anger at my young lover had reached another breaking point. I couldn’t justify spending one more minute with a man who blithely joked about taking me for granted and who deliberately turned a blind eye to my boundaries. Stubborn as a mule, and as about as enlightened half the time, he could no longer get the pieces of me he wanted while I sat empty-handed, the girl at the coffee shop furtively glancing at the door waiting for her date to finally show up. I was going to leave the building again.

I had drinks with my friend Lindsey and came home determined to once again end this once and for all. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t even dreading it. I texted for him to come over and “be neighborly.” He said he wasn’t home, but would be soon. He came in and we sat down and I looked at him and said immediately, “I can’t do this anymore. We have to stop. Again. I can’t find love and someone who really cares about me so long as you’re in my bed and you can’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, either.”

He just looked at me, his light blue eyes glued to mine, an implacable look on his face. “I don’t want to fuck you anymore, either.”

My mouth drew into a hard line. “Gee, thanks for that,” but I understood that he was trying to get the upper hand. “But, really, we have to stop this. I cannot be with you when I get nothing out of this. The only reason I picked up with you again was because you weren’t looking for anyone else and we have an incredible time together, but it’s hard on me. You come and go as you please, as your moods and desires dictate. I have no say in any of it. I could justify it all because at least I got sex, but then you love to hold that at bay and torture me with it. The breaking point was when you said you took me for granted the other night. That hurt me so badly, TN. I can’t do it. I can’t be with a man who thinks so little of me that he’d laugh at me and say those things.”

His mouth dropped open a little. He didn’t impress me much the next few hours we talked. He said I should have asked for clarification regarding the “taking me for granted thing.” I said he needed to stop saying reckless, mean things if he didn’t want me to believe them.

“I only meant that sex is the least important part of our relationship. It’s the friendship I value the most! I told you in that moment I’d probably regret saying that…” His voice trailed off as I sat there thinking, “I bet he’s really regretting it now.”

I told him it was bullshit that he wasn’t capable of saying, “Jesus, Hy, I’m so sorry for saying that, for hurting you. I didn’t mean to.” He felt I was condescending to him and he tried to storm out. I had to master my face into a mask of calm lest I burst out laughing at his adolescent outburst.

“No, TN. You’re going to stay here,” I calmly stated as I stood in the foyer doorway, my hand on the jamb. “Go sit down and we’ll keep talking about this.”

He looked at me again as I pulled myself up to my full height. Somehow we were almost eye to eye. I walked over to the balcony door leaving the doorway free. “I’m really feeling the age gap right now,” I said. He walked back to the couch and sat down and waited for me to continue. “What are you going to lose in apologizing to me. You said yourself you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He sighed and said he was sorry. “Thanks,” I said.

I cried when I relived those moments with 4 am girl and him and how he’d said Peyton was six strikes against me. The pain I feel in my chest at being discriminated against for things I can’t control feels like someone has tampered with my oxygen tank. I feel bleak and desperate, strangely lusting for revenge, but possessing of exactly zero weapons. I sobbed and he looked heartbroken.

“Can we still be friends?” he whispered.

“I don’t know, TN. I really don’t.”

“Then I guess I’ll leave.” It was too early and he was going off in another huff.

“Stop,” I said firmly. He turned and looked at me. “Stay. Sit.” He obediently came back and sat down.

Four hours after he came over I stood and told him it was time to say goodbye and to give me a farewell kiss. “Unless,” I added, “You don’t want to say goodbye and you want to be my boyfriend.” He stood a foot away and may have been touching my arms, I don’t know. I only remember him locking his gaze to mine and saying firmly, enunciating each syllable with precision, “No. That’s never going to happen.” He chastely kissed my jaw and said, “That’s all you’re getting.”

I wanted our lips to touch gently and firmly and to hug him goodbye. I wanted to send him off with a sweet kiss and a tender moment, but he is somewhere else.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Thanks, once again, for misunderstanding me.” I walked him to the door and he slipped next door. I hadn’t made any promises of friendship, nor had he pushed me for any. I went to bed feeling accomplished.


Friday rolled around and I nervously awaited my date dressed in my favorite yellow dress. His name was Law Student and he was tallish and beautiful with milky blue eyes and rusty golden curls. He wore black dress pants and an impeccably white button-down shirt that lit up our table like a diamond on black velvet. I made a joke about the medical tape on our table from taping my broken finger and he laughed, probably relieved at my comedic attempt.

I poured him a glass of red wine and we settled in, our banter as lively and intoxicating as it had been all week. I’d met him online and our virtual chemistry was instant. It was an enormous relief to discover in person it poured over us both like honey, sticking in all the right cracks.

We met early, at 5, so decided to grab dinner after we’d drained our bottle. We walked to his beaten up Toyota and chatted as he drove the couple of miles to the Mexican restaurant. His cologne filled my nostrils and I sighed with contentment, then I giggled as I remembered how I’d stupidly revealed I wasn’t wearing any panties. He asked me what was so funny. “Nothing.”

Dinner came and went with more laughter and a margarita. He left to use the restroom and in his absence I asked two girls at a neighboring table if I could bum a smoke. “Sure,” one said as she handed me one. “Are you on a first date?”

“Yes. How could you tell?”

“Oh, body language,” she said with a shrug. “He’s really cute!” she added. “Good job!”

I laughed and sat back down. LS returned to me and I could see him appraising me with pleasure. “So, it’s really early,” I pointed out. “Would you like to come back to my place and watch Bull Durham?”

“Sure,” was his immediate response.

He drove me back to my car and he followed me home. I was giddy with excitement, hoping beyond all hope that TN would run into this Adonis of a man trailing behind me with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and smelling like tangy clovers. We made it into my apartment with no mishap and a bad quote from me from Pretty Woman and the penthouse.

“Wow,” he said turning around slowly taking in my apartment. “This place is really nice. Like, really, really nice.”

“Oh, well, thanks. Ignore the pile of laundry in the chair, though, ok?” We both laughed. “Do you want some wine? I only have a little.” He nodded and I poured us two glasses. I handed him one, still standing in the kitchen, when he stepped an inch closer and blocked my way. He looked down at me intently, his mouth parted. I tilted my head up and he grabbed my face and kissed me. Gently at first, then with fervor.

His control unraveled swiftly and his hands roamed all over my body, touching and squeezing my bottom and my breasts. In a deliberate attempt to remain chaste that night, I had left my pussy unshaved. It was clipped short, but there were hairs outside the bikini line and certainly in places I would normally attend to had I been planning on any intimate touching. But I should have known that it wouldn’t matter.

His hand hiked up dress and his fingers found me. I gasped into his mouth, embarrassed and turned on. His finger stroked me, hot and skilled. I gushed around his hand and his ardor increased tenfold. He tore my straps off my shoulders and feasted on my breasts silently. His breath came in heaving gulps.

I bucked against his hand as I released around him again. He pushed me roughly against the pantry door and pinned me like a butterfly to a foam board. I was breathing heavily, my breath quite literally stolen from me. His passionate kiss and touches rendered me speechless. I lifted my chin and looked at him. He kissed me again. I staggered away and grabbed a towel to wipe my ankles and thighs dry and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Jesus Christ,” I managed. “That was fucking hot. Also, I’m not fucking you tonight.”

“Good,” was his simple answer.

I sat there collecting myself and it dawned on me that I was the only one who’d been looking forward to the movie.

We sat down on the couch and talked some more. He kept our glasses full and I watched him walk away with a smile on my face. Not only was he gorgeous, but we had lists of things in common, hadn’t stopped talking or laughing once, and I hadn’t had such a good date in months. I was his first date ever from this website, however, and red flags sprouted like mushrooms all around us. I chose to ignore them and barrel on, however, when he asked me to share some of my bad date stories.

So I regaled him with the all the dates I’d had this year while dating TN. Most were chaste, some were R-rated, but I kept those discreet and not boastful. When I got to Kevin, I said, “Yeah, he was this young kid and he was on my roster for a while.” I froze and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say that! Not ‘roster’! That’s the old Hy! Not the new one!”

He laughed at me and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it!”

“Oh, well, I had another lover, too. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything –” and before I could say more his mouth was crushing mine again, his smile evident in his kiss.

He loomed over me and I fell back onto the cushions and once again my breasts spilled back out. He maneuvered me so my legs hung off the side and he hitched my knees up over his shoulders. My head spun, I pinched my eyes shut. Oh god oh god oh god. His mouth dove down on me and it was hot velvet. I moaned and pressed my hips into his face. His eyes were closed as he lavished my fuzzy pussy lips with his own clean-shaven face.

He reared back up over me and the passion on his face scorched me. I had to look away for a second to catch my breath. “I’m not going to fuck you,” I repeated for both our sakes.

“I know. I like that.” He came down on me again and the sweet taste of my own body filled my head.

I stood up, trembling. My dress was soaked. I left to change into my pajamas and when I came back he’d put his shoes on. “I better go. Thanks for tonight. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Ok,” I said and walked him to the front door. He opened it wide and bent down and hauled me into his embrace. I wanted so badly for the genie to appear right then and read my mind and have TN see me cradled in this man’s arms, my breasts crushed against him, but, alas, the genie must have been napping.


After I broke things off with TN he, as he is wont to do, closed the gap.

He gave me a bottle of wine Tuesday night when I asked for one. He invited me over to watch the debate Wednesday night and when I arrived with the remnants of his wine and some popcorn my girlfriend had left behind Tuesday night he lit candles and incense and reclined on the couch in a familiar way, peppering our shouts at the TV with brushes on my knee and pats on my elbow. When he had to abruptly leave and run to his office he texted me an hour later apologizing and said how much fun he’d had hanging out with me. Thursday night we had our playoff game against his team. We clobbered them and 4 am girl hung back in the dugout and shied away from good sportsmanship entirely. He had strutted and preened in front of me, laughing and joking with me and my team. It was a little glorious, I won’t lie, and when I got home that night — after two more exhausting games — I asked him to come have a drink with me.

He abstained, but we talked some more about 4 am girl. He asked that I stop bringing her up, that it made him uncomfortable and he wished that it’d never happened. I agreed as much to say, “See? I can respect your wishes, so you can respect mine, too” (I had railed on him about his inappropriate comments about women Monday night and he had finally seemed to catch on).

He left later after lots of laughing and I felt mostly ambivalent. I was still chewing on this “friendship” thing. I wasn’t feeling that old draw, my ankles were firmly crossed. I had LS on the brain, and big time.

Friday morning driving to work I got a text. It was from TN. I opened it up and it was his giant, resplendent cock, inappropriately and gorgeously displayed for my eyes only. I ignored it and praised his fluffy comforter instead.

Saturday afternoon was beautiful here. The city thrummed with a cold front and the sky shimmered with promised winter. I read my book, took a shower, found a man to have a drink with me, but he’d basically disappeared. I had plans with Amy later that night and my friend Tina, but I was antsy and bored. I cleaned everything I could, but really wanted my floor vacuumed. I knocked next door.

“Hey,” he said standing in a workout shirt and shorts.

“Could you do me a favor? Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Will you vacuum for me?”

He disappeared back inside and came over a minute later. He cleaned my floors as I folded laundry. The fact that he was clothed a 2 ton elephant in the room. When he was finished I went out on a limb. “Do you want to go grab a drink?” I asked.

Again, “Sure.”

We headed downtown and the wind whipped around us as we parked beneath the skyscrapers. We were near my old downtown apartments and I took him on a quick tour. “I fucked in that hotel,” I said pointing to a tall building with flags cracking in the wind. “I also fucked in the fancy one we drove by.” I rather liked my “Hollywood Stars Homes Tour.”

I showed him my old bedroom windows and those of the Original Neighbor with whom I got entangled 15 long years ago. “Wow. The first Neighbor!” he laughed.

We headed to the bar and ordered margaritas and appetizers. I thanked him again for vacuuming and said at least he got to keep his clothes on. “That’s not really a good thing,” he retorted. I shook it off and left the bait on the hook.

As the night progressed and the liquor did its work he moved closer to me, his comments got more laden with innuendo. I didn’t get drunk, but he did. A rarity. We sat and talked with some chick for an hour and I propped my boots up on his chair. He ran his hands over the leather and kneaded my calves as he spoke. The girl regarded us with an open look. I ignored her.

I invited him to Amy’s house with me, but he begged off. We got in the car and we were nearly home with Tina called and wanted me to come and get her. TN had answered my phone and he agreed, so instead of turning left to get us home, I went straight and the night took a turn.

At the house party TN drank more and I saw him unravel and join the rest of the world by losing his iron-like grip on his control. One little thread at a time. He was all over me by now in an affectionate, protective way. We leaned in and whispered and made jokes and finally it was time to take Tina over to Amy’s. I was not taking TN home first. He was fully on this ride now.

Parked in my friend’s driveway waiting for her to put her son to sleep TN breathed with strain in the back seat. Tina lay half passed out in the passenger side. “I think I’m going to puke,” I heard him say. He jumped out and I ran around to help him.

“Hug a tree, honey. You’ll be fine.” I smiled as he dropped to all fours and retched. I patted his back and giggled. “Welcome to the world of losing control, TN! I’m so proud of you!” He laughed at my strange logic and I helped him to stand.

“Wow. I feel a lot better!” I helped him back in the car and we waited a few more minutes before Amy came bounding out to let us in.

We gathered firewood and got the heat going and pulled up chairs. Tina poured us all some wine. TN declined. Across the fire pit he sat with his ankle on his knee, my two girlfriends between us. The warm, yellow light licked at his face and I felt happier than I had in weeks.

We drifted off into the darkness and gathered more wood and I sat back down next to him. He pulled my chair closer and we put our heads together whispering and chatting, laughing at inside jokes. Tina and Amy gave us our privacy.

When the stars were their brightest I had to go lie down. I made sure TN was ok sleeping on the couch and I headed in to the spare room, but he followed behind and shut the door. He tossed me down on the bed and peeled off my clothes, unzipped my boots, and fell on top of me burying himself inside of me.

I moaned and thrust and writhed under him. He panted and kissed and pummeled me into the darkness. First the night and then to sleep.


“We’re not having sex any more, you know. Last night was an accident.” I was smiling as I said this tracing his bow shaped mouth with my finger tip. His hands were tracing lines on my arms as I touched his face.

“I know.”

“Good. We’re just a couple of rutting magnets, but we can do this. No. more. sex.”

“Yes. No more sex,” he repeated.

I drove Tina home and then the both of us. I started to whimper as I climbed the stairs in pain. “You can sleep in my bed for a little while if you want,” he offered.

I fell into a light sleep, woke up 20 minutes later and ran off to fulfill my Sunday responsibilities. “Can I come back over around 1 and nap?” I texted, desperate.


At 1:15 I showed up looking like something the cat dragged in. I didn’t hurt anywhere except my back and I felt like weights swung from my eyelids. “Aw, Hycie. Come in!” he said with a smile when I knocked. He gently pushed on my shoulders and guided me to his bed. I climbed in and modestly removed my clothes while he lit candles and incense, grabbed me a sleep mask and brought me some water. I slept for two hours pain free.

Dressed again and headed back out to fulfill more Sunday responsibilities I quipped, “Well, thanks Lil’ Buddy. It’s been real,” and I disappeared into my own apartment.


I didn’t hear from Law Student at all until today. It was a pointless chat and we have not made plans to hang out again.


Every morning I wake up wishing someone could see this:



I wonder if my boobs make me look fat.

I’m not really wondering that. It’s a joke. And just an excuse to share my tits with my Internet Boyfriend.

June Christy and my comfy cafe seat couldn’t keep me from sneaking off into the bathroom to take a quick pic. It was cold in there. I now regret not pulling the lacy cups down to let my goosebumpy flesh out for all to see, but there is plenty of time for that in the future. Plenty o’ time.

In other news, I officially ended things with The Neighbor on Monday. — Yes, I’ve couched this earth-shattering news in a lousy boob-pic post. — But, there it is. It’s done and I feel lighter than I have in months. I will share the details later in a proper post. The gist is he didn’t impress me with how he handled what I had to say. He cried again. Twice. I felt the age gap.

For now, I want to leave you with a line of prose I thought of today while sitting across from a woman who was drawing something in her lap. A beautiful soul, she is. I’ll likely never have cause to use this line in anything I ever write, so thought I’d share it now.

“She held the Tupperware lid into her middle and split herself like a cracker does wedged into a round a cheese.”


My libido is holding its breath.

I went to bed last night after having brought myself to two swift and powerful orgasms.  I panted and moaned under my breath and released with a quiet whimper throwing my head back into my pillow.  I imagined him over me, his huge cock plundering my insides, watching me with that satisfied smirk that he likes to wear as he sees me lose my grip on myself.

But when I opened my eyes I saw only my whirling ceiling fan, dark and dizzying above me.

He is gone.  I know it in my soul.

He stopped by yesterday and before I could keep my little one from reaching the front door it was already swung open.  My baby asked The Neighbor if he’d like to come in.  I said, “No, honey, TN is busy.”

“Then can he come over later to play??”

TN and I looked at each other over my child’s head.  I was apologetic.  So was he.  “No, Peyton, I can’t,” he said.

“Well, ok!  Just lemme know when you can!” and with that Peyton ran back inside to watch TV.

“You’ve just been asked out on a date,” I said to him with sadness in my voice.

“Yeah… and I just said, ‘No.’  I’m such an asshole,” he said with a grimace.

I stood there looking at the man I wanted so badly to feel something for me who resolutely refuses to do so.

“So, I saw our sick neighbor today,”  he continued.  I looked at him inquisitively.  “She was trying to cross four lanes of traffic off of the sidewalks.”  I wasn’t sure why he was telling me this, but I stood there with him in the doorway curious nonetheless.

“Also, I need you to help me with a mission later.”  There it was.

“What is it?” I asked.  My heart stirred, my gut clenched.  This was the starving person at a soup kitchen about to take whatever she could get.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said slyly.

“No, tell me now,” I insisted.

“I want you to help me pick out patio furniture, like, if you have an hour or so sometime this week we can go to the store.”

This would have been terrific fun for me a month ago, a ripe, juicy peach running down my chin and throat after running across the meadow with friends, but in that moment it felt like a rice cake stuck in my craw.  An entire week of my life had been spent being distant from him and he was impervious to and completely ignorant of it.  He thinks I’m still at his beck and call; nothing is awry in Neighborland.

“Why do you need patio furniture now?” I wondered aloud.  He’s lived there for 3+ years without.

“For when I have someone over who smokes,” he replied matter of factly.

I felt the wind being slowly squeezed out of my body, a limp balloon.  In the year I’ve known him he’s had three people over: me, Vanilla Ice, and 4 am girlHe’s planning on feathering his nest for another woman, was my first and immediate thought.

“Who are you going to be having over who smokes?” I boldly asked.

Silence hung in the air as I could see his wheels spinning, searching for an answer.  Finally he said, “Do I need to hold up a mirror, Hy?  You smoke.”

I didn’t believe him for a second.  Not even a millisecond.  He wants me to help him make his place more welcoming and comfortable for the other women he plans on bringing home.  Not me.  Give me a motherfucking break, dude.  Really??  You want to get patio furniture for the woman you insist you don’t love?  The woman whom you spend time with only when you need something from her?

And then I asked him about the mat.  “What the fuck did you do to it??  Did you kick it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” was his reply as he righted it, the “Welcome” still backwards.  “Now, don’t think anything about this, ok??”

“Yeah, don’t worry.  Thanks,” was my dry response.

“So, will you help me with the furniture?” he followed up with a smile.

“Um, maybe.  We’ll see.”

“It’ll only take an hour or so.”  (It so wouldn’t, by the way.)

“Yeah, maybe,” was all I could muster.  I couldn’t look at him three feet away and give all my cards away.  This is a poker game of high stakes for me.  I either blow it by going all in now, or I play conservatively and slowly earn a pile of money.  I’m going the route of the latter.  I want this to happen to him over the course of weeks, like it did with my best friend.  Politely distant, I reminded myself.

He knows Peyton goes to my ex today.  This is where the real work starts.  I am horny and lonely, my soul is sore.  I will be vulnerable, but I need to remind myself that change is uncomfortable by its very nature.  I can’t expect something better if I stay where it’s comfortably painful.

I have to dig deep and live in memory.  Memories of the good times, like when he called me “baby” and kissed me tenderly and tucked me in, when he told me I was the best lover of his life or when he said I was his best friend.  Those memories will assuage my loneliness as I touch myself and writhe with desire alone, or maybe, with another man.  The memories of the bad times — when he told me my very life history is a liability and all the times he disrespected me and held me at bay — will keep me focused as I step further and further away.

I am not a pathetic woman and I refuse to behave like one.

My libido is treading water right now.  A constant companion in my life I’m trying to figure out where to put it.  How do I handle this separation and loss this time around?  Last time, as this blog is testament to, I hunted and prowled and got drilled by as many cocks as I could manage.  But am I still that person?  Am I truly dissolute anymore??

I sometimes feel that raging confusion of lust and pain mingled together where it feels like only a man can stem the bleeding, but my relationship with TN thus far has kept me from that avenue.  What would he think of me if he found out I was racking up notches on my poor, disapproving bedpost?  But now, I no longer care what he thinks of me and the gate has been thrown open.

This morning I woke up and ran my fingertips over my body, once again mourning the loss of my love and the opportunity to share myself with him.  My swells and dips lightly toasted marshmallow, warm and sweet, inviting.  There for the taking, yet refused again and again.  How can he not want me??

I’m thinking about it, my need.  It’s lurking.  A slumbering dragon.  For now Mother Nature has bought me another week of solitary contemplation, but next Monday I will be set loose.  Who will get to see my breasts, taste my skin, feel my  heat and hear my moans??

It can’t be TN.

For your eyes only, IBF.

I’ll try to keep this short: My life assessed by another.

I don’t mean to ramble, but I do.  I’m extremely sensitive to the lengths of my posts; I can’t seem to keep them under 1000 words.  Typically, they’re 1500, sometimes 2000+.  I should probably rename this blog TL;DR.

In that vein, I will attempt to keep this brief.

My dear friend, Sally, came to visit me this weekend.  She arrived at 4 amid a hot, thick summer’s Friday and left on a beautifully cooler overcast Monday, just after sunrise.  She lived my life for three days and her assessment?

“I’m fucking confused.”

She said it matter-of-factly on my balcony, her long legs stretched out on a chair, a glass of wine in her hand Sunday night.  Wine The Neighbor had brought over for us when we’d run out of ours 30 minutes before.

“Friday and Saturday he acted like your boyfriend and then he disappeared today, presumably to get ready for his girlfriend’s return soon.  I just don’t get it.  He obviously cares about you very much.  That’s clear as day, but he also obviously has no idea what he’s doing.”

Her love life has been in tumult this year.  Her live-in boyfriend moved out one afternoon after asking her what she and her two kids wanted for dinner.  Poof.  Just gone.  They’ve reconciled and moved back in together, but she’s different now.  She’s not going to start telling me what to do with TN because she understands more than most that we all have to wake up in our own beds.  More than half the people in her life think she’s making a mistake taking him back, but she believes in him.  I admire her tenacity while simultaneously remaining skeptical.

But she’s right: it’s her bed she has to wake up in. I don’t have to.  If he ghosts on her again I’ll be there for her and I’ll never say she made a mistake.  She loves him.

So, she looked on me with sympathetic eyes.  “I wish I knew what to tell you,” she said.

“Me, too.”  I took a sip of the delicious Malbec from the man next door.  “This is a death rattle.  All this,” I moved my hands in a circular motion.   “We obviously weren’t good at cold turkey, so now this is where we’re at.”

Later that night Downstairs Neighbor came up to drink with us.  He and Sally were discussing the whole Hy-TN situation animatedly, protectively.  It felt weird to hear two of my champions comparing notes.  Sally’s were now first hand: she saw him offer to make us Sidecars Friday night, saw him grope and kiss me every chance he got whenever she left the balcony; she saw him invite himself to breakfast with us Saturday morning, go swimming with us and play catch with me, tossing the balls high in the air and making big, laughing splashes with me; she saw him say yes to loaning us a movie to watch Saturday night but then assuming he’d watch it with us, watched him help me make it through the movie with loving pats and squeezes; and lastly she saw him disappear Sunday.

Word bubbles of reproach hung above each of them when TN walked back in.

Of course he’d come.  He can’t stay away, I thought.

He’d mentioned his girlfriend a couple of times throughout the weekend; he wasn’t hiding it. I asked him when she was coming back from her trip.  “Tomorrow.”

Sally asked him some more questions about her, just general things like what she did and how they’d met, etc.  She played the supportive friend very well.  Then he mentioned that he’s been keeping her away so, “Hy doesn’t beat her up.” I laughed at that.

“I won’t beat her up, but I appreciate that.  Thanks.”

Sally, DN and I continued to drink.  TN abstained.  I was exhausted from a long weekend of drinking and all the emotional crap with TN, but I still felt playful.  The conversation took a turn and I challenged TN to wrestle.  He accepted and we began to parry.

Sally and DN were laughing and I was thrilled.  Suddenly, I feel extra weight crushing down on me and TN releases me.  I roll away and DN is on top of him crushing him from behind, his arm pressed tightly against TN’s throat.

I hit his arm until he let go and TN slumped to the floor.  “You fucking crushed my windpipe, you asshole!” he hissed at DN.

“No I didn’t.  If I did, you couldn’t say that.”

But the mood was gone.  The men stood and eyed each other angrily.  “Ok.  I’m gonna go home now,” TN spit out tersely.  “Sally, it was nice to meet you.”  He turned to the front door.

“No, wait!” I pleaded.  “Don’t go!  I was having fun!” I turned to my other neighbor, “Goddamnit, DN, you bastard, why’d you do that?”

“What?” he shrugged innocently.

“No, I’m going home.  It’s 2 am anyway,” TN said.

“I’m so, so sorry,” my words fell on deaf ears as I walked him to the front door.  He assured me he was fine, but I felt like DN had crossed a serious line.  TN has issues with being overpowered by someone bigger.  Deeply rooted, deeply, painfully felt.  It was just a dumb prank to DN, but to TN I wasn’t so sure.  His reaction did not match the crime.

He insisted he was fine and left.  I texted him later to check on him and he said I was wrong about the trigger, that I had nothing to be sorry about.  I left it at that.  I haven’t spoken to him since.

Back inside on my couch, DN told me part of why he did what he did: he was mad at The Neighbor.  He was mad at him for hurting me, for leading me on, for cheating with me, for everything.  And he felt protective.  I still felt like he was a big, fat Neanderthal, but there wasn’t much I could do about at that point.  DN is DN, after all.

After I drove Sally to the airport Monday morning and gave her a long hug goodbye I crawled back under my covers and felt like I’d just run a marathon.  She’d noticed I was different Sunday.  I’d told her I was exhausted, that my life (not only where it relates to TN, but other parts, as well) were suffering.  I was not ok.

It’s hard to admit to someone that you’re not doing well.  We’re supposed to be that implacable duck on the water, after all.  But I did and she was kind enough.  She’s been through the ringer herself.  And what I realized in talking to her is that I have stopped caring for myself, as in the self-care sense.  I have an extremely emotionally demanding job and about six months ago — about the time I realized I had feelings for TN — I stopped my self-care.

I no longer went for long walks along the river or went to the gym.  I started smoking and drinking more, eating less; my sleep pattern, while always iffy, tanked.  I am at the end of my rope emotionally speaking and I am craving solitude like a long cold drink in the middle of the desert.

I roused myself from beneath my protective covers and called my exhusband.  “Have you taken Peyton to school, yet?” I asked.  “I think today should be a hookey day.”  He agreed and said they’d be over shortly.

I needed to see my baby.  I needed to see my ex.  Two people who truly love me and care about me.

When my arms were filled with my child and my eyes spilled over with tears my ex asked me what was wrong.  I couldn’t keep it together and started to cry.  He sat and talked with me, heard about my weekend.  “I’m about to go psycho-exhusband on that boy’s ass, Hy.  Seriously.  He needs to leave you alone.  Either shit or get off the pot.”

“I know,” I cried.  “And I need his help to leave me alone; I’m so incapable of saying no to anyone, especially him.”

“If I were you, I would pull back from everyone and everything.  Find something you really love to do; cut back on the smoking and stuff; take care of you.  I know it sounds cliché, but it’s true.  You can’t do much if you aren’t ok.”

His timing was impeccable considering I’d just thought the same things earlier.  We talked some about how Mary had friended my ex-sister-in-law on Facebook.  “That can’t be making you feel better, either, huh?”

“Eh,” was all I could muster.

“Don’t think too much about it, it’s not all roses.”  I looked at him questioningly.  “She doesn’t trust it.”

“But it’s the romantic comedy ending!  I’ll never get that!  TN will never pull an ‘exhusband’.”

We chatted some more while Peyton played around us and insisted on telling us funny stories, then he stood to leave and opened his arms.  I walked into them and he squeezed lovingly.

The rest of Monday was spent with my wonderfully precocious baby who jabbered away at me about the sun and moon and stars, who would randomly say, “Mommy, no one loves you more than me in the whole wide world,” or just a simply sighed, “Mommy, I love you.”  I’d see beauty and love and balance in that precious, perfect face and know that I was finally on the right track.

I never heard a peep from TN.

I’m one step closer, y’all: one step closer to me, to leaving him behind, and to something better.   At least I hope I am.

Oh, but definitely not one step closer to keeping it short.  Sorry, I tried!

I won’t lie to you. Even when I want to.

I started this blog 7 months ago in an attempt to wrangle my life back into something resembling balance.  I didn’t have an idea of what that looked like, I just knew that having sex with up to 4 different men in a single week wasn’t it.  Would it look like having 3 steady mean in my life?  One?  Would it mean I was celibate, or, possibly that I rushed headlong into an alternate lifestyle altogether?

I didn’t know.

All I knew is that I was melting away under the friction of my life and something needed to change.  So I stopped adding men at the rate I was and for many months I concentrated on only the original 3: Jason, Phillip, and The Neighbor.  Sure, I went on the occasional date here and there, but my standards for accepting an invitation went up many fold.

Since I started this blog I’ve slept with 7 men, a considerable reduction to my previous numbers; the previous year had me at 25 lovers.  My experience with TN, my new relationship with my exhusband, my continued work in therapy, and this blog and my connections with you all have drastically affected how I view my self, my body, and my heart.

There are some things I know to be true about me that I’d like to put out there.  First, I am a good person — an exceptional person, really, if I’m to believe some — but I don’t believe it.  (Well, I believe it some of the time at least.)  It’s this disbelief in my own worth that plagues me like cancer.  It infiltrates my heart when I need to be the strongest and I am drawn to those on occasion whom aren’t the safest.

Second, I view my body as my own playground; I give it freely and often and with no regret.  I get great pleasure by giving pleasure and am able to distinguish between me and her, that woman whom everyone wants and finds desirable.  She is alluring, confident, and potent.  She is everything a man ever wants her to be.  While, me, I am sensitive, loving, and vulnerable.  My therapist believes she is hurting me.  I’m trying to cut her some slack.

Third, I need to reconcile these two parts of me, so incongruent and seemingly at odds: the soft, vulnerable, serious, loving side with this playful one.  Some of you believe I need to demand respect, others think I should be celibate.  You all have an idea of me and wish for me to move to this part of the video game landscape or to that one.  You see where this might be headed with TN or beefy, but nerdy, or maybe you just hope for the best.  I’m trying desperately to blend my natural drive to connect with people with the fear of also being wholly myself.  It’s not a matter of just doing X to achieve Y.  It’s more like some pages-long equation ending in F$*!.

My childhood taught me that to be myself meant certain rejection; love became equated with being who they wanted me to be.  So, that’s what I do today: I am whoever they need me to be and I feel loved.

I slept with TN again Wednesday night and again Thursday morning.  I’ve been afraid of writing about it not because I feel like it was wrong, but because I know many of my readers do.  I’m ok with it, frankly.

Tipsy from celebrating with my friends Wednesday night I came home around midnight because he’d promised to vacuum for me.  I was to knock when I got home.  I did, but there was no answer.  I tried the door and it was open.  We have a long-standing agreement that if the door is unlocked it’s code for, “come in.”  So I did.

And I found him asleep in his dark room buried under white peaks of down.  He invited me under the covers and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms.  I woke up later hot and peeled off my summer dress and tossed it on the floor, went back to sleep.  I woke up a couple of hours later to his hands sliding over my hip and thigh and dipping below my white eyelet panties.

I thought, “Oh, fuck.  I shouldn’t be doing this,” not because I truly felt that way, but because of what my readers would say and then I put it all out of my mind and let his fingers enter me and stroke me.  I watched him mount and enter me bare and beautiful and felt him slam away inside.  He lost all control in less than 5 minutes and exploded inside of me.

I couldn’t stop giggling. He was aghast and mortified.  “Hy, I’m so, so sorry.  That’s never happened to me before.  That felt like less than 2 minutes.  I usually go 35.”

“Well, well, well.  Looks like TN is a mortal man, after all,” I said into his chest.

“Hey, I’m an extraordinary man masquerading as an ordinary one,” he chuckled back.

“Sure, whatev.  Welcome to the real world.”

I played with his chest hair and made him take back his apology.  “If you could choose between cumming 5 times or me cumming in under 2 minutes, which would you choose,” he asked.

“The latter.  Hands down.”


“Yeah, totally.  Because it never happens.  You just lost control, completely.  Nothing hotter than that.”

We fell back asleep and moved to our sides of the king-sized bed.  I slept fitfully, my dreams laced with pinched, unrequited love and body pillows subbing as hugs.

I woke up to soft, morning light wrapped in fluffy covers with him sleeping soundly beside me.  I reached out and stroked his hip and reached around to his hanging sack and walked my fingers up his shaft.  He was hard.  As usual.  I gripped it and moved my hand.  He didn’t stir.  I sat up and bent over and took him in my mouth.  His breathing remained even, his mouth gently hanging open.

I pushed his left shoulder down, forcing him on his back and he smiled and stretched as I spread his legs and knelt between them.

“You’re the only man I know who sleeps through a blowjob.”

“Mmmm,” was all he said.

I took him in my mouth again and reveled in his taste.  He moaned and thrust up into my face.  Then I climbed up on him and leaned over him, letting a nipple drag across his lips as I positioned him at my entrance.  I bore down and sat up, proud of my body as he eyed me hungrily through heavy lids.

I rocked back and forth on him and felt him in my throat.  I started to cry out and whimper.  His hands were by his head as he let me set the pace and pleasure myself with him.  He had a delicious grin curve to his mouth.

I came and drenched us with my juices and leaned forward again and he took a breast in his mouth.  I gripped his headboard adding more of my handprints to the amber-colored wood.  I wondered if Downstairs Neighbor could hear the banging and if 4 am girl would notice the handprints next time she was on top in the daylight.

I climbed off and took him back in my mouth and worked him like putty.  He shot his load deep down in the back of my throat after a minute or two and I curled up into the nook of his arm.

I’ve decided to not talk about what it is we’re doing with each other.  One, it’s none of his business why I’m doing it.  I’m fucking him because I want to, not because I think it’s going to change anything; two, I don’t care if it goes away again.  I’ve already lost him; and three, it won’t make a difference.  It seems obvious we’re a pair of goddamned idiots who can’t keep our clothes on around one another.  It’ll end when one of us steels ourselves to the other.  I’m using him as much as he’s using me (if that’s even what’s happening).

He is a good man, but he’s fucked up.  Just like me.  I don’t seem to be able to extricate myself, but I also feel impervious to more damage.  I am a contradiction, I know.  It is a privilege to be with me and to know me, yes, but I also can do whatever I want with myself.  And right now, I feel like fucking this kid.

I also don’t feel like doing much else with anyone else.  Beefy, but nerdy has a shelf-life.  The other men I’ve met haven’t held my interest enough for a second date.  I am ok with this.  I understand that so long as I remain entangled with TN I am keeping myself from finding someone else, but I also feel safe from looking.  This is a holding pattern.  Not purgatory, but a rest-stop.  I’ll stop with TN when I’m fully ready.  Obviously, I’m not ready, yet.

I’m afraid that I will lose half my readers because I won’t do “the obvious.”  Well, the obvious on this side of the screen is much, much different from it is on yours.  I’m trying to lead a life that makes sense to me and sometimes that looks utterly backwards.  The journey to the destination is rarely a straight line, as they say.

TN subbed on my softball team last night, it was the playoffs.  We won our first game, lost the second.  He stayed late and hung out with me and my friends and then he vacuumed my apartment for me when we got home.  In my white panties, of course.

And as a reward, I spanked him and fondled him and he even gave me a few swats back.  I’ve never experienced a relationship like this before.  It’s confusing, unfulfilling, thrilling, complicated, sweet, tender, and wrong.  It has all the major components of what an intimate relationship should be according to my wiring.  I will be hurt only inasmuch as I want more and I no longer do.  Not from him.

Last night I dreamt that he was with me in a green playing field.  I had on a white tank top, no bra.  My sister was there and my relationship with him was a secret, but he pushed the limits and outed us.  He sprayed water on my shirt to expose my breasts in front of her, he held my hand as we walked up to a nearby brownstone, and pushed me against a wall and kissed me passionately.  I tried to roll out from under him — my sister would never approve — and I tried to understand his behaviors.  On the one hand, I was thrilled, on the other, I was mistrustful.  “I want to see you naked.  Tonight,” he’d said.  “I want to be with you.”  He might have even said he loved me.  But I couldn’t believe it.  His words and actions have never meant truth and I awkwardly walked away, the sun in my eyes and my heart pounding.

My life is dissolute.  I am a contradiction of feelings and needs and wants.  I don’t know who left these bruises on me because three men this week had their hungry mouths on me.


But I’m ok with that.  It’s not a reflection of how little I love me or respect me.  I’m different from most.  It’s a reflection of how I want to play right now, how I want to interact with my world.  I trust my instincts to know I’m leading myself somewhere, even if you really want me to go left and all I’ll do is go right. I know that I fluctuate between what I should and shouldn’t do.  No emotion is stable, ever.  Not love, not anger, not sadness, not even resignation or determination.  New things happen, new thoughts occur, new energies are found and so the direction changes much as a river bends around boulders.

This chapter of my life, all documented here in, as you all say, raw and gritty detail is that journey.  The journey of my dissolute life and my healing heart.  I’m glad you’re here with me and I’m even glad for The Neighbor.

I can’t figure shit out. And still I’m talking about it.

Thursday night The Neighbor and I fucked each other’s brains out.  Friday night I went out with friends and stayed out all night.  I came home at 10:30 am and TN’s car wasn’t in the parking lot.  He’d stayed out all night, too.  Saturday he came home around noon and his car was there when I left with my baby to stay the night at a girlfriend’s.  I got home this morning at 9 am and his car is gone again.  I know his general habits well enough to know he was with 4 am girl.  And I just can’t figure out why.

I can’t roll my eyes enough at myself, trust me.  Nor can I identify what it is I’m feeling.  It’s not that gut-stab I’d have felt 5 weeks ago, it’s more like a pinch.  I think back to all the supportive comments I’ve gotten — particularly from Ella and her similar story  — and I realize that my head is still in my ass.  I can’t make sense of the nonsensical.   It’s impossible.

Can a feathered fish explain its existence?

I have to accept reality and walk away.  He doesn’t want to be with me.  That is his message to me.  Mine to him is similar, though I ache for it to be different.  I won’t be with him if he has ridiculous deal breakers.

For me, Thursday night was simple inertia.  We’d both been drinking, 4 am girl had been out of town for a week and a half, I hadn’t found anyone with whom I wanted to lay with, and we both wanted each other.  It doesn’t prove anything except how stupid we both are; that I have few scruples and he may have even less.  Nothing has changed.  Dissolute, indeed.

I’m trying to come to terms with feeling smug.  When I realized he’d stayed with her Friday night I felt amazing. This morning, seeing his car gone again, not so much.  I want to throw up a little on the one hand and hold my head high with the other.

I imagine that he still hadn’t had the official “Let’s be exclusive” chat with her, which is why he was willing to put that gigantic cock inside my pussy Thursday.  Perhaps they’ve had that chat over the last couple of days.  Who knows?  I also imagine that he finally understands, viscerally, my intense, nearly all-consuming desire to keep sex between us going when we were together: because we’re so goddamned good at it.  His inexperience always felt like a shackle.  If he only knew, I thought, then he would want it as badly as me.

Both 4 am girl and TN have said she’s a prude when it comes to sex.  I can only guess at what that must be like for him to go from me to that.  Like eating at French Laundry to then munching on a dinner for two for $20 at Chili’s.  It’s why I’ve avoided most men since him, it’s why I stopped fucking everyone but him eventually.  Mediocre sex just wasn’t worth it.  I only wanted to eat at the 4 star restaurant.

I once told him I hoped I haunted him.  That when he was with her he’d think of me.  “She doesn’t taste like Hy,” “She doesn’t sound like Hy,”  “She’s not moving and writhing and crying like Hy.”  He’d laughed at the time because he hadn’t fucked her, yet, but I hope my words are burrowed into his lizard brain like a weevil today.

Does this make me a shit?  Sometimes I think it does.  Other times I just throw up my hands and say, “Fuck it.  I can’t help any of this.”

It hurts less and less every day that goes by.  Every time I see TN slip up and lose his iron-like grip on his self control I heal a little.  I’ve never taken pleasure in anyone else’s discomfort before, but somehow seeing him struggle helps me.  I feel less crazy, less alone.  That it’s not just me, he feels it, too.  He’s told me that his biggest problem right now is his feelings for me.  I’m thrilled to know he has them even if he is working to shove them out of his heart.

New men don’t hurt, either.  Beefy, but nerdy and I are hanging out again on Monday and we have plans for him to bury his face in my tits.  Seriously.  I can’t wait to feel his hard, hot skin under the pads of my fingertips.  I’ve never been with anyone as muscle-y as him before.  Or as tatted.  I hope to god I like what’s between his legs, too.  Wednesday I invited some hilariously irreverent and somewhat cocky 27 yo to meet me for drinks.  Don’t ask me how I learned this, but he claims to be well-endowed.  We’ll see.  And this weekend one of my oldest and best friends in the entire goddamned world is coming for the weekend.

Beefy, but nerdy really liked this pic.

TN can have his girl.  I’ll be fine.

It may seem like there’s an obvious prescription to fixing my life, but I assure you it doesn’t feel that way.  I am confused, determined, thoughtful, selfish, and a life-long masochist.  This is the best I’ve got.  And I swear I’ll try harder to not talk about it in the future.  I just can’t figure shit out and it drives me nuts that this riddle seems unanswerable: how do you recover a lost heart?  Surely there’s an answer out there, and I bet it says, “Don’t fucking live next door.”

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