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 won’t be talking about it anymore.

It’s finally over. Thankfully. And I feel good about it. Strong. I’ve said my piece, he’s heard me, took it like a man. When I learned that he really is trying to date 4 am girl I told him I was out, that I wouldn’t fuck him if he was fucking her or anyone else, or even if he took another woman out for fucking coffee. I can’t handle it. I can do the NSA fucking, but only if I’m the only one.

We spent some time talking yesterday afternoon. Tears leaked down my face as I explained to him that the biggest lesson for me out of this is that I am drawn to those who reject me and that my life’s work this time around is to try to learn how to let someone love me and accept me and actually want them back. He said his biggest lesson was that he realizes that his actions don’t always match his real feelings and he now sees how confusing it can be for someone. We’re going to be ok.

I told him he’s now allowed to take out my trash again and keep vacuuming for me. He said it was a deal only if I’d take him shopping again sometime. We shook on it. He wants desperately to keep my friendship and I his. We’ve agreed on a couple of hang out sessions a week and an occasional outing as friends. I have resolutely refused to accept her and I have been nothing but clear on my feelings.

He wondered why I was so mad at her. “We were imploding anyway. You were going to dump me on the 20th.”

“She made it 10x more painful for me. She sat in my house and said she was going for you, said hurtful things. You ran right into her arms. I’ve had no time to fucking process! It was a shit show. Or a piss show rather.”

“Hey, that was below the belt.”

“You’re damn right it was! It was all over the crotch, too!”

He’s fatalistic about this relationship he’s embarking on and I told him to be more optimistic. He agrees that she has a drinking problem, but he admires her for other things and thinks he’ll benefit from this with her. I don’t get this guy. I also asked him, one last time for clarification, why it was he didn’t want to be with me. “You’re not the right person for me. Is that a good enough reason?”

“Sure it is. Is it because of all that deal breaker stuff you said in the beginning?”

“Yeah. Age, kid, marriage.”

“Marriage? You mean because I’ve been married?”


And then, just like that, all my angst, all my pain, all my wounded confusion dissipated like a cloud of smoke. I did a happy dance, smiled more, beamed, really. His life is so about “The Plan” that he really can’t see the forest through the trees and finally realizing this frees my heart. He’ll never get it. He’ll never get me. I have to move on.

We hugged again and it felt good. I teased him that now she could shave his back for his laser hair treatments. He made a painful smile and rolled his eyes.

He came back over around 8 and vacuumed for me and apologized for his hardon the second he came through the door. I was braless as usual and I smiled. “Pavlov?” was all I said.

“Yeah, something like that,” he murmured back as he adjusted himself.

I bounced on the couch with glee as he cleaned my floor and he complimented my tits. I wondered if he was going to tell 4 am girl that he’d slept with me last weekend. “No, because we hadn’t had the exclusive discussion, yet.” Ah, gotta love hair-splitting.

We watched a movie on my couch then and I whimpered about my back pain. He went and got my vibrator and curled behind me and massaged my back with it. I clutched the couch and twitched as he rubbed it deep into my muscles. He said it was hot. I iced it for a while longer and then he massaged it again. I could feel the tip of his cock on my buttock, but didn’t move.

His hands replaced the vibe and could feel it in my jaw and my ankle. The pain was exquisite, his ministrations kind.

After the movie, I smoked a cigarette and he kept me company. He had to go get 4 am girl at 2 am from a bachelorette party. They have plans on going to an amusement park today and it’s easier than driving all over town, he said. I wondered if that was such a good idea to be hungover on a rollercoaster. I told him to be careful of the drunks on the road, “And in the car!” He’s not loving my sarcasm, but I seem unable to help myself.

I walked him back to my door and we hugged again. I’m going to miss this motherfucker inside of me like nobody’s business, but I don’t want him anywhere near me so long as he’s sticking in her.

I woke up at 2 and thought, “He’s on his way to get her.” At 4:30 I thought, “She’s next door.” Now I’m on my balcony waiting for the inevitable run-in as she feeds her Parliament addiction. But maybe I’ll luck out and she’s too goddamned hungover to be up at 10 am on a Sunday.

So, this is it. This is my final post about my relationship with The Neighbor. This entire blog has been a chronicle of our affair and it’s painful and bittersweet to say goodbye to him. If we ever have sex again, I’ll post about it, but the inner workings, my thoughts and feelings about him and us, they are now private.

My plan is to go off of cock for 2 months and recalibrate. We’ll see if I can do it. I want it all. I want a kind, loving, funny, smart, man who’s a master in bed and has a loaded weapon between his legs. I will be patient. I will be diligent. I will be true to myself and open about everything.

I think I may have to change my About page now.

I have a houseboy.

He was going to vacuum my entire apartment wearing my black lace panties. I stood him in front of my dresser and laid out three pair, reached around from behind him and grasped his giant cock in my hand. “I’m going to let your cock pick which pair it wants to wear, like one of those metal detectors. It’ll let me know.”

He laughed incredulously. I was dead serious. His cock picked the middle pair.

And then he proceeded to clean my house. I took a picture and he said I had to find a way to put it on the internet. I told him I’d do my best.

The last room he cleaned was my candlelit bedroom. I’d been skipping from room to room, beaming, slightly pink from my first time in the sun this year. He’d noted I looked like a kid in a candy store. Indeed, I was.

On my bed, I languished in my tangled sheets as he moved the machine slowly back and forth. I imagined it was his cock in my sheath. Slow, steady, deep. He finished and we grabbed wine glasses and spent all of 30 seconds on the couch before he said we should go lie down for a spell.

Naturally, I acquiesced.

In my room, on his back, we laughed about what he’d just done. I stroked his bare member and pulled my dress off in one motion. I had on nothing else. I don’t remember how it came up, but I was then in my closet rummaging for my tie. “I love wearing ties,” I told him. I found it, slipped it over my head and let it dangle between my heavy breasts.

“Mmm, I like that,” he murmured.

I trailed the end along his stomach, splayed my fingers through his chest hair, licked the precum from the helmet of his cock, engulfed the rest in my hot mouth. I licked and sucked and we chatted in between his moans of pleasure. He found the tie and hauled me up and I mounted him and sank down slowly for a bounce or two before he flipped me over and pummeled my insides.

I drenched the joints of our bodies and cried out. “God, I love how your pussy feels,” he breathed into my mouth as he kissed me.

He flipped me again onto my stomach and began to rail into me, my buttocks slapped against his thighs softly. He grabbed my hair for purchase and yanked my face up out of the mattress. I gasped and cried some more. Then he grabbed the tie from behind, slipped it in my mouth and rode me like the mare in heat I was. He wailed on my flanks with one hand, held my head high with the bridle in the other. I ejaculated each time his hand met my skin.

Then he pressed my face down into the wine-colored sheets and pistoned into me some more. I rocked back and pivoted the way I know he loves. He was close, I could hear it in his pants and grunts, I clenched hard on him. Almost there, and then he slipped out and punched the bed with his cock and cried out in pain.

“Ahhhh, fuuuuck!” he lamented. “I think I half came all over your bed and broke my cock!” I lay panting on my stomach for 30 more seconds before I had a suggestion.

“Why don’t you put it back in? My pussy will make it feel better.”

He seemed to agree and he impaled me for a few minutes more.

And then we talked and laughed for two more hours. He complained about the women he kept dating. No life experience, no ambition, no direction, not intellectually interesting or stimulating. He basically was saying, “Not you, Hy,” but I’ve traversed that impasse. It was nice to hear, but my heart did not flutter like it would have days earlier. “You’re beautiful and interesting and ambitious, you’re smart as fuck and have so much life experience.” Naturally, TN, naturally. Moving on.

When he said it was time to go I helped him find his shorts and kneeled on the bed beside the candle, the tie dangled down my body. He noted how it almost reached as far as my pussy and kissed me again.

Ready for business.

We made no plans for this week deliberately. He said he hates making plans. I agreed to do it his way this time, though it’s frustrating. I also plan on fucking as much as I can this week. I don’t have any idea how often it will be with him.

Control feels good. And so do clean carpets.