I feel a little empty.

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I look robust.

Stress about money has reached another fever pitch. The move, solvency in general — I feel so fucked. Add allergies, my exhusband, my fear of what my life will be like not living next door to The Neighbor anymore, and the stinging, always there guilt I feel about my secret sex blog and you get a raisin of a woman, not a plump and glistening grape.

I’m also tired. Tired and empty.

TN fucked me to tears on Friday. He was a fiend. I’d spent some time with a girlfriend and come home early. He was ready and waiting for me as I climbed the 40 steps up.

It was different this time, though, only the third coupling since our I LOVE YOUs. We didn’t mean to fuck, it just happened.

I pet his soft pile of flesh absentmindedly while we cuddled. It grew long, hot and hard, and suddenly a switch was flipped. He was going to have me.

And so I let him.

He kissed and nipped and I grabbed and moaned. Ankles on shoulders, one leg up, one down. Orgasms streamed through me and poured out of my face in the hot tears and sobs that burst forth.

No Hitachi made me cry like that. Just him.

We lay and cuddled and talked about our fears, going in circles. “If it sucks, then we’ll stop, because if it sucks, we’ll stop.” In my defense, I was barely coherent.

Can’t stop the world turning or sands through the hourglass and all that.

As for money, I need to find the old lady strip joint and grab a shift. Seriously. I’ve worked hard over the last year and made massive strides in getting my career going, but it’s like slogging through knee-high mud.

TN is always reminding me that a year ago I was making basically $0 and today I make a lot more than that, but it’s still not good enough. And I’m back to feeling like a raisin.

I wish I felt as good as I look in these pics.

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Plump.

 

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.”

“Really??”

“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.

Whodunnit?

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.