There’s no Booday today. My heart isn’t in it.

No boobs from me today; Boobday will be back next Friday.  If I took a picture of my breasts, all I’d see was a broken heart somehow being mocked.  Only by using my body with my lover do I feel better.  Sharing an image seems rude and callous.  Icky.

I don’t know much more than I did the other day except that perhaps she was keeping much bigger secrets than any one group of friends could ever know.  However, she left little crumbs of despair.  Everywhere.  But like only one little ant, it seemed so inconsequential when you saw it, except in reality she had a mountain of them teeming within her.  And no one fucking knew.

I’ve kept this news of my dear friend limited to those who knew her, The Neighbor, my mother, and you, my Internet Boyfriend.  Funny how that works.  I’m grateful for all of you and your kind words.  I would hug each of you tightly in return if I could.  I feel blessed to have you in my orbit.

I requested a “savage fuck” today from TN.  I didn’t want tender.  I wanted body slamming blows to punch away my sadness, hair pulling to cause a different kind of tear, a spank to illicit a different kind of sob.  He delivered and I have the marks on me to gaze upon and smile sadly. It felt good and I felt alive and not a little guilty.

I’ve thought of her every hour since I got the news, sometimes more.  I feel frozen and helpless and void of thought and words.  It’s already all done and there’s nothing I can do.  It’s just over.  Like the end of a record, only the end came because someone dropped a goddamned Volkswagen Beetle on it, not because it hit finally ended on the center.

The chaos of her death makes me feel unraveled and adrift.  I would certainly be doing something asinine with my body if it weren’t for my love next door.  If you don’t believe me read the archives starting on October 2nd, 2010 and ending August 13th, 2012.  I use sex to mourn to live to numb.  And a partner-less Hyacinth hunts it down with determination.

I gave up looking for someone other than the partner I had next door some time in November of last year and we have grown closer each day ever since.  What a novel idea to calm myself and focus on one man for a change whether he wanted me to or not.  And today, I know he wants me to.

God… what a fucking waste.  I don’t get master plans or destiny or fate or any of that bullshit.  I only know we live, we grow, we die in any number of fashions and some of them jarring and distasteful.  I just wish I could catch my breath on this one.  I feel like the sucker punch will never go away.

 

 

I have dreams that come true.

Good lighting. Who knew?

I’m sitting at an outdoor cafe dappled in shade, a cigarette dangling out of my mouth.  I have on a white v-neck shirt and a black and grey striped cotton skirt, high-heeled wedge sandals and a black bra.  My new short bob is gently blowing in the breeze and my stylist will be hearing from at least 3 of my friends since she worked her magic on me last Saturday to memorialize my heartbreak.

I have a sequined work bag and a large navy purse tossed on the picnic table and notebooks strewn about.  I ran into a colleague earlier and went and said hi.  Shook his hand and made nice, long eye contact with his cute, nerdy (and sadly married) friend.  I’ve made some phone calls, done some research.  Fidgeted.  I look like somebody, I’m sure, but feel like nobody.  And I can feel my naked pussy expel its juices on the hard bench beneath my bottom.

I am ready.  It’s the second day of my cycle, the worst week of the month for me.  I’m like a mare in heat.  I pulse, I drip, I devour with my eyes, my sashay, my curves.  I want cock.  And bad.  And how lucky am I that I no longer have one at my immediate disposal?  Ah, sarcasm.

I have a second date tonight with Alex.  Our first date went swimmingly enough.  He’s rough around the edges, lanky, suggestive.  Not overly handsome — like I like my men — but self-assured and goddamned funny.  We laughed so hard I cried and he kissed with passion and verve.

I plan on going spelunking in his pants at the bar tonight.  I will not have sex with a man who isn’t big enough to fill me up.  I tend to have better luck than most women when it comes to attracting well-endowed men, though, so I’m not too worried.  Hate me, call me shallow, call me whatever you want, but I have a deep well and an even deeper need to be filled up and split wide open and that can only happen if he has a baby arm between his legs.  I don’t discriminate based on height or skin color, but I do on cock size.  Sue me.

When I ended things with Troy I never thought I’d find anything remotely as amazing as him as a lover.  He worked my body like an instrument and he was the master musician.  He made my body do things I didn’t know it was capable of, taught me to control it and to wield its new tricks.  I mourned and searched for months for a replacement.  Enter, The Neighbor.

The boy next door with a giant cock and the innate skill to learn and grow with me.  I feel like a shallow little asshole for missing that more than anything right now.  Yes, he’d become my closest and best friend and I miss that desperately, but we’ve begun the slow march to repairing that.  The sex, however, I have lost, and my heart and pussy are bleak at the prospect.

When TN came over the other night, at his initiation, and I told him everything about 4 am girl he spanked my legs and I told him not to touch me.  It was too thrilling.  We barely flirted, but my pussy clenched and pulsed at the memory.  My breasts jiggled under their white v-neck, my thick, curvy legs peeped out of little ruffled pj shorts.  It wasn’t my plan to be dressed so when I saw him next.  It just happened.

The last morning we were together I told him about a dream I’d had that night.  We were rolling around in his bed, tangled in sheets, when I felt something slither on my legs.  I reached down and pulled out a black and red silk  nightgown; lacy on top with spaghetti straps.  “What’s this??” I’d asked.  Dream TN looked innocent and said he didn’t know.  Then he’d called the owner of the nightgown and she’d come over.  She’d invaded our sacred space together to retrieve her intimate garment.  She was disheveled and messy.  I felt nothing but disdain for her, no jealousy.  Dream Hy thought, “Hmm, I have nothing to worry about.  He can have her.”  She spoke in a British accent and revealed herself to be a huge mess.

The real TN laughed and promised me nothing like that would ever happen.  He was buried to the hilt inside of me and I was on top of him.  My ejaculate had pooled into his navel and I was splashing it on him as we laughed at the ludicrousness of my dream.  Only, it all really happened.

Sunday night 4 am girl spoke to me in a British accent for 20 minutes.  And she’d invaded our sacred space in more ways than one.

He asked me what else I’d dreamed about.  “Jesus Christ, Hy.  When am I going to die??”

We laughed amicably and then I told him about my dream from the other night.  “It was like an Escher drawing.  We were on our stairs, trying to avoid one another, but we couldn’t get away.  Then you caught up to me, pushed me against the wall and took me.  Fucked me hard.”

He visibly cringed — it’s too soon to talk about, but I was glad to see his visceral response to my dream — and I assured him that the feeling was good.  “It was like we were protected, on our balconies or something.  I think we might be able to do it again,” I ventured.  And I meant it.

After all the hurt, all the betrayal, all the heartbreak I don’t want him.  But I want his cock.  I need cock.  My wet, needy pussy needs it.  “I know I’m naive, but I’m not naive enough to think it’s a good idea right now.”  I assured him I didn’t want him now anyway, but maybe, later, one day.  “Maybe.  The TN in a month-and-a-half might feel differently,” he offered.

After Alex tonight I am to see Matt tomorrow, a man I cancelled on a few weeks ago.  I met him on AFF and know he’s well-endowed and he has a sick sense of humor, which I like.  Kevin also showed his face a day or two ago and his dick is prettier than most.  If only his lean 26 yo body could keep up with my soft 36 yo one.  He often complains his abs hurt for days after we fuck, “You’re more athletic than most, Hy,” he once said.  I told him to shut the fuck up and do more situps.  And Friday, I have another second date.  Josh.  We met for lunch on Friday and he’s tall and lanky too and has a quiet self-confidence I hope translates to some good, hard spanking in bed.

I told TN of my dates and he seemed slightly taken aback.  “You sure don’t waste any time, do you?”

“I can’t be alone.  You know that.  I need something to do.  And look at you.  You fucking had a girl over within hours…”

I told him I wouldn’t be his friend if/while he dates 4 am girl.  He didn’t argue and didn’t disclose that they were together, either.

So I’ve made my decision.  I’m going to rush headlong into the arms of men.  I need them.  It’s part of who I am, what I am.  Sex is cathartic for me.  It’s healing and painful and glorious and for those minutes I’m tangled and panting and being impaled I am above everything else.  It’s my meditation.  Some people need a bell, a chime and some incense.  Well, I need a naked, slobbering, sweating and thrusting man.  It’s that simple.

And since I’ve lost my key mediation partner in all of this I will have to hunt down some replacements.

Fuck me.

Please.