“Get a job, you fuckin slob” – Everlast

He’s missing one thing on that list and it’s glaring. Early on, I told him I wasn’t interested in getting involved with someone who fishes all day while I work. Since then, he’s used that example to justify.however he spends his days “I wasn’t fishing while you were working”. But now, right now, he’s asleep on my sofa, it’s after 2pm and I’ve been working 5 hours withouta break. I grew so resentful sitting on the computer while he snored softely with the cats that I had to get up and move to work in another room. In my own house. I began thinking, why doesn’t he hang the door he offered to fix? Yes, his company is enjoyable as he wears my ass out in bed or soothingly brushes my hair. But he doesn’t have a job.

Hes not uneducated or unskilled. He’s not severely disabled. I try to put him in the category of some of my favorite people who are “retired young”. If I didn’t have to work full time, I wouldn’t. I’d love to spend these quarantine months isolated in the cool apallachian hills. Hell, I’d like to be the one napping on the sofa. But I’m working. He’s napping. And I have an unspeakable problem with that.

In karmic timing, my astrologer swing dancer friend text to ask “What does he lack off your list?” I replied quickly, “A job” and confessed he was sleeping on my sofa as we spoke. She replied: Interesting! Well now that Venus is direct see where things go and maybe you’ll be able to move past his retirement flaw?”

Flaw. Un/underemployment as a flaw. Or perhaps the underlying lack of moral motivation to contribute to…what? The GDP? The growing world deficit? But if work can be had and the body is able, one should contribute until they are of the age or financial independence to retire. I add that last bit thinking of another couple of aquaintances who invested well, early and spend their days traveling and fucking off. I envy them. And resent them. Too much to date them too.

I’m going to wake him, and tell him it’s because he won’t sleep tonight if he sleeps all day. But also because I’m ready for him to leave.

UPDATE as of 26 June, 9th House astrology just posted this. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/94710042/posts/2777945465

So even if my decision isn’t clear, the reason for my indecision, my upset gut, is clear:

“Neptune offers idealization and poetic longing while bypassing or totally ignoring the harsher details. Romantic idealization could lead to disillusionment or disappointment later down the road once Neptune’s veils are lifted off…you might find yourself changing your mind again moving back and forth between yes and no or both simultaneously.”

“You dyed your hair blue” – Glass Animals

I licked your sunglasses before handing them back to you. You held them briefly then slid them onto your face without wiping them off. My nickname in your phone is Beautiful Bacteria because you will plunge the depths of a woman’s body to test the pH but have an aversion for The garbage dump that is the human mouth. But I will teach you to kiss me and you will teach me stop interrupting and apologizing so much.

It’s been a quiet month of discovery between us. I write but don’t post because every day is a reveal that I worry about jinxing. You spent the night, even on a “school night”, promising to respect my need for sleep even as you did a Futomomo binding of my legs, tore my panties away and remarked that I took a paddling “like a champ”. In the morning, you massaged my feet and let the dogs out, made coffee, made the bed while I showered before work.

Your compliments rival the Song of Solomon.

And yet I think of that spaceship tattoo on my hip and what it represents. You know. You looked at me with your cats-eyes and said “I’ll be 99 and hope to have been at least in a sideways 69 early in the morning with a 93 year young you. That is my hope.”

But of the 11 critical items on my Non Negotiables list, you are missing only one. CK was missing only one and it was the reason I broke it off. Because they ARE non negotiable!I’m not hiding it from you either. We have grown up conversations about your plans for the future and my need for an equal partner.

What I didn’t mention is my concern that I manifested a stop gap. Because you appeared a few days after my reading and placing a request for a lover until The One arrives on my altar. I’m superstitious, we’ve covered that. But in my habit of searching for signs, I see them. Like how you have G-d’s ear. And you put your phone away. And you’re a mountain man who knows how to make biscuits from scratch. And you are showing me that you know the difference between aggressive and assertive.

So I keep my eyes open and my heart’s guard up even as I submit to you. For now. Although you hand me your leather belt and say you will never ask for it back.

“Call me up whenever you wanna grind” ~Prince

“I don’t think you could fit me in your ass but I’d try”

No you won’t. You didn’t. Even though I laughed at that, I saw you twice in the two and a half weeks that you were here. Your messages becoming fewer and less flirty, full of excuses which I took for waning interest. Tried to call you on it once: I wear big girl panties, I can handle the truth better than having my time wasted.

I wore a dress, heels, carefully cultivated undergarments, messy hair and precise makeup everyday this week just in case you wanted to see me after work. I turned heads.

The night before you left, your only message to me  was that you were ready to go. My response: so, nice meeting you then..?

I archived 2months of conversation and porn, sick of the disappointment of opening my messages and seeing your adorable ass laid out like a platter across the bed.

You sent me one final text the next day as you boarded the plane to say you enjoyed our time together and were disappointed we didn’t have more of it. And whose call was that?

I’m disappointed but only because I’m still hungry.  He’s like sugar: Delicious, addictive and not good for me. Although I was more relaxed after adopting the approach that my relationship values cannot be applied to a playdate. Round two was a quickie, two hours, but I was glad to get it. Although he was less attentive after he had me, he was still a great kinky lay and brought out the rope.

Some knots were rushed, and I felt like livestock being hogtied in a rodeo for time. Other knots were more artistic and worthy of pictures, which I asked him to take with my phone for my FetLife profile since he was the one who called me out on being 98% rope bunny with no rope photos. Most of the pix made me cringe. Not at his work but at my body, oozing between the fibers. We should have made my nipples hard before snapping these shots, I joked.

I found myself lurking on Fetlife lately, checking out provocative photos and following beautifully bound women, wishing I was them.

He said he preferred older women but I think he likes young, thin and blonde. I assume that 49% of what men tell me is truth and 51% is bullshit.

Browsing photos and erotic posts  I wonder how far down the rabbit hole I will go. I must not be too far gone because I have other options but if they can’t verbally and cerebrally fuck me first, they’re just not interesting  enough to rearrange my schedule for as I did for this last guy.

But I’m looking to pad my fall.

I joined another group on FetLife called Self Tie Tuesday. Seems simple enough. I already have sex with myself so why not just tie myself too?

I watched videos but end up following my instincts. I figure Between survival training and general craftiness, I have a solid foundation in knots.  But tying myself is hard.  I wrapped my legs thinking that would be the easiest but was straining by the time I reached my toes.  I posted the picture of the end result with the caption “Self-tie Tuesday, or ‘Eat my taco Tuesday’ or ‘tie your own damn self Tuesday’ whatever. I can’t imagine how people self-tie harnesses but that’s for future education and Tuesday nights.

“Everything is a dream I forgot” Marian Hill

“We’ve got time” he said. That was days ago. My last message to him was “I still hope to see you again, when you have time.” And I’ve resigned myself not to hear from him again.

I purposely didn’t make firm plans for the weekend, thinking, hoping, assuming that I would spend much of it with him. I haven’t even heard from him. It’s like when he disappeared for super bowl weekend. Off the grid so he claimed. He’s not off the grid. He’s just a few miles away from me and has the weekend off. He just doesn’t want to see me.

The rejection Hit me harder than I could have expected. I got through a cabaret show. I swing danced my ass off at a live rockabilly classic car fest the following day. then went home and within half an hour, changed into black thigh highs to head to the local s&m club where I’m a member to see if a couple friend might introduce me to a local Dom. It was like every other gathering I’ve gone to: a house party with a bunch of leather clad nerds and a couple of people stripped naked and being whipped in the center of the room. Just another night at the BDSM club. I didn’t meet anyone to play with. I went home alone. Cried. Talked to my best friend “S”, felt better for a few minutes and then cried some more.

The next day was more of the same. Running myself ragged between rehearsals and dances. I was in an off mood, enough that people noted it. Got home, changed quickly and was back out the door. Met a coworker for dinner and drinks and he followed me to the local VFW for a weekly swing dance. He had never been. Didn’t even know there was a scene. He said it was a joy to watch. He used that word, joy. It’s accurate. God knows it’s the only time I’m truly happy, on the dance floor.

My coworker paid for dinner, it wasn’t cheap. I volunteered to get the next time. Danced my ass off. He watched while a couple of single dancer friends flirted with the new guy. I’ll answer questions about him later. I thanked him, sincerely, for stepping away from his PhD homework or whatever else he could have been doing with his time, to spend it with me. He and I both understand the value of time. And we ar en’t frivolous with it. He took Time out for me. It doesn’t entirely negate The bathos that was nearly 7 weeks in the making with the Sexual Tourist but long term, friendship is worth more.

Sexual Camel meets Sexual Tourist

He’s here. He’s real. We made it past coffee.
It went down every bit as hot and messy as I’d fantasized. We even accidentally drew blood and my wrists are delightfully sore for two days. But it’s been THREE days. But back to that in a minute…

That first night we met, really, was intended just for a drink and “nice to meet you” but it escalated quickly after a month of priming via text. I slept less than 6 hours that night and was mush at work the next day but I was smiling so no one questioned it. I wish we could have kept going and I told him afterwards that I hope to see him again while he’s here. In the heat of it, I THINK he enjoyed it but of course the days after, I question that as he does not seem as crazed for the next round as I am. Mixed and delayed messages in the following days has left me insecure and wondering what did I look like? Smell like? Taste like through his senses? If I only had one shot, what could I have done differently to have pleased him more? Did he come? I’m never sure when condoms are involved unless I ask, and I didn’t.

For all the intensity of my experience, and it was certainly intense, I did not come. Close many, many times but no cookie.  I rarely get off the first time I’m with someone but he still had me squirming and wet. I’m sure I’ll be more relaxed the next time. If there is a next time. That’s up to him. That’s not to say that I didn’t have release. In fact, it opened a floodgate. I havent experienced a total release of control like that in five years, since “C” was alive and my keeper for a brief time.

He bound my wrists, then my ankles, then my chest, eventually looping the rope to connect and further restrict the bound limbs. Once I was tied he paused to admire his work. Then started with his hand. Then slid off his pants and used his belt. He even had a thin paddle that snapped against me like a wooden ruler. Even without orgasm I was sopping, bound and gagging on him.

And I’ve thought about nothing else since.


That’s the problem with starving yourself: The moment someone gives you a bite, your body and psyche recalls how hungry it is. But now that he’s had me, does he want more? I felt so good that first night but it’s been three days since and I feel anxious, neglected, rejected. I look at the calendar. He has less than two weeks here. And as I leave work, I think he’s only 2 mi away. Two miles and 2 weeks and then it becomes a thousand miles and never again.


But that’s me. He is in a new city and it’s a buffet. Why would he eat at the same restaurant every night? Even if I’m the best thing on the menu, he is going to try other places. He’s a sexual tourist.

He might be a little lazy too after a long, hot day working in the sun but that doesnt make me feel better. Hmm, kinky playtime or Netflix? I suppose not everyone is as insatiable as I am or maybe this is what happens to a woman deprived for years.

He’s slow to respond too when I put myself out there. I told him last night that I really wanted him to spend the night Friday night after the show but didn’t require an immediate answer. So he didn’t give me one. Until the next morning witha lukewarm response that left me in a shitty mood all day, second-guessing whether he wanted to see me again. I’m so hungry…

I messaged “S” who confirmed “That sucks that he’s not into you”. Ouch. But that’s what real friends do right? Tell the truth. I asked my dom friend for a referral but he said he’s always on the lookout for me and he doesnt know anyone in this area, this region even, that’s not already attached (although if I was open to poly, which he knows I’m not, he and his wife and their gf would be thrilled to have me as an addition).

I mean, I would literally drive to your room, blow you and leave if you said the word. But you don’t. The crickets every time I offer myself to you is a kick in the gut. I expected to be this experience to boost my confidence but it has me at my wits end. Even my coworkers are asking what’s wrong. I’m not myself. 

Make excuses or tell me the truth but don’t leave me hanging. What I can’t figure is why you don’t just ghost me all together if you decided one round from me was all you wanted. Why do you keep messaging me at all?

I rearranged my underwear, all the best panties to the front, wear dresses and heels everyday just in case you call me over. You haven’t played that playlist you made for me yet. You haven’t fingered me in public yet. Are you done with me already?

What I really need is a Keeper.

Now I’ve experienced the loving, supportive, mature relationship of “CK” and the intensely kinky sexual dynamic that I crave. They seem as distant as the East from the West, never meeting, never embodying the same man.

But because of him I updated my dating profile to include, “brownie points for shibari”.

“Am I only dreaming? Or is this burning an Eternal Flame?” ~The Bangles

It’s already been a week since I returned home from my belated birthday hiking trip around Mt. Ranier and while the photos remind me of the inspiration of the Cascades, my words fail me. But if I don’t write about it now, I wont write about it at all, as I failed to write about last year’s bday hiking trip through Banff in Canada.

For weeks and days leading up to the rescheduled trip, I watched the weather reports and the hikers notes on All Trails. Sixties and seventies, they all reported. So I packed for 60’s and 70’s. Day one, it was 60’s and 70’s. Days two and three, it was in the 30’s and I had nothing but a windbreaker. No gloves, no hat. No thermals. But I came to hike so frostbite be damned. I managed to keep my digits and most of my dignity intact. The last two days of trudging were a bit like my military experiences: glorious and miserable. Learn to love the suck and feel pride that you endured when others would have said “hell, no.”

I had plenty of company on these hikes too for a change. I usually hike alone to avoid the pressure of keeping pace with someone else or the obligation of any schedule other than my own. But this time, I had friends and acquaintances coming out to meet me readily. My close Army friend, S, who’s sofa I crashed on, my long-time Marine friend “M”, both of who I’ve mentioned here previously. And an old radio acquaintance and true mountaineer who drove in from Yakima to accompany me on that final, snowy third day.

The first day was by far perfect in weather and scenery even if I was distracted by self-conscious feelings of inadequacy from the moment “M”, a stoic John Wayne type, stepped out of the car looking just as much a Marine as ever despite the face scruff and shaggy hair. “You look like a goddamned hippie” I said as I embraced him for the first time in a decade. We both had changed but time had softened and broken me whereas it further chiseled and hardened him. “S” in full wingman mode paved a baited path that went untouched and while I was touched by his matchmaking efforts, it made me hyper-aware of percieved rejection. Like a full plate of hot, salty fries neglected on the table. Who wastes it?

Many reasons why the opportunity may have gone ignored but of course I got hung up on the one: he’s not interested. Ten years ago, both in uniform, the timing was not in our favor when M admitted feelings for me. Now that the path is seemingly clear, he was no longer hungry. Maybe his dick doesn’t work, I inevitably wondered. Sad how that thought always crosses my mind now if a man catches my attention.

But otherwise, it was a long overdue trip that was better than I had expected, rejection and freezing rain aside. My rehabilitated foot held up over nearly 40 miles of rugged terrain while conversations bounced from serious debates to bowel movements to dating over the hill to Belinda Carlisle (which resulted in us =singing “Eternal Flame” up and down the mountain trails). And I reconnected in person with people that give a damn about me. There are still a few left. Even if the one I built up in my head didnt want me for dinner.

“The older the fiddle, the finer the tune” ~ M

Awful nightmare during an attempted mid-afternoon nap yesterday. I don’t think I was truly asleep but I was trapped. My nightmare revolved around a thought that nags me when I’m awake: I’m single with no children. My mother is all I have left and when she’s gone, I’ll truly be alone. In my nightmare, my mother had passed and I felt so alone, I killed myself.


Burned sage around the bedroom and the house to try and shake off the funk. I remember something “L” told me: talk to your past, tell it you are breaking those contracts of regret and resentment and you want to clear your name with your enemies. Bring on the peace. Slept better last night but anxiety set in again as the next day wore on and my weekend ran out.

First weekend out of the boot and I put an insane amount of pressure on myself to get out and dance. Showed up to train for Diavolo on Saturday but they were working on another piece I wasn’t in so training canceled. And next weekend because of Labor day, they decided. Too many people out of town. I should have been one of them.

Sunday, I went to an Afro Cuban dance class but it was more Bomba than Afro. I couldn’t see the footwork under the skirts, understood only every fifth word, and felt like my soul never left the bed today. I used the foot to excuse myself 40 minutes into the class.

I called a friend and said last chance to dance this weekend, let’s hit Sunday Sabrosura! But that event is crazy crowded and if you don’t get there early to make friends and find a place to throw your purse, you’ll spend the entire time painting the wall with your backside. She wasn’t up for that.

So two middle-aged, divorced dancers headed to the waterfront to drink and poke fun of the men our aged, trying to pick up on the women half our age. But truth is, around here, a drink and a box of “touch of grey” beardcolor and they get those onesie-wearing 20 somethings. Can’t really blame them. I might have had a daddy complex at that age too. But now I’m 43 and my friend is turning 60. Good dancers, decent shape for our age, career women, low-maintenance…but men around here don’t go for “age appropriate”.


What helped was calling another friend, “S”.  Divorced and in dating-hell as well but on the opposite coast. I told him he’d have much more luck fishing here. We should trade. We chatted about my birthday hiking trip which got postponed when I broke my foot. He’ll be joining me in a few weeks on a fast, exhausting trip around Mt. Ranier. Somehow we got to chatting about another friend of mine who lives a few hours away near Portland. Well, that is, I consider him a friend. We all served in the same Battalion but different Companies. Plus, “M” and I went through AIT together so I knew “M” a bit better than “S” did. Still, “S” being a good wingman mentioned: “If you told him you were coming here, he would make the drive, I’m sure of it”.

“M” was one of those people you (Okay, I) meet and think, he’s a good person, we get on well, he’s into me and he’s not hard to look at… So what’s the problem? Chemistry.

Ten years ago, I cited lack of chemistry. He poured his heart out to me and I was flattered but also crushing on a former sniper turned philanthropist and a year later, a former Jesuit priest turned sniper. You might say I have a type. M particularly hated the Priest. M also never made a move on me so who’s to say a firm hand in my hair and mouth crushing kiss wouldn’t have gotten my attention?


I vaguely recall an article based on some supposed scientific study years ago about how we are instinctually attracted to people with symmetric features.  M is asymmetric in a John Wayne meets Daniel Craig sort of mash up. It’s been more than 10 years now since I’ve seen him in person but in a recent photo, on the day of his military retirement, he is reclining, foot propped on an ammo can, thumbs hooked in his belt loops and squinting into the sun. I think “Lookin good, old man” and I know he would reply “The older the fiddle, the finer the tune”. 

I usually hike solo but I’m staying with “S” and he’s taking time off to hike with me. Would S want to share our time together? I think not but again, I assume he’s just being a dutiful wingman suggesting I mention it to “M”. But it got me thinking.

So I text M. Said it was only three days, I was staying with S, understood it was a far drive…he text back immediately “Shoot, it’s only a three hour drive. I’m down for a hike and a drink.”

I panicked a little then and laid the groundwork of expectations: “I’m fat and slow now so don’t judge.”

He replied “I’ll leave it to the Christians to do the judging.”

I said “Great! Can’t wait to pee in the woods with you next month”.

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me” he text back.


Maybe he wont be able to make it, I think. Maybe I don’t want him to. I don’t have any mojo currently. Especially after Friday night’s costuming attempt at home that became a private humiliation, discovering I couldn’t squeeze into pre-laced corsets that I fit just two months ago. I was big then and I’m even bigger now.

So there I was: Prancing around feeling like I was caught in a giant Chinese finger trap, singing “Look ma! I’m a sausage!” and wondering if I was going to have to call for backup before I finally Hulked and ripped the zipper clean off. Fuck, that was my leather Gamora / BDSM corset too.

Meanwhile, M looks the same. And I’m obsessing “Maybe he wont come. Maybe he wont want me anymore. Maybe I wont want him. Maybe he will want me but still won’t make a move. Maybe his dick doesn’t work either, I mean, he is ten years older than me…maybe I should just stick to hiking alone. And don’t nap in the afternoon. And for g-d’s sake, don’t wear that tunic with those pants anymore…”

Another blogger I follow just posted this:

“Until the new moon in Virgo on Friday, we stand in the liminal darkness of the waning Moon, the dark of the Moon. Slowdown your pace, reflect, contemplate, clean, cleanse, purge, stretch, create space for the wisdom to enter, collect the strength from the Earth, lay low.”

But I’ve been “laying low” for 7 weeks while my foot healed. But if this weekend proves anything, it’s that Something or Someone is still holding my arms and trying to tell me “pace, reflect, cleanse”. Heal. Create space for wisdom to enter. These thoughts racing through my head this weekend do not come from a place of wisdom. Okay, okay…I’ll try to do better.

“In the Summertime, when it’s hot outside, and the streets are bare, there’s no one there” ~Black Keys

 I skipped sitting on the sidelines of Cabaret rehearsal to follow the
excited advice of a nurse: Go to the ER now! I napped on a hospital bed
while a retired Colonel ran tests on my heart. My ticker is great to my
relief. It’s something else. What that is, no one knows yet but it’s not my
heart so that’s all I needed to hear. 
. How many times did they ask me “Do you have anyone here with you? Do you want us to call someone?” Nope. And Nope. I know in a worst case scenario, CK would come swiflty. But I don’t want him. I note the absence of a ring on my doctor’s hand as we trade a couple of war stories. He’s too old for me, complete with wooden cane, but he’s funny and his cane adds to his austere image the way a pair of glasses makes people look “smart”. HOw did you break your foot, he asked? Living like I’m still 23 instead of 43. He laughed and said “right on”.
Cabaret presses on like I’m not there and not coming back. New choreography without me. New dancers. Even a new singer to create competition in the one market I had cornered. 
Three weeks until my podiatrist follow up and I still feel the break in my
foot. But three weeks more is all you get, I silently tell No One. Then I
need to dance. I need to train. I logged back into Crackbook briefly to view
dance events coming up at the end of the month, when I hopefully get the
green light from the doctor. Nothing looks particularly inspiring. Or maybe
that’s my state of mind grumbling. 
I’ve gone from panicked “WTF do I DO with myself?!?!?!” to “I don’t want to
do anything”. 

Feverish planets, climate crisis, and the now-public sweeping under the rug
of military sex-crimes have fired up the nightmare machine again. Plus I
still think of “C” unbidden. His name popped up in a spam email this week
and I wondered if he was reaching out to me from the grave or if it was
something more malevolent and real. Times like this, I do wish I wasn’t so
isolated. 

My breath catches and chest tightens but not like “false alarm” heart attack
of yesterday. No, this is just despair. My headphones are on at work but I’m
not listening to anything. I don’t know what is more distracting: the
converastions around me or the music that I’m not feeling.

Shove your “LOL”

A man that I have no interest in, an acquaintance of an acquaintance, asked me out. I said I was fresh out of a relationship and not interested in dating but he said we could just have a drink and get to know each other, no pressure. I softened and agreed…when I have time. A few weeks passed and he asked if I was available on a Friday night, I explained that I’m on night shift for six weeks, and working every night this week except for THursday which is Cabaret rehearsal. I know I dont need to give a reason, I could have left it at, “this week’s no good”. Still he replied with an LOL and “Are you trying to avoid me?” I bristled with the not-so-distant reminder of similar sentiments from CK. I made time for him but it was never “enough”. I dont miss that guilt trip.
I calmed down and told this fellow “Work is inescapable as is the need for sleep. The breaths of space in between that I set aside for rehearsal with my cabaret troupe is non-negotiable as well.” Of course he replied that he was only joking. Because that’s the disclaimer behind an ‘LOL’ Hurt feelings and thinly veiled truths and all manner of insults can be written off with an ‘LOL’. So ‘LOL’ makes everything okay, right?
He also launched into additional cliche sentiment about how he can’t be compared to my ex. I bristled again and bit back what I really wanted to say which is: You are nothing compared to him. You are nothing to me. He was something to me. You wish you were worthy of comparison to him.

Instead I said “My ex was a wonderful man. Supportive and devoted and I wish things had worked out differently for us.”


In my annoyance and defense of CK, I decided I had no interest in drinks or dinner or friendship or spending even an hour of my precious limited free time with this lesser man. Not whenfamiy and close friends are all standing in line for a turn.

“I’m the bad guy. Duh!” ~ Billie Eilish

Three Thursdays ago would’ve been our month-a-versary. Which I never remembered but he always did. He reached out, in pain, said he won’t pressure me, he respects my decision though he disagrees with it and believes that our story is not finished. I told him that while I am sticking to the decision, I miss him and think of him every day. That was three weeks ago and it wasn’t a lie. Then another week went by and I saw his name pop up on Facebook and suddenly wondered, when was the last time I thought of him? Was it a few days ago? Yes, it had been several days since he crossed my mind. Then another week. And another. And I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t miss him at all.

Why is it that all my unworthy exes who treated me poorly took me so much longer to get over? Even when I was the one who ended it, as I always did, eventually coming to my senses, I thanked G-d as the time between thinking of them gradually stretched out a little further. Still, in every case, it was months and months get to that point. And they were nothing to my heart compared to CK.

Or so I thought. I feel guilty as I wonder again, if I didn’t love him as much as I should have, or as much as I thought I did. He’s suffering and I am not. I am busy as always between a new job (that I DON’T hate), working out new dance routines with my cabaret troupe and reclaiming some sanity with “me time”. If you ask me when the last time I had a climax during penetrative sex was…frankly, it’s been 4 years (since “C”). So as frustrated and rarin’ to go as I am, I’m still not actively seeking to get laid.
The team I work with right now is full of the sort of vibrant, forceful personalities that I would fall in love with (if they weren’t already spoken for). The type of people I’m instinctively attracted to. And as clever as CK can be, he’s not particularly interesting to me. In fact, I used to joke with him he should apply to be a member and the Dull Men’s club. Which is a real, long-standing club by the way. Not everyone has to live an exciting life but by comparison, he and I have little common ground. He sincerely believes his job is interesting and important which always made me want to roll my eyes when he’d tell a work story. Then there’s me, with the job(s) that I couldnt talk about except in the most general terms. Sure, we aligned on the important things like core values but otherwise, we had nothing in common. I don’t believe I respected him enough and I think he kept me on a pedestal, a disastrous combination for the long-term.
Add in bad sex and it becomes the relationship that never should have left the friend zone. My opinion which he doesn’t share.

Or perhpas the nudge to move on came from G-d’s celestial creation as the Vernal Equinox and darkening moon in Aries pulled me away from that which no longer served me. Or so my horoscope said.

And yet CK was always the suffering face of servitude even as I recognized that face of martydom that I wore myself in all my prior relationships…and began to resent him for this unattractive role reversal.

Two months has passed and the only thing I really miss is having someone to talk to everyday. Someone to give a mutual damn about. But I don’t miss the guilt trips, intentional or otherwise. I don’t miss the attempted sex: his timidity in and out of the bedroom, his fumbling and insecurity which had, I came to believe, as much to do with ignorance in the bedroom as his malfunctioning cock. I realize that sounds harsh, even mean, but it was such a turn-off. And I don’t miss the floppy dick.

So yes, I’m alone again after 15 months of sincerely trying to be a good sport but I AM relieved.