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.

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“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.

“I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor” Depeche Mode

Here’s how my conversations with myself are playing out on my commute. It‘s probably a rehash of everything I’ve written over the course of the last year-and-a-half with CK but that’s what we do isn’t it? Second-guess ourselves ad nauseam? Like with any break up, my way to get over it is to get pissed off. With CK it’s a bit difficult to do because so much of this “fault” is my own. He’s still the best, healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. We didn’t really fight and he wasn’t particularly mean (passive aggressive snarky at worst). So instead I focus on all the reasons we weren’t going to work out. But if I’m being honest, all those reasons were not reasons to break up. Really, the sex was the only deal-breaker. Everything else just became a compounding annoyance that I would have likely overlooked had things been good in the bedroom. For instance, his dull job that he loved to talk about as if it was as stressful and paramount as a political ambassadorship. His wholehearted disinterest in ever learning to dance. His lack of initiative or opinion on everything from what we were going for date night to what we would have for dinner. His hollow reminders that he was ready to help to give me more breathing room to free up quality time for us. He didn’t present concrete solutions to problems which made his offers to help sound more and more like lip service. Folks, if your partner looks like they are drowning, don’t sit on the side of boat and say “I’m here if you need me”, jump the fuck in and help!

Everyone has habits and hobbies that annoy their partner but it’s usually not a reason to break up. Still, these reasons that I nitpick at until they bleed, I only do so because I’m sexually frustrated. Fifteen months without good sex is an eternity. When we first started out, I was consoling, encouraging, told him “it’s okay, we will work through this”. But things didn’t improve much as time went on. Some treatment helps, like the injections to correct the worst of his Peyronie’s curve. But then other treatments such as the bevy of erectile dysfunction pills only upset his sensitive stomach (another irritant) and that “GainWave” therapy which he paid entirely out of pocket for was as useful as snake oil.

 Fifteen months later, he still lacks the length or the firmness to get in there! We purchased a silicone extender which worked well to give him an added inch but then his dick still flopped around under the weight, even after the Trimix injections directly into his penis! So sex was still awkward, careful and unsatisfying. Also, after 15 months, I am convinced that he didn’t know how to fuck. Quite simply, quite sadly. At least he didn’t know how to fuck me. The last time we attempted sex, I spelled it out for him: before he came over, I said I was going to lie down for a nap and I wanted him to come in quietly, do what he had to do to prepare, and then fuck me awake. I was hopefully excited in anticipation. But when he came in to my room completely naked, he started kissing my face and then he asks me how did I sleep? My eyes snapped open wide and irritated I asked “You really want to have this conversation right now?” Even when I told him exactly how I wanted it, he shied away! I was sick of his excuses “I need more practice” . Do I really need to teach a 50 year old man how to fuck? He told me later he literally wept over his inability to please me. I know he did. I know he does. I never wanted to hurt this man. I do love him evern though I type this and feel like I don’t deserve a good man. CK was the whole package for me minus the sex. I did enjoy his company. I miss him when he’s not around but I don’t miss the pressure of the expectation of sex, or his increasing insecurity both in and out of the bedroom which was making him less attractive to me. And I was tired of my own mounting sense of guilt for the constant night dreams and daydreams about sex with other men. I think probably the only reason I didn’t cheat was because no one made a pass at me.He messaged me last night for the first time in 48 hours which is the longest we’ve gone without talking. He said he felt okay Friday and most of Saturday but then by Sunday he was ugly crying again. That breaks the heart of the woman in me. And it hardens the heart of the man in me.

“And if you don’t love me, let me go” The Decemberists

Good news is, the police dept offered me the job. Sad news is, I had to decline. Four months of waiting while they invested time and money to vet me, I had convinced myself that I would accept the offer, if they made an offer, no matter what that offer was. But that was before I saw how bad the offer was. When it arrived, I doubled back over the email looking for active links or attachments, thinking they had simply forgotten to include them. So I asked. No medical? No life insurance? And a salary so low, I can’t afford it out of pocket. An inflexible leave policy and a convoluted promotion scheme. I did expect a low salary but not AS low as what they offered…which was also not negotiable. Was this why they refused to have the conversation about what was even on the table before an offer was made? I could have saved them time and money (which obviously, they don’t have) by admitting months ago that the terms were not acceptable. The more questions I asked, that “No” cake baked up higher and higher and frosted itself.

I asked G-d for guidance and he answered with the voices of my friends and family: Stay where you are. You like the job. Benefits and pay are generous. It’s a good company. Take the financial breathing room and something else will come along over the next few years. Then when my mother didnt have enough money to buy her medicine this month, that gave me the final answer. I would not be in a position to help my family financially if I accepted that job. And my mother isnt getting healthier/younger.

It was still a hard email to send. The “thank you, but no thank you”.

CK has finally accepted my resignation notice on our relationship as well. THat step back that I took before the holiday which didnt result in any change to status quo…now we arent even speaking. He’s hurt. Angry. Some of what he says is true like I probably didnt try “hard enough”. But other accusations like I took advantage of him nearly caused me to snap because I was careful NOT to ever take advantage of him. Fact: What I sacrificed for him was not good enough. He needed more time and attention and there just werent enough hours in the day to make him feel loved. Yes, the attempts at sex were for me, always disatisfying and often disastrous. In the end, I realized how bitter he was. He raged like a martyr (I know a little something about that) and finally I told him “I think you don’t love me as much as you love feeling self-righteous. The neglected, lonely, victim”. The tragic poetry of it. He did his best writing while “suffering” under me.

That part makes me angry. Like I spent 15 months with him for nothing. Yesterday was the first full 24 hours we’ve gone without speaking. When you talk to someone (even if you only see them on weekends) every day for that long, the silence is a little unsettling. Of course I miss him. He was my best friend. I wish I could chat with him like “normal” but that would be misleading. He said I never loved him and THAT bothers me but I can’t, right now, try to convince him otherwise without falling back into the rut we were in. He’d rather be miserable with me than happy with anyone else. That’s horrifying to me. Here, let me do YOU a favor and clip that cord once and for all>


lAST weekend, I went to an annual swing dance event out of town (that’s what started his passive aggressive snide comments that led to me saying “Enough. I really don’t want to do this anymore.”) I was trying not to let the fight ruin my mood but I must have been scowling as I stood there stewing angrily over his words, over how I didnt like the band, and how I didnt like the crowd…then a man proposed to his girlfriend on the dancefloor and the band started playing “Come on, get happy”. I put my street shoes back on and left, dry-eyed and suddenly tired.

I am sad. I loved him more than I loved anyone else. But maybe it wasnt enough. And it certainly wasnt a good sexual fit. But I appreciated feeling like, even if it was lip service, I wasn’t alone or lonely for more than a year. But he was lonely, he told me. So I ended it as much for him as for myself.

“Cream,shahboogie bop” -Prince

I masterbated tonight like I was single. Am I single? Depends on if you’re asking Rachel or Ross, I suppose. CK and I are still talking, went on a date last weekend but he didn’t stay the night. I told him if he gets up the nerve to shoot himself up in the c*ck with the Xiaflex, to give me a call for a ride because I’ve waited a YEAR and call dibs on the first erection he gets.

But back to masterbating: I was increasingly aroused all day (did I mention I keep a mini vibrator in the glove compartment of the car in case of emergencies? Hey, some people meditate on their breaks. Some of us take the edge off another way). Got home, fed the fur, stripped, poured a drink, closed the bedroom door… It was nasty. Like lube, vibrating anal plugs, double-penetration, whiskey rape myself, over in t wo minutes nasty. Cleaned up and felt much, MUCH more relaxed. Sure, I still masterbate but not like THAT in the year I was in a relationship. Of course I’m not insinuating that sex with myself is cheating and obviously, I’m not shy about my sexuality but I’m sure CK would have been hurt to not be included. And I didn’t want to include him. Not if he cant participate and contribute with his c*ck. I don’t need a spectator. I don’t need the distraction of an unhelpful set of hands. We already know I don’t get off on tongue, but A-for-Effort. So I just played Susie Celibate all year. Even with myself, more or less.

And that’s that.

Oh but separately, while I’m on a roll with the R-rated content, to all the designers that make dresses with zippers in the back: Fuck you.

No really, go fuck yourself. Are you still designing for an era when post-pubescent women were hurriedly married off but at least had a man to help them get in and out of their clothes? I’m done being half-dressed between home and work and asking my dog’s daycare staff to zip me up. Only a contortionist could tackle a hidden back zipper. Modern women would like to be able to dress themselves.

#BoycottBackZippers

“So take me or leave me but please don’t need me” Momus

So this is what it’s like to be on the other side. I remember sleepless nights and miserable mornings filled with obsessive thoughts about whoever I was emotionally invested in at the time who was not, in turn, emotionally invested in me. I imagine CK didn’t sleep last night nor the night before. I was right when I figured I’d have a sad email sitting in my box when I woke up. He called me selfish and said I put too much pressure on an orgasm. I said I needed intercourse. Inter. I’m not arguing with the legitimacy of his feelings; they are valid as are mine. Every one of his love letters over the last couple of months is a thinly-veiled guilt trip. I don’t think it’s intentional and he says that’s just my interpretation. That may or may not be true. It doesn’t matter either way. I’m good at relationships but not this one because I’m dissatisfied and have given up. He says he doesn’t feel like a priority. I think we don’t have enough in common and that we are both resentful and bored each time we get dragged along to something we have no interest in but feel obligated to attend. He’s a museum and movie kind of guy. I’m a mountain climbing, dance dance dancing machine. And I may die alone on a mountain but I’d like to get laid before that happens. I told him I hope someday we will be friends. And he meets someone who appreciates his tongue, movies and nights at home doing nothing. We share similar personality, values and humor but lack those common Interests that wouldn’t be so important after a screaming creaming orgasm. I did admit that I found his insecurity unattractive as I do in most men. But that’s my prejudice. I want a sensitive romantic supportive man just like CK but wrapped up in a a confident, dominant personality with a hard cock. And so I’ll die alone on a mountain, trying to prove to myself that my body and faith haven’t failed…

“Only a genius could love a woman like…” LSD

My work day is a steady stream of curses under my breath. And sometimes not under my breath.

Ck the One and I broke up a week ago. It wasn’t so much ripping the Band-Aid off as peeling it painful hair by hair until we opened our eyes, looked down at the wreckage and wondered, “Fuck. Now what?” We kept talking though. I asked if he’d at least finish the Xiaflex treatments and he snapped “Why bother?” I ignored that, expecting it. An emotionally mature man, he apologized quickly. I reminded him that every step of his various ED treatments, I felt blamed. Like, plenty of women were happy with cunnalingus and a limp dick. Hell, there might even be a kink community dedicated to it.

He asked again if I would reconsider a strap on and I nearly told him to fuck off. But now it was my turn to compose myself and reminded him that my first marriage, which I regretfully saved my virginity for, involved years of sexual abuse including sodomy. Not aince then would I agree to anything but a live man’s dick or a tampon up my vagina.

But then I agreed to research options, now that school is over and my waking non-working time is free again. Blogs and articles from men dealing with ED in their marriages were the most insightful and encouraging. I eventually came across a product that resembled a clear “cast” that an erect or flaccid penis could fit inside. A hollow dildo but not some ridiculous color or size. And with a single belt that appeared less intimidating than the usual strap-ons. He ordered it. I expect it will be here by this weekend. At least for now, I dont have the usual anxiety thinking ahead to attempted intimacy with this man. Because in the week that we were “sorta broken up”, I didnt feel relief like I expected. I was just sad. And I prayed for guidance and Im pretty sure my mom prayed too…and a peace came to me “I love this man”. I had spent months trying to emotionally disconnect myself in preparation for a break up, finding every little nitpicky thing I could to be annoyed about. And those irritants are still there as they will be in any relationship but I had watered and fertilized those weeds and encouraged their growth, choking out my heart. And then we broke up. Sort of. And suddenly my rampant sexual fantasies disappeared in my sadness. Now that I was (sorta) free to accept a date or even scratch the itch, my feelings for CK were a bucket of water on that fire.
So we’re going to try the… I can’t call it a strap-on or a dildo let’s call it the Kingdom of the Crystal Dick or the Extra Starched Cock Sock (okay I’ll work on that). Really I just need something to take the psychological piss out of it.
But I hope this works. Because Im a spaceship and he’s a NASA-loving nerd with a solar system tattoo. It doesn’t get more well-matched than this.

“I like that you’re broken, broken like me” ~LovelyTheBand

I feel every bit of my ill-fitting, worn out clothes today. Dangling threads, scuffed heels and hair as overgrown and unkempt as my yard. I’m dressed in insignificance with all the authority and value of a temp receptionist. But my new coworkers have learned to come to me for IT-related problems because it’s usually a simple fix and I’m much faster than waiting on a national-level “trouble ticket” to process. So today I once again found myself crawling on the floor under desks in a skirt, fiddling with…cables and computer equipment (you filthy bastards). And it was the only part of the day I didnt mind.  The only part I felt “useful”.

 I returned to prison after 4 days on parole, hiking in the woods with my dog and my struggling, unhappy boyfriend, CK. We think alike (I mean, CK and I. Although yes, perhaps my dog and I as well). And we are both martyrs for love. Judgmental and brooding, probably better off alone. I decided to burn what little vacation time I had accrued from this miserable job and disappear into the Quad State area (NC, TN, GA, SC borders). CK wanted to come so I sent him my proposed hiking list, based on limited time and weather conditions. He was an excited, “thumbs up!” But buying hiking shoes does not make you a hiker. Day one, we were only 6 miles into a walk in the woods when he began to fade, legs cramped, dizziness set in…I took his pack from him and force fed him protein bars, bananas, water and candy. I found him a walking stick but it was serious enough that I ran ahead to find a signal and called the nearest ranger station. I told them I just wanted to make sure I had a good number in case he couldn’t make it out on his own as we were still miles from the car. “Just keep puttin one foot in front of the other, he’ll make it out” the kindly ranger drawled. As CK leaned against a tree I told him, “Your lungs might give out, your heart might give out, but your legs will not give out. Keep moving”.

Days later, both his feet were taped and I announced I was going on a trail that he could not follow. Hell, he could barely walk. And I needed one day unencumbered. I climbed over rocks and fallen trees up a steeper incline to enjoy views unobstructed by tourists. Alone on a hilltop: me, my dog, and the wind.

I thought, “This isn’t working out”. I admitted on the drive home, I don’t want him tagging along to dances or hikes or shows out of obligation. Seeing the boredom and disappointment on his face kills my own joy. If he’d rather be at a movie then go to a movie! I don’t need company. I’ve been doing this living thing alone for years.
“I don’t need the added stress of a relationship!” I thought resentfully.

When you’re drowning, you cut loose of whatever weight you can forfeit: the job and school are not optional. Everything else – dancing, friends, family, boyfriends – those I can turn loose, at least until I finish school.

And I wish sex was off the table. I wish we’d never gone there; I wish we had just agreed to friendship. The pressure, the disappointment. I wish I could escape it.
“You’re tighter than a new buttonhole” he complains. I put on my best Gandalf impression and declare “You shall not pass!”  Or perhaps he can throw incantations at it, “speak friend and enter” my near-virginal vaginal gates.

He’s only had two rounds of GainWave and no change yet. His stem is still as broken as ever. I admitted to him, under these circumstances, sex means more work for me, and requires more time that I don’t have right now. So either I can slap on lube, get on my knees and give him a warm hole or he goes to bed hungry. And I’m starving but I’m a sexual camel and used to long stretches of abstinence. But I don’t ever want to fake it again. If only one of us is getting off, so be it.

At least for now.

But I’ve been saying that for months.

“Would I lie to you, honey?” ~ Eurythmics

I remember as far back as 4 or 5, in preschool, where we were forced to take mid-day naps.  Of course now as a chronically sleep deprived adult, I’d kill for a nap on a slab of bricks. But as a child, I lay there on a pillowless cot surrounded by softly snoring children, wondering if I was the only one among them faking it? I got the “best rester” stickers but never once that I recall, actually resting. Last night, with CK beside me, I pulled out the old trick of pretending to fall asleep fast because I wanted to fall asleep. I didn’t want to mess around. I say mess around instead of “have sex” because we haven’t exactly had sex in my opinion. Going on three months. I just wasn’t in the mood, maybe from lack of sleep and that increasing anxiety that the E.D. is going to be a deal-breaker for us. I wasn’t in the mood to spend an hour working and being worked over with tongues and fingers. I know I’m not going to get mine. I know he will, although it takes a while. And I wasn’t in the mood to have my head petted or feel his fingers twitching against my face. Rest them there, grab me there, but don’t twitch indecisively, nervously. At least that’s the impression I get from it. When I’m irritable, which is often when I’m tired. And I’m always tired.

And I still don’t particularly care for the way he kisses when he’s trying to be passionate. I could try to describe what doesn’t “work” for me but what’s the use? Am I going start coaching him? Because all men love that. A little firmer please…no, too much…and can you do something with your hand, the twitching is starting to annoy…

I realize I’m nitpicking because I’m frustrated.

I love him. I even find him attractive. And the idea of breaking up with him feels very wrong. He’s a unicorn. A broken horn but still a unicorn and he’s mine. But I never want to be a married roommate. And speaking of…

What made it worse was popping awake a bit later to the sound of a small dog whining two rooms away. Except we don’t have a small dog. It was the girl my roommate was fucking vigorously. I could tell she was trying to muffle the moans but I lie there hoping CK was not lying awake listening to this too. He is wonderful and he deserves to get laid. I cooked dinner, I shaved my legs, but on this most important duty to my man, I opted out.

Because I’m tired? Absolutely.

But also because even when I’m aroused, I no longer think about CK because he’s never going to fuck me deep and hard up against a wall. Or in the back of a volkswagon or anywhere else for that matter. I’m convinced no pill will fix the twitching hand, tepid  kisses or the limp dick.

And I don’t know what to do.

“the stars are stacked against you, girl; Get back in bed” M.C.C.

Sex isn’t everything but it’s important. He lays there silent, occasionally petting the top of my head while I spent, I guess, 20 minutes working him over with my mouth and hands. My arm starts to tire when he tells me he’s cumming and I think “Oh, he didn’t fall asleep after all”. In past relationships, I usually gave a man 10 minutes of oral before climbing on top to take a turn for myself but with CK, I can’t do that because the E.D. has left him unable to penetrate me from any angle but the back. Which is great but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life only getting it on doggie style. Now going on the 3 month mark, I finally brought it up again and asked him to talk to his doctor. I don’t know how the conversation went, perhaps nothing more than a message to say “Hey doc, Viagra doesn’t work, what’s next?” So he got a script for Cialis. I don’t expect a miracle. Diabetes has caused significant nerve damage and I don’t see how a pill will fix that.

I love this man but I find myself dreaming of other men, literally. I always had an active imagination though. And it’s not as if I’ll go rabid from frustration, break up with CK and screw every swinging dick that looks my way. But I can’t live like this for the rest of my life either. And I wonder if we would be sexually compatible even if he didn’t have E.D. Because he talks a good game but when the time comes…maybe it’s a combination of both our anxieties: his not being able to perform and me, knowing I’m not going to get off either. It’s … increasingly frustrating and less and less fun.

He wanted to see me again today but it has been a thousand papercuts day. Starting with chores, trying to be a good citizen, move carts out of the road at the grocery store and smashing my fingers between them. Then long overdue yard work sapping me of what little energy I had to start with. Decided to head to the dog bar because I haven’t spent quality time with my dog in 2 weeks. He had fun but in my exhaustion, wasnt thinking and wore flip flops. My toes suffered five stampedes and I was taken out at the knee by a pack of racing pit bulls aka bulldozers. 90min later, came home, slipped and fell in a pile of dog shit. Five minutes later, broke a gallon of cold brew in the refrigerator. Amid a flood of expensive Puerto rican coffee and glass, my roommate messaged me to tell me what a blast the salsa/bachata beach party was today and that this guy I used to have a crush on (still do, I suppose) was there and flying solo.  I disassembled the refrigerator drawers one by one, pulling out all the food and containers, inspecting it, rinsing it off, saving what I could, tossing what I couldn’t.

After 9p, I realized I haven’t eaten. I also havnt finished homework. But I’m going to stay “fuck it” to both and go to bed.