It’s really fun (not) to feel chewed up and spit out by someone. Someone who I loved and cared for. DEEPLY (teehee I said deep). What’s even more fun (not) is to take responsibility and recognize how I allowed myself to be chewed up…. and how I allowed the chewing to go on for far too long.

It’s the school of hard knocks for me right now. I’ve been facing some tough realizations. Eventually, I will say it’s good. Right now, in-between my fluctuations of rage and sorrow, it feels painful. It’s really amaze-balls how tricky we are with ourselves when we want to JUSTIFY something. I’m now getting that my lover didn’t spend more time with me because he didn’t want to. Not because of the reason I made up in my mind [he didn’t have time]. I wrapped myself in a cloak of deception-his and mine-and somehow felt as though that was my comfort and safety. WRONG. Deep down there was the nagging thought-this isn’t going to end well. That nagging thought is now square in my face. I placed too much value in the sex of this recent lovership. While feeling fulfilled-I felt having a lover was the ultimate underlying ingredient that made being “single” palatable. Within that I ended up saying yes to waaaaay more dysfunction than I care to face. Yet must face. It’s difficult to face the demons of self-discovery post-relationship. What could I have done differently, where did I go wrong, how have I failed? It’s good to ask these questions to learn and grow, to move forward. It also feels important to NOT WALLOW too deeply in the grief and self-hatred. It takes TWO. We cannot be responsible for others’ actions. I’m trying to differentiate between: I fucked up staying too long vs I feel victimized. It’s a rough line to figure out! When is it ok, if ever, to blame and hold accountable our former partners for dragging us thru their muck?

I’ve embarked on this blog-writing journey realizing I essentially exploit myself. I exploit my sexual thoughts, I exploit my sexual desires, I exploit my sexual cravings, I exploit my sexual adventures, I exploit my sexual pain, and I exploit my sexual healing. I’m laying it all out there. I do this because I believe that in sharing my experience someone [you] will see themselves and find comfort in knowing they [you] aren’t alone.

TEETER-TOTTERING

I started writing this post six weeks ago and BEFORE the end of the lovership. I knew it was headed there. All signs pointed to the last chapter, THE END. What I didn’t realize was how horribly the end would be handled by the lover. The lack of sensitivity and responsibility for their actions is astounding. Why am I surprised? I suppose because I’ve had my head buried in the sand far too long. I allowed too much. I justified. I attempted to overlook. I made excuses. I swallowed the pain and ignored. Then all of that came crashing down and what’s left is ME dealing with my shit. This is what it always boils down to, right? Our OWN shit. I’m rotating thru several teeter-totters: EXTREME SADNESS and HATRED; disbelief and relief; disappointment and resolve; DENIAL and SELF-REALIZATION. The sad-hate is the teeter-totter I’ve spent the predominant amount of time on. Trying to make sense of what has happened.

LUCKY IN LOVE

I’m unlucky. Not unlucky in love. I have many loving relationships in my life which creates the fulfillment I’ve discussed in previous posts. I have been unlucky in the long-term relationship department. And I use the word “unlucky” loosely as deep down I know I am the common denominator and I am the one choosing the dysfunction. My relationship shit goes back years. It predates this lover by 30+ years. I have patterns and they aren’t pretty. Why is THIS my pattern: being used until I request commitment. Even the smallest amount of commitment is too much. Then I’m no longer of value. Is it too much to ask? Clearly the boundary needs to be laid out in the first place for me to avoid this pattern that has, in fact, distinctly happened to me 3 times. And it’s been a painful journey to say the least. I have witnesses to all of this mess. Some friends have been here for all of it (going back to 1989 when I married my high school boyfriend) to the present. Thank goddess for girlfriends who stand the test of TIME. I haven’t found that luxury within the male world. Sex adds an element that seems to literally fuck things up royally. Why is it so easy to stay comfortable in the delusions of comfort?

FINDING ME

I’ve spent the past few years contemplating my sexuality, my desires, my hopes, my dreams, and changes within my body being a 51-year-old woman. The experience gained in living life, being sexual, and being OPEN has brought wisdom, joy, and tears. Tears at my former choices, tears at my current choices, tears for my possible future choices. I’ve let go of judgments regarding my SELF, let alone others. I’ve tried to get to the bottom of WHAT my past choices have meant-with regard to my long-term relationships-so that my future choices will be more grounded in the reality of WHO I AM NOW and not the injured little girl I used to be. Not placing blame here. On my parents or anyone. Taking on the burdensome weight of my past choices to be with abusive men (thinking of my primary long-term sexual partners). Men who are excessive drinkers, men who won’t emotionally commit, men who are physically and verbally abusive. WHOA no wonder I haven’t had the verve to take this on. It feels like a never-ending chasm of an extremely dark depth.

This can be chalked up to a conglomeration of all the things: family history, how I was raised, my DNA, and societal pressures to partner, marry, birth children-essentially a focus on being partnered so as to not feel ALONE. Who here is afraid of being alone now or when they get older? It crosses my mind from time to time to be sure. Will I be cared for when I’m an old woman? I’ve spent considerable time alone already. I’ve been single for 10+ years. During that time – no, I have not been celibate. Having a lover is, of course, not the same as having a partner. It also has issues. It also must be nurtured. It has parameters, even expectations. A lovership is also “lonelier” than a partnership. It does not afford some of the comforts of a partnership. Then factor in a partner who wants an “open lovership”.

Well, it’s not for everyone. Me included.

A lovership has one main function: sex. Sex typically will create an emotional connection. Especially given time. Emotion complicates. And for me, when the emotional turbulence was out-weighing the pleasure of the sex-the scale tipped and here I am with no lover. While all loverships are different-mine involved a decent amount of connection and emotion. There were a few terms that had to be negotiated. And they had to be revisited every so often. But to be honest-if I wanted to have an open lovership-I would go IN to that lovership requesting that. It feels impossible to be emotionally connected with someone and then to have to overcome the emotions that arise with the thought of sharing the lover who I’m emotionally attached to. This lover was consistent in showing up for sex. The emotional part between us was always rocky. What happened for ME when the lover expressed a desire to have an “open” relationship was that I immediately felt TIRED of feeling like I’m not ENOUGH. I’m exhausted by being drug through the mirk and mud of feeling NOT CHOSEN. Ya know? Rejection. Square in the face. Constantly, in every moment, there was zero desire for ANY sort of emotional commitment on his part. Now those years of emotional rejection are tumbling over me like the never-ending trickle of a waterfall.

REJECTION : “the spurning of a person’s affections.”

I think we can all agree rejection fucking SUCKS ASS and is certainly a hard hit to the ego. Esp the ego of a nymph. Like-who doesn’t want the guarantee of a GOOD FUCK. I’m not talking about mediocre sex. I’m talking about fantastic connection. Who says no to that? But that’s me-I like sex. Alot. I’ve had enough sex with enough partners to know GOOD sex. It doesn’t come (teehee) along that often. One-night stands don’t stand a chance against a deep, emotional connection sexually. Rejection feels very familiar to me. It’s happened. Many times. I’ve also rejected. Many times. I’m trying to figure out right now where I’m going with this. Because Lord knows it could go in many directions. To be sure rejection is NOT fun. But where would we be without it? The opposite is doing nothing. The opposite is staying still. The result of doing nothing is never knowing the “what if”. I don’t live well with “what if”. Others, I’m sure, are comfortable with what if. This is also my dysfunction. It’s me-investing in the moment, rather than the future. It’s me-playing out my seemingly insatiable sexual desire. I’m always aroused. Never at a zero. But I’m also no longer in the mood to just FUCK. I’m in the mood for kissing. And sucking. And kissing some more. Why the kissing? Because therein lies the emotion, the intimacy.

We tried several (3 to be exact) times to have a face-to-face conversation and didn’t do it [we also didn’t do IT which says a whole helluva lot]. I finally forced the issue. He then took the opportunity to open up and said in a TEXT “I’m ready for a change”. As if he’s headed to Jiffy Lube to get the oil in his truck changed. It’s just that simple for him apparently; that’s all that needs to be said. For me, it’s mind boggling how years of intimacy and friendship can come down to those mind-numbingly cliché and soulless words.

What’s left to talk about then, right? And there’s not a single photo of us together. It’s as if WE never existed. His ultimate desire all along. So how about I digress for a moment-hmmmm? How about I title this paragraph the: “I Fucking Hate You” paragraph? And I reallllllly dislike saying the word hate. But good GOD I’m fucking angry. I want to lash out. Since the pendulum seems to swing between: relief; wanting to beg for sex; and RAGE, let me digress into the rage for a moment.

Fuck you for years of bull SHIT.

FU for years of heart ACHE.

FU for years of REJECTION.

FU for years of emotional TURMOIL.

FU for the 1000000s of TEARS shed.

FU for the HELLISH roller coaster.

FU for entangling me in a web of my own horrific choices.

FU for ending our lovership and friendship in a TEXT.

You know-just FUCK OFF.

The lover had proven himself unworthy of being boyfriend material anyway. This created a quandary. I didn’t want him for a boyfriend, but I felt deeply connected with him AND wanted more with him. Something more-not full on boyfriend more. But something. A few more excursions together [car sex is so fun]; a visit to his childhood home [the long shot]. It had never been only about the sex-and there was no hope for the partnership-we were stuck in a swirling abyss of togetherness. Having fabulous sex at the same time. Until recently I envisioned we would always be friends. This feels more like a break-up than I’d like to admit. It’s damn hard to give up on a lovership. But life moves on and so shall I. So many things left undone. Primarily enjoying US to the fullest. So much time and energy wasted trying to avoid the underlying truth. All of which is left unspoken. Hey-more power to him. Go. Be well. I will do the same. I blocked him. For various reasons. So I’m not hopeful of receiving a text, so I don’t text, so he will give pause communicating with me before opening up the gaping, oozing emotional wound in my heart and soul. It’s the toughest part right now. Not communicating with my friend-the friend I thought I had anyway.

WHAT MATTERS?

Another difficult thing to get over is that the little things don’t really matter to a person who isn’t emotionally committed. Like changing sheets, stocking some of his favorite things in the cupboards and fridge for those moments he decides to stay longer than usual (spend the night), remembering dates, like the date we met, or checking in on how he’s feeling when he’s sick. I’ve delivered medicines and juices. I’ve listened when he was having a hard time. He has, in turn listened to me, yes. Thankful for that. Thankful for the emotional morsels that were directed my way, without begging for them. But it’s painful to realize that the tiny things don’t really matter in the long run. It would seem the little things are brushed aside when the emotional connection is not intact deeply. It involves a level of commitment and perhaps my lover could just never allow himself to recognize the little things as valuable.

Our last time together was decent. Certainly not close to some of our best. That’s the thing about impending relationship doom. It affects the sex. But being that was THE #1 reason for our relationship….well, we at least knew how to make the best of it. I sucked him…. and wow his cock felt amazing in my mouth as usual. I was loving every second of it….. jabbing at the back of my throat, making me gag which only turned me on more. No wonder he wanted to cum. He asked if I wanted to swallow his load-I said yes. I couldn’t refuse that, even knowing that meant his cock wouldn’t be penetrating my pussy that morning. He still made me squirt… and then cum. With my blue dong. Felt great; not the sort of connection I would have preferred for our final encounter. But good enough. It was always good enough, and mostly better than ever.

no time for THAT

Any of us can “get off”. I engaged with the lover for the emotional connection and intimacy. This is why I shy away from casual encounters. And I’m not judging anyone who enjoys casual encounters btw! For me-right now-that’s not where I’m at [been there in the past]. How odd it was to feel my lovership slip into that of casual encounter. Simply getting off. I was losing interest. And fast. I have zero patience for adult drama. Even now, during this pandemic, with what feels like all the time in the world, I don’t have TIME for emotional exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that comes with the lack of someone’s inability to have any accountability.

These are unprecedented times, aren’t they? Here I am in the middle of a pandemic facing the end of …well, my source for SEX. It seems wrong in so many ways. For one-like, at least ride the wave of pandemic. Get each other thru. In my humble opinion SEX is a great healer. During a pandemic you’d think people would want to stick together. Apparently not. I suppose it requires a minimally healthy relationship to weather this storm. Seems a pandemic will bring out the best and the worst. It has required me to be unequivocally honest with my SELF. The lover’s desired terms became too great a weight to bear. I’ve had waaaaaay too much time to FEEL and think about this love affair from beginning to end. It started looking a little ….. distorted and fuzzy. The hazy edges of collapse that had been lingering for quite some time became clearer…. or maybe the haze took over completely. Any way I looked at it didn’t matter. It wasn’t working. The black hole between us consumed me completely. The shell of our intertwined energies felt strong holding us together for so long. Then one day it shattered.

The lover told me he read my last blog post and liked what I said-about being single. Greeeeaaaaat! Two thumbs up! I inspired my lover to quit me. To quit us. Isn’t it ironic? Life is a true twist of relational fate. Here I am still single. I write a lot about being single and loving it. Because that is true. But don’t get me wrong – I also would love nothing more than to have in my life that person Alicia Keys sings about in If I Ain’t Got You. That doesn’t seem to be my path at the moment, if ever. What’s important to me is that I remain COMFORTABLE as I move forward thru my life. My journey has brought me several men who I feel are/were soulmates, past life husbands, brothers, lovers. Will I find another lover? Will I have a partner? I mean who wants to read about them self here in this blog?? MAYBE there’s a man man enough to handle my blog posts [me] . One in a million. Only time will tell.

I wish I could share ALL the details with you. For privacy reasons, some things are best left unsaid. For now. What I will say is-I am happy for the opportunity to dive deeply (tee hee I said DEEPly) into my own sexuality without a partner. And seeing how we have this virus pandemic happening I certainly am being given the opportunity to be celibate for at least several months it would appear. I will occupy myself 😉 and I like to remind myself: my greatest sexual discovery came by myself, with myself. Yes, talking about squirting. I advocate wholeheartedly, always, that WE know what gets us off and HOW so we can teach our lover. Otherwise-there is a lot of fumbling around which can eventually lead to sexual satisfaction. BUT when we take the reins and do the work of pleasuring ourselves first-we are that much more in a position to enjoy sex to its fullest extent. My next research topics: multiple orgasms and breath orgasms.

LIFE IS BETTER WITH A KISS

The lover and I had some amazing passionate kissing in the beginning. In fact-it was one of the main things that drew me to him. With time and as the inevitable end started to settle in – the kissing became almost nil. I craved it but I also avoided it. Kissing is intimate and our intimacy was slipping away. It was a slippery slope that created the black hole between us. We allowed the distance to move between us and like plates shifting in an earthquake-we shifted far apart.

But let’s not underestimate the power of a passionate kiss. The kind that weakens every bone and muscle.

The Italian man I had for dessert in Italy was extremely delicious for one reason: the KISS. First, I will say it’s amazing I only had sex with one man considering I had several propositions a day. That’s not to brag. Italian men want to fuck American women. And they know we want to fuck them. Lol!! My Italian man was our driver from Naples to Sorrento. I think it was simply that he was talking on the phone during the drive and his Italian accent just got to me. I told my friends – if he doesn’t shut up I’m gonna have to go up there and sit on his lap!

The chemistry between us was obvious. But I let him leave without giving him my number; we were rushed at the end because our hostess was there loading up our luggage. And I was kicking myself. I didn’t figure in a million years I would see or talk to him again. THEN I got a text. From him. He’d gotten my number from our Air BnB hostess. Under normal circumstances – I am NOT in favor of anyone sharing numbers without permission – but in this case I definitely did not complain. We made plans for a couple of nights later. He drove back. He had time in-between drop offs and pick ups. When I saw him – I walked towards him – he grabbed me as soon as I was within reach, pulled me to him, and kissed me as if he was going to consume me. In fact, he wanted to consume me, and I let him. His mouth covered mine and his teeth found their way to my lips. They were swollen and bruised in a way they’d never been before. How does a man manage to fully take me through a kiss? I’m not quite certain but it happened.

We drove and stopped at a store for some wine before heading up the hill to a place where we could pull over. We were in the van he had picked my friends and I up in. We screwed in that van. In the back, sitting at the side with the side door open, in the front seat. You know – covered all the bases. So much of chance encounters is the build-up TO the sex. How many times is the sex not the hoped-for outcome? This sex was fine and fun. It didn’t rock me; but that initial KISS rocked me and I’m forever changed.

FINAL WORD

I reconnected with a loverboy from days gone by. Mmmmm stay tuned. It could get juicy AF!!

You know how much I LOVE YOU & LOVE writing for you, right?

xoxoxoxoxo

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOMS! get sexy with yoself!