HNT: Classic

This is another HNT that's a little bit old school. I actually took it in Spain last fall, so it's almost a year old. I don't particularly remember why I took it, although I think there's a possibility it was to send to Edward. (Ick.)

In any case, I don't have anything exceedingly exciting or special to say about it, but it definitely is half-nekkid!



HHNT!

We're here, we're queer, we're fabulous, don't fuck with us!

This past weekend was Pride here in my hometown. It's always one of my favorite times of the year - I love summer here in general, largely because there are so many festivals. And Pride, of course, is like one of those festivals... taken over entirely by teh gehys. Really, it's a queer takeover of downtown. And while I do love the festival and the parade, both seemed a little tamer this year than years past. The festival, in particular, felt more like any other fair held downtown, just with more rainbows.

In any case, though, Pride this year was no bust. My favorite part is the parties, and there was no shortage there. Friday night found myself and my roommate at a women's party, where I'd gotten comped admission so I could interview New York-based lesbian hip-hop and soul duo God-des and She. They were friendly, talkative, and, oh yeah, really sexy. I was so excited to meet them, and even more excited to watch them perform. They put on a wonderful show, and the crowd really seemed to love them. My roommate and I had a great time at the party, and she seemed genuinely glad to get out of the house for a girl's night on the town. Oh, yeah, and she got hit on. And kissed. It was a good night.

Saturday I covered the state's first-ever Dyke March, interviewing attendees (and Dykes on Bikes), listening to speeches, and running into the lovely Essin' Em and her partner, Q. I always love seeing her, and I've been looking forward to meeting Q since Em is always speaking so highly of her, I was just sorry that I had to cover the event as a journo and therefore couldn't really hang out with them.

That did make this year's Pride an interesting experience. Everything except for the party on Sunday was part of something I was covering for my magazine, so I felt I had to maintain a relatively professional demeanor. That meant just one drink at the party on Friday night, and wandering around awkwardly and approaching random people at the Dyke March. I wouldn't say it exactly hindered my enjoyment of Pride this year, but it certainly changed the way I experienced it. But the money will be much appreciated when it comes in a few weeks.

Sunday was my day off from professional capacities. I made it downtown just in time to watch the entire parade and meet up with The Pilot's younger brother, who had never been to Pride before. It was fun to show him around, and we got along more easily than I thought we would have. We knew each other casually from years ago, but haven't spoken in easily over a decade. I know he, like The Pilot, can have a tendency to be a little shy (as, actually, can I), so I made an effort to be a little more outgoing than I usually am. I think he had a good time - he also joined me for a BBQ back at my and my roommates' house. Where, lo and behold, Friend also stopped by! (I say this mostly teasingly because he and I have a tendency to go several weeks without seeing one another, despite living only a few miles from each other.) The BBQ went well, although I had to leave early to go to the official Pride afterparty, where, thanks to my fabulous coworkers at the magazine, I was VIP, as was my date, The Scientist.

The afterparty was, like last year, held at a club downtown with a great rooftop bar. As VIPs, we had a cordoned-off area, complete with bottle service. A few of my coworkers were there, and they seemed so genuinely happy to see me that I was really quite flattered. They said incredibly nice things to me, and insisted that they're sure I have the full-time job I've been gunning for at the magazine. (I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief and publisher next week to discuss my salary... so it's promising, but I'm not willing to believe anything until I sign some paperwork.) The party started early in the evening, and being that the sun doesn't go down until nearly 9pm lately, sitting on the rooftop probably didn't help my sunburn, which I began work on earlier that day, standing in the sun for nearly an hour and a half watching the parade. People kept commenting about it, asking if I'd ever heard of sunscreen. I have, of course, and I usually don't burn quite this badly. Oh well. It's already tanning out in all but the worst areas. I'll survive, I think.



In any case, The Scientist and I had a nice time at the party - it was mostly laid back, and we got a chance to talk, he met my coworkers, all around good things. Of course, being that I was in a good mood, I was due for something to screw it up. Cue...

Edward.

Yes, you read correctly. Edward. Of 70+ phone calls and twice as many texts and a few emails and facebook messages. I swear he has some sort of radar for when I'm happy. Since all that insanity back in March and April, I have blocked his number, blocked him on facebook and any other social networking sites, and I hadn't heard from him until about a month ago.

It was the night I was meeting The Scientist's friends, and about halfway through the night, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me someone had broken into her house (where I also used to live). Nothing was missing, but they were still calling the police. And the only things they found rearranged were in my bedroom. And whoever it was made their entry through the basement, which was where Edward used to spend most of his time when he was at our house (which was often... As I said, he's been in my/my family's lives for 10 years.) It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Edward had sent me a facebook message about a week before (I hadn't realized that I hadn't blocked his sending messages), which was about the same time frame as when he showed up at my mother's house right before I graduated. So we don't technically have any proof that it was him, and since nothing was stolen, we couldn't do more than file a report, but I can tell you that it terrified me to be back in that house the next day. (I stopped by to assess the situation, I don't live there.) I am essentially convinced that it was him, because there's no one else I can think of who it could have been. I was hoping that when he went in my room and saw that it is very obviously not lived in (no clothes in the closet, bed covered in cat fur, nothing on the dresser), he would give up and at least believe that I really don't live there anymore.

And I didn't hear from him again until Sunday. He called me four times in the course of an hour. He was calling from someone else's phone. He left a message each time. In the third message, which was the nastiest, he actually implied that perhaps I just didn't have his number anymore, so he left it again. Of course, that also functions as evidence that that was NOT the number he was calling from. He didn't say anything directly threatening, but did swear at me some more and tell me how it's so obvious that I never gave a fuck about him. And he told me he was coming into town "pretty soon here." Which is just vague enough to be rather terrifying.

And I hate that I get so skittish when he calls. I didn't answer any of the calls, because thanks to him, I don't ever answer numbers I don't know. If it's someone who knows me, they'll leave a message and I'll call them right back. But just hearing his voice on the messages (which I've copied onto my digital voice recorder, as evidence should I need it), hearing his tone change from pained to angry to that sleazy, faux-pained manipulative tone I recognize all too well, really throws me. I was Skyping with The Pilot last night, and I eventually had to hang up because I was just so upset and I didn't want him to see me all curled up and teary-eyed and pathetic.

I'm not really sure what to do at this point. I am a little scared to do anything active, like get a restraining order. I'm worried that would provoke him further, and it's not like my holding a piece of paper in his face is going to stop him from hurting me if he wants to. My current address isn't listed anywhere, and the only people who know where I live are close friends and family, all of whom know about the situation and understand the need for secrecy. But I was reading over some resources The Pilot looked up for me online, and one of the recurring themes about how to deal with being stalked was to tell people. So, dear readers, I'm telling all of you. I've kept some of the details and events quiet over the past few months, but I felt I should update everything now. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I can rationalize that he probably isn't really dangerous, but his persistence makes me nervous. And I hate that. I hate being scared in my own city, where there are so many great things and beautiful people who I love so much.

And there's only so much anonymity I can assume. I'm a writer. I refuse to publish under a pseudonym (well, aside from here, but I mean for paying jobs), and I refuse to let my fear of Edward totally run my life. It helps that he doesn't know where I live. But I hate that he seems so fucking determined to contact me. The Scientist and The Pilot have both suggested I change my phone number, but, again, I have contacts, professional and personal, who have my current number. Changing it would involve calling all of those people and explaining the situation, and it's so fucking frustrating. And terrifying.

The night Edward called, I got sufficiently sauced (The Scientist and I took a cab back to my place), and The Scientist stayed with me, so sleep wasn't as nerve-wracking as it sometimes is. Last night, I took some Tylenol PM to knock myself out so I could sleep without freaking out and waking up at every car that drives by my window. But if this continues, I'm really not sure what to do. It's draining and I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it before it takes an even more significant toll on my life, my happiness, and my ability to trust people.

The truth about my past.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

These sound like simple statements to some, I suppose. But they are something I had not fully realized until this weekend and, largely, before quite possibly the most intimate conversation I've ever had with my best girl friend, C. She came over on Wednesday for a late lunch, because I wanted to be girly and gush about my weekend. We went to get salads and margaritas (the upgraded version of the chef salads we used to eat with our fingers in high school), and I started gushing essentially immediately. It was along the same lines of my last entry, with maybe a little more blushing and giggling.

I was emphasizing to her how it makes me a little nervous how much I like The Optimist and what a strong connection I feel with him. She reminded me that it is, indeed, OK to be swept off your feet sometimes. I just haven't been open to it in a long time. So we started talking about why I was so hesitant to believe that people might like me or that I might even be worth liking.

A little background: I am quite confident about myself, when it comes to two things - my writing and my sexual prowess. (Yes, that's largely why this blog exists, haha.) But Relationships, in the traditional sense, terrify me. I capitalize the R in Relationships intentionally, because I mean those in the more standard and socially acceptable sense. Those kind terrify me because I hold myself solely responsible for the demise of the few Relationships I've had. I have always done something to fuck it up, and because of that I've always felt like I deserved to be left. I haven't felt like I deserved someone in a long time.

I have told myself that I was OK with being the secret, the secondary. And in many ways, I am. But my justification, which I still believe, is that it was unreasonable to expect any single person to be everything someone needed. That was based not so much in my inability to believe that someone could be everything I needed, but that I would never be enough for someone. After all, I screw up Relationships. Sex, I'm good at. Friendships, I can usually manage. But Relationships? Absolutely not.

Perhaps the most spectacular example, in my mind, of my botching a good thing and thereby indicative of my inability to carry out a Relationship was how things ended with Ex. We were together (on and off, but mostly on) for five years. We made the decision to stay together for the first year of college, even though we were going to school across the country from one another. When we were both home for Christmas that year, he gave me a ring. It was expressly NOT an engagement ring, but I wore it (with his permission) on my left-hand ring finger. It was white gold (he knew I don't wear much gold or yellow), sapphire and diamonds. It was beautiful.

Five months later, after flying across the country to drive home with me, he broke up with me.

I have always held myself responsible for this. I don't know that I could even supply the reasoning, but there has never been any doubt in my mind that it was my fault that he didn't love me anymore. In the course of our Relationship, he had always been the stable one. He's pragmatic to a fault, and I (even more so then) am emotional and impulsive. Clearly, it was something I had done that had driven him away. I had been a bad girlfriend, because I didn't have the Girlfriend Gene.

C knew this is how I've felt. Despite an incident that first summer where The Scientist quite literally yelled at me to stop defending Ex and believe that he hurt me and he was wrong to do so, I held myself responsible. I deserved it, after all.

But today at lunch, C and I were talking about my insecurities and my fears about Relationships and how I destroy them. And she just looked at me and said "No, you don't." I looked at her with appropriate confusion.

"You didn't destroy things with Ex. In fact, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't change anything about you or who you were. He changed, not you. It had everything to do with him, and nothing to do with you. He fucked up by giving you that ring when he wasn't sure about your Relationship. But all you did was believe what he led you to believe. He decided ON HIS OWN that you two weren't going to work. He did it on his own. It was. Not. Your. Fault. He mislead you. You're just a good person that got fucked over."

I didn't know whether to cry or start giggling. I had honestly never thought of it like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I believed what he said to me, what he told me was true. That was it. The decision, really, in the end, didn't have anything to do with me. (I don't mean to imply here that I was the perfect girlfriend throughout the relationship, because I certainly did things wrong. But in that period when we were separated, I actually was a committed, faithful and devoted girlfriend.)

It was an earth-shattering realization. No one had ever explained it to me like that. And I had been too hard on myself to see it from that angle. As the tears started welling up behind my eyes, though, it sunk in. She was right. The truth about my past isn't that I'm defective or inherently unlovable or perpetually insufficient. The truth about my past is that I got hurt when I wasn't expecting it. And when I didn't deserve it. That's it.

And I have built so many of my beliefs presently on the firm belief that I am simply insufficient and defective, that hearing C say this to me, and honestly believing her, was truly astounding. And I can already feel the ramifications. It means that I am allowed to be happy. Because it means that maybe things aren't inherently doomed. It means that I can be silly, because I don't have to worry about a responsibility to warn my partners about what a danger I am to them. It means that I don't have to automatically invalidate and be suspicious of strong feelings I might have. Because they aren't necessarily going to end in disappointment and heartache.

Perhaps this seems like an excessively sweeping revelation for something ostensibly solely regarding a Relationship that is far away and gone. But that Relationship was so important, that showing me a different perspective on that has shown me a different perspective on so many other things. It doesn't change my childhood. It doesn't change the pessimism or skepticism that growing up with my family has bred into me. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still not sure monogamy will ever be right for me. It doesn't invalidate the Relationships and relationships I've had since Ex.

But it might change the future. It does change what I think I am capable of. It changes what I think I am worthy of. It changes my no-other-options pessimism about Relationships. In many ways, it redefines who I might be able to become. To myself, and even maybe to someone else. For the first time, I actually believe that I am worthy of it. I believe that I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be so lucky to be surrounded by incredible friends and lovers. Who are honest and beautiful and brilliant and making my world and the world at large a better place simply by being in it. I believe that I might have the capacity to make people happy. I believe that I might be worthy of being loved, someday.

I believe that I do NOT deserve to have people like Edward still sending me messages and emails. I believe that I do NOT deserve to be made to feel guilty for being honest about who I am and what I do. I believe that I do NOT need to apologize for the same. I believe that I am NOT solely responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to me.

And I feel so free.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

I am NOT a lying slut.

Despite what some people feel the need to tell the world.

Edward's facebook status, when I went to his page to un-friend him (something I then realized I can't do from that page. So I looked at it without needing to. Awesome.), said "Edward is tired of giving everything to people just to have his heart ripped out for no reason at all. Basically, I'm tired of lying sluts."

I think this all may end up in me not being able to claim that whole "I'm a slut" title proudly. Even reading it, there was so much malice in the term, I can hear it. I can't imagine what it would have felt like being spat from his mouth. Oh, wait, yes I can.

I've blocked him on facebook. I called t-mobile to block his number from calling me. Apparently I can't do that because I'm not the primary account holder (I'm still on my dad's plan, since he pays it for me). So I had to call my dad and explain the situation, which was embarassing, and actually he sounded a little angry at me about it. Then he had to call the company and apparently add some feature that allows us to block phone numbers. It costs money. (Not much, it's a negligible amount, but it's the idea of the thing... That, especially in a situation like this, I have to PAY to make the harassment stop?) And will take a few hours to take effect. Weak.

In case you all hadn't guessed, there's been a new round of calls, texts, and messages. I'm going to post them here, again, just to clean them out of my system, but also, actually, to have some sort of physical proof. I don't know how long this will go on - he knows where my family lives back home, and I'm actually nervous. Jesusfuck. How did it get this bad?

And the worst part is, it does hurt my heart to see it end like this. I want to be able to forgive him. But I can't. And I'm pretty confident, at this point, he doesn't deserve it. Roland has been chatting with me about some of the similarities he's seen in Edward's behavior and his own past indiscrections - I still refuse to believe you were ever this bad, Roland. In a way, it gives me hope that Edward might someday grow up and become a real, decent, lovely man like Roland. At the same time, the vindictive side of me revels a little in knowing that, like Roland has told me, Edward will look back on this and be ashamed of his behavior. Although I'm not sure he will. I think his head is so clouded with hatred for me and hurt that he can't see straight. I don't know if he ever will, when it comes to me. He holds on to things.

In any case, two days ago, after another few unreturned phone calls, I sent Edward one text message saying "Please do not try to contact me." I figured it was just enough to be clear, while remaining uninvolved. At least this way, he couldn't claim he just thought it was a phone company error. (Since 70 unreturned calls often are.) Yes, we're at 70 now.

Here's what he wrote back:

April 9: why? god damn it please dont do this sasha. please... talk to me at least. please.

i wont stop until you fucking talk to me. act grown up for a second and just talk to me.

so im in the hospital right now, it be really nice if i could please just talk to you.

(Here he called another 15 times, until 3am)

April 10: could you maybe explain to me why you not only broke my heart but hate my guts? maybe?

FOR FUCK'S SAKE IVE BEEN HOSPITALIZED FROM BEING SO STRESSED AND DEPRESSSED I PASSED OUT. COULD YOU PLEASE JUST FUCKING ANSWER!?10 DAMN YEARS OF LOYALTY AND LOVE

I THINK IS A PRETTY FAIR PRICE TO HAVE A RIGHT TO BE UPSET! JUST TALK TO ME AND ILL GET OUTTA YOUR HAIR AND YOUR LIFE!

10 fucking years sasha, i think i deserve to know why you bullshitted me so damn much and why you decided to break me so fucking bad. i do believe i AT LEAST

DESERVE SOME KIND OF FUCKING EXPLANATION! DONT YOU! YOU WANT ME GONE ALL YOU FUCKING HAVE TO DO IS TELL ME FUCKING WHY!!!!!!!

stop being such an immature spoiled lil hooch and explain to the ONE guy who has always been there for you and loved you why you decided to hurt me so bad!?

how did you become such a heartless uncaring whore? your not the girl i fell in love with. i finally get that.so enjoy as many random cocks as you want.farewell.

WHY? WHY?WHY?WHY?WHY? I FUCKING DESERVE TO KNOW WHY!? WHY THE FUCK DID I WASTE YEARS PINING OVER YOU!? WHY DID YOU LIE AND FUCK ME UP SO BAD!? WHY!? until i get

an explanation, some kind of closure on why the only girl i've cared for has bullshitted me like this i wont stop,you can block my number,you can block facebook

but im not only smart sasha but resourceful and i will bug the FUCK outta you until hear why you chose to fuck me over so bad. i deserve an answer. i need

closure, so grow THE FUCK UP FOR ONE SECOND, GROW A CONSCIENCE AND TELL ME WHY!?

hello! why sasha?! why!? hello! fucking hello!? this will all be done and over if you can just tell me why? WHY!? FUCKING WHY!? i need to know why. im so close

to cutting just a lil too fucking deep and would so much love to know why WHENEVER i care for another person i get fucked over! why i hope and wait and get hurt

ive been beat down by so much bringing me to rock bottom, and you pushed me into hell, so before i just end all the bullshit of my pathetic sad life

could you remember for one fucking minute how you used to be a good person and a close friend and just tell me WHY!?

before i rip how i feel into my own flesh could you please remember the good of me and help me understand.im so close sasha to just ending it all. i need to know

fine, ill do the only fucking thing i can do to stop it.

you may not be the only reason why crimson is flowing right now, but your cruelty sure as hell helped me get the resolve needed to do this. thank you.

That last message sent at 3:05am, my time.

And then there were the voicemails. Accompanying the 30 or so phone calls last night. At one point, I accidentally answered one (I was opening my phone to answer a text from Friend), so I just said "I have nothing left to say to you. This is over." And hung up. Here were the voicemails he left (because I sure as hell don't want them on my phone):

April 9:
"Goddammit sasha will you please just talk to me? Don't let us end like this, please? I'm begging you. Just fucking talk to me, please, I'm begging you. Talk to me and I'll leave you the fuck alone."

"Please? At least let me say I'm sorry to you. I'll apologize or something I... I, I don't wanna lose you, too, Sasha. I'm sorry. I am a fucking wreck and I don't wanna lose you, Sasha."

"C'mon Sasha. After everything that we've been through, for 10 fucking years I've been trying to get you to love me back and it just fucking tore me up that you actually don't.. still! I'm sorry for what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it, I jsut.. I need you in my life, even if it's just going to be as a friend. I don't wanna lose you, please I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."

April 10:
"You know how fucking stubborn I am, how fucking stubborn I can be, and how fucking stubborn I WILL be. Especially after devoting 10 fucking some-odd years of just trying so hard. And then everything seems to be so fantastic, and yet still it's not good enough for you. I would just like to know why I wasted 10 years of my fucking life trying to be with you and why you would bullshit me and then break me like you did. So how about you stop being such a spoiled, immature little brat and just fucking talk to me and maybe get me to understand why the fuck you fucked me over so damn hard. Maybe? I don't know. I think I deserve to at least know fucking that. You think?"

"No, you know what, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I'm not gonna stop bothering you. Because I need to know why the fuck you, of all people, of all the girls that I ever... oh god, you were the only one I ever fucking trusted. The only one I actually had fucking feelings for. The only fucking one. I would just like some kind of closure, some kind of understanding at why the fuck you have fucked me over so damn much. Why? What the fuck have I done to you? To have you bullshit me, and make me feel fantastic and like I matter to you, when really I fucking didn't. Why? You, Sasha, of all fucking people? I can't believe you, out of anybody, would do this to me. I fucking can't."

"Hey how about before I slice my goddamn wrists open like I should have done probably many fucking years ago, maybe you give me some kind of fucking closure so I can figure out why, exactly, I keep getting fucked over and why you are loving hurting me fucking this much. I would love to know why. Hopefully I'll hear from you soon. Too late, and it'll probably be too fucking late, I can honestly tell you that. Ahh, thank you, so much. This is great."

Again, that last message was at about 3am. I think. My voicemail doesn't time-stamp things.

Sigh. I never thought there would be someone in my life who would make ex seem sane. Downright likable, actually. I mean, hell, at least after I finally left him, he stopped calling after about 15 unreturned phone calls.

Sometimes it's hard to ignore that I'm the common denominator between these guys, though. I joke with my current partners about promising me they won't go crazy and decide they hate me, but it's one of those half-serious jokes.

I just want it to be done with.

What I would have said...

...had I answered any of the 44 phone calls Edward has made since he blew up at me. In the past few days, it was down to only three or four a day, and I haven't heard from him in the past two days. I think he might have finally gotten the message. Of course, I definitely got his message. Speaking of, here are the latest texts:

Um...hi. ive been a complete wreck over what happened. so much i couldnt even work...so could we talk maybe?

please? im so fucking sorry you have no idea. please talk to me.

please please please please

please sasha. i feel like complete shit. could you please please talk to me. please sasha.

im so sorry. what i said to you was awful and inexcusable. i just...well i wanted you to want me like i wanted you. and hearing just me want what you wanted hurt... a lot. still thats no reason what so ever to have attacked you like i did. im so fucking sorry sasha. please forgive me. please please im so sorry.

could you even just tell me to fuck off. anything would be nice so i know your ok. please?

wow... you hate me that much now. ok i can take a fucking hint and leave you the hell alone. bye. (April 1)

HELL FUCKING LO!

..............

Of course, the "leaving me the hell alone" apparently included 20 or so more phone calls. That's the most active way of ignoring someone I've ever encountered. Somewhere around the longest text where he was apologizing, he left a voicemail. I was expecting a similar tone to the text - he realized what a jackass he's been and he's so sorry, won't I forgive him, blah blah blah. But no. Here's what I heard, instead.

"Could you seriously, like, fucking call me, or talk to me, or something? I would really fucking love to hear from you at all. So could you please for even one goddamn second stop ignoring me and actually goddamn pick up your fucking phone? I'm begging you. Please? Don't be more of a bitch than you have been in the past. I don't want to at least lose my fucking friendship with you. Please just fucking talk to me. Please? Goddammit!"

Did anyone else see an apology anywhere in there? Cause I sure as hell didn't. In fact, I saw more blaming me. Because I was being a bitch, like always, right? I brought this on myself, right? And when he left this message, I was actually getting close to breaking and answering one of his calls.

But, had I answered the phone, here's what I would have liked to say to him:

No. I don't forgive you. You said yourself what you did was inexcusable, which is exactly why you're not being excused for it. I could go off on some tirade about how no one but NO ONE talks to me that way, but I'll leave the tyrannical ranting and raving to you. I'm more a fan of thinking about what I'm going to say before I say it. Not always, but I think I've managed to learn my lesson, having burned enough bridges in the past. Apparently, you aren't there yet. So I hope you enjoy it on your island, with just the smoldering embers of the bridge that used to lead to me.

And even if I could get past the incredibly viscious, hateful things you said to me, the bigger problem is that I know exactly what they are leading to. I've seen it already, and you know that. Maybe that's why it was so shocking to see you turn out this way. You knew exactly what I've come from, better than most. And you must know who you sounded like when you said those things to me. And every time you tried to apologize, then when I didn't respond fast enough (or at all) you went back to screaming at me. I know exactly what would have happened had we been in the same room in that situation. Because I've been there before. I know what the bruises would have looked like, because I've had to hide them before. I know what your tone would have sounded like, because that sound has been burned into my memory, as all I could hear when I was cowering in a corner as objects flew at my body. And you know all that. You know that those situations have come about not only from people who called themselves family, but from people who told me they loved me. So how could you possibly be any different? You've told me loved me countless times. You've told me I was everything you could want, that I was perfect to you.

And do you remember what I told you when you said that? I told you that maybe you shouldn't put me on such a pedestal. And this is exactly why. Because as you're sitting there, screaming and crying and smoking and hating me, you forget that I didn't lie to you. I didn't lead you on. What you're so angry about, in fact, was the very fact that I was honest with you. And that in that honesty, I told you something you didn't want to hear. Something that didn't fit into the fantasy you've been clutching in your fist with an iron grip.

So even if I could forgive what you said - which maybe I could have, found some excuse or something - I can't forgive what made you say it. I can't forgive the hatred and anger in your voice, just like I can't forgive the fear it strikes in me. Just like I can't forgive the other people in my life who have treated me, used me like that, I can't forgive you. I can't forgive you now that you've become that. Because as soon as you said those things, as soon as you berated me, you lost any right you ever had to be anywhere close to my life. You don't deserve me. And, in fact, if that's how you treat the people you love, who have loved you back, then maybe you don't deserve anyone at all. Because I won't let you do that to me. I won't fall back into my old habits. I know where they would lead. And they lead so far away from the life I'm living and loving today that it's unfathomable. I will not let you take me back there.

So no. I don't forgive you. I can't. And I won't. You don't deserve it.

Break-ups in non-monogamy

Given the blowout with Edward, this is something I've been thinking about lately.

I haven't actually had much cause to end any of my non-monogamous relationships. I mean, things with nonboyfriend were always knowingly short-lived, but primarily ended because we were both leaving town. As for my other partners, well, even though I've left town (admittedly with the intention of coming back), they're still my partners, for all intents and purposes. As much as one can be without being in the same state. (Something on which my views could fill an entire other entry.) The lack of breakups are also made easier by the fact that I move across the country (and sometimes across the world) every four months. It makes for an easy break with few complications.

But in about six weeks, I'm graduating college. And moving back. For good. No more packing up my life every four months, no more transient lifestyle. And consequently, no more transient relationships. It's a thought that's made me a little nervous, especially regarding a few people, like Friend, with whom my relationship has always been necessarily secretive and aided by the fact that we COULDN'T spend much time together. There's a nagging fear in the back of my mind that he won't like me or want me when he can see me any time. Then again, many of those fears were calmed with the vacation he and I took to see the Pilot, where we spent more time together than we have in the 15 years we've known each other, and managed not only to come out unscathed, but, as far as I can tell, still quite fond of one another. These are good things. And make me think that maybe such relationships will survive me being in the same place for a somewhat extended period of time. I can't decide if I think it's strange that my being in the same place would harm my relationships or not.

But then, there are of course drawbacks to going home. Some loose ends, as it were. Some I'm not particularly worried about as I'm sure they'll tie themselves up as they see fit (nonboyfriend being the only one left there, since both Edward and P have removed themselves). But there are some others that I think will likely result in me needing to end the relationship. And I'm not very good at that.

For one, I don't have a ton of practice in relationships where breaking up has even been an option (you don't exactly break-up with a fuckbuddy, a one-night-stand or a no-strings-attached FwB). And in those relationships where breaking up has happened, I'm usually the one being left. Notably, it's historically been for something I've done wrong, but nevertheless, I'm not the one having to administer "the talk." So I don't have much practice in breaking things off with people in the first place. Save for those, like Edward, who make it easy for me to just never speak to them again.

But I do have at least one relationship - although I thought I'd tied it up - that it looks like I'll have to re-affirm my breaking off of the thing. But here's the thing. To me it seems like it might be a little more complicated to do so while still sparing feelings, given my open non-monogamy views. I don't dislike this person, he's a fine guy, we just aren't an exceptionally good match. I get the impression he really likes me, which, in the first place, makes me nervous, but I also get the impression that he isn't as comfortable with my non-monogamy and sexuality as much as he finds it a novelty. He's told me that he'd harbored a crush for me for a few years and the chance to be with me was kind of the fulfillment of a fantasy... Again, something nice to say, but it raises red flags in my I-don't-want-anyone-too-close radar.

Now, I thought I had made it clear to him that we were over when I left home this past time. We went on a goodbye date and everything (his idea). He's dated someone else in the meantime (to the facebook-official level... something he wanted me to do but that I was uncomfortable with), and has since broken up with her. I don't have details on that. But he's recently started calling me again, and today he sent me a facebook message, simply saying "Just because you are incredibly gorgeous doesn't mean you get to be on my mind all the time! ;-)"

Again, nice sentiment. But concerns me. Actually, makes me a little uncomfortable. I didn't respond to it. And I'm not sure how to make it clear to him that I'm not interested in being with him again. While still sparing his feelings. Like I said, he's a fine person, I just don't want to be in a relationship with him.

But he knows I'm non-monogamous, so the "I've met someone else" or "I'm not looking for a relationship" feels disgenuine. He knows I'm in other relationships and is ostensibly OK with that, so it seems to remove some of my reason for breaking things off with him. We only had sex once while we were together before - partially because he's somewhat proper (well, until he's topping me, ha) and partially because I didn't try as hard as I could have to work around my schedule to make time for us to be alone in my apartment/bed. The sex itself was fine. I enjoyed it. But it wasn't anything particularly special. And I certainly have better sex with my other partners on a regular basis. And, quite frankly, the kind of sex I had with him (and that we talked about having) was similar to the kind of sex Jacob and I have. But it's way hotter with Jacob. Jacob is more in-tune and receptive to me and knows my body better. He does a much better job of fulfilling those desires.

But it seems a little cruel to tell him I'm dumping him because he's not "good enough" in bed. Yeah, yeah, sex is important to me, but so are people's feelings. Believe it or not.

And then there's the fact that I would, actually, like to continue seeing him as a friend. I do mean a friend without benefits, because the benefits seem to complicate things between us... but friends, nonetheless. This is probably a minor point, because, were I to actually get this far in explaining things to him and he said he didn't think we could be friends, I would live with that. It would certainly be sad to lose a friend, but frankly, I wouldn't be crushed.

But I don't know how to approach him with all this. My honesty-is-the-best-policy seems a little heartless here, since the honest truth isn't that I don't like him, just that I don't like him ENOUGH to keep him as a partner. So. What the hell do I do?






And then as I'm writing this it's sounding like I don't think I have the option to be discerning when choosing who my partners are. Hmm. Maybe Edward got to me more than I thought he did.

The end of Edward.

Yes, the end of him. I'm not doing this anymore. He went too far. At least, I believe he did. I don't think I deserved what I got last night.

I usually don't post texts and messages in their entirety, but I think in the interest of fairness, and in me trying to see if I really did ask for this, I'm going to publish the whole interaction. It stretched from about 330 in the afternoon, when he started texting me about my facebook status - which were song lyrics from the emo song "Almost," saying "Sasha...Almost had you, but I guess that doesn't cut it - I almost wish you would have loved me too."

Edward: Almost had who... may I ask.. sorry, just read your facebook.
Sasha: Oh, they're just song lyrics. But they could apply to a couple people in my life, ha. Why?
Edward: Nothin...
Sasha: No, what's up?
Edward: So... no biggie, just a little jealous.
Sasha: Ha. Jealous of what?
Edward: idk, nothing I guess. nevermind, just me being silly.
Sasha: Ha. Don't worry, you're my only almost lover. hehe.
Edward: only almost lover?
Sasha: More song lyrics. Look it up - it's a pretty song!
Edward: whats that mean for me as an almost lover... sorry for my mild jealousy but i kind of consider you property of Edward... in a way. ;)
Sasha: What do you mean by that? Elaborate, please.
Edward: mine... maybe.
Sasha: Repeating yourself doesn't count as elaboration.
Edward: your my baby, my love, my dream girl, my sex goddess, and in my mind my one and only.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ...maybe.
Sasha: Wow.
Edward: ...sorry :(
Sasha: No, no. Nothing to apologize for. It's just... intense.
Edward: almost a decade of being in love with someone does that.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ... wow i feel dumb now. :(
Sasha: No, you're not dumb. It's just me. You know I'm weird about people telling me they love me slash romanticism.
Edward: even slash a person who's in love with you... kinda stings knowing my feelings for ya aren't mutual... oh wells i still do love ya. cant change a heart.
Sasha: I wasn't trying to. Really, these are just my issues with people.
Edward: i didn't think I was just anyone. i figured after so many years doing nothing but love you would put me a lil bit higher up on your list. but ok i understand.
Sasha: No no, don't do that.
Edward: ...yeah... nevermind forget i said anything. at all.
Sasha: I will not! I just wish I could make you understand.
Edward: what, i get it. no worries just forget i made an ass of myself.
Sasha: Shit. Why do I always do this? Please don't be mad at me.
Edward: im not mad at you, just upset with myself for acting like a idiotic jack ass.
Sasha: Don't do that. These are my issues. Sometime I probably should walk you through my theories on relationships and how i live my life now. Might help explain me.
Edward: no, trust me i understand. after all its me, not really a great catch to go loving all willy nilly... or something. idk whatever.
Sasha: That's not it at all.
Edward: yeah... well im just a sex toy. i get it.
Sasha: Dammit. How can I make you understand that the issue here is me?
Edward: yeah, of course. no worries i understand and ill be fine. and im not mad at you so everything is fine.
Sasha: Goddammit.
Edward: yeah, its fine. you cant love me back. thats fine.
Sasha:This seems like a shitty way to have this conversation. But yes, I have ridiculous issues w falling in love. It scares me shitless.
Edward: ill just have to learn to share... or something... idk i dont feel too good right now.
Sasha: I'm sorry. I wish you'd let me explain.
Edward: no need to explain or any need to stay tied down to just one person. you just cant love me back. i completely understand. but i cant see a future with me, you, and whoever else may be tossed into the mix. im not a fan of sharing someone i genuinely care for. obviously too much for my own good.
Sasha: Well then i'm sorry that my view that monogamy has no bearing on affection or relationship success or importance isn't something you agree with.
Edward: ... yeah... in other words just me isnt enough. forget it. im not feeling so good so enjoy whoever with whatever. bye now.
Sasha: OK. This obviously isn't something you can deal with. I understand that. When you want to have an actual grownup discussion, let me know.
Edward: actual grownup discussion about what, how i love you and want yo be only yours but me alone wouldnt be enough for you, or even capable of caring back for me?
Sasha: No, a grownup conversation about realistic relationship possibilities that make people happy, where everyone gets what they need WITHOUT all the drama that destroys people and relationships and love.
Edward: there's nothing really to discuss, you dont want just me, or even me at all really. i love you too much to allow myself to be in any kind of multiple partner relationship. so yeah.
Edward: so i want and love you, you want more than love me, and cant love me back... pure and simple. so i understand, and im sorry im not ok being just one of your many toys.
Sasha: No, I never said I can't (or even don't) love you back.
Edward: yeah, and where i get to sit around while you fuck around with other guys. sorry but no.
Edward: simply put me, and my feelings for you are not what you want... at least not only what you want. so fine, ill pick up the pieces from you once again, and try to move on. i hoped id be the only you wanted but oh the fuck well. not gonna let anyone, especially you hurt me again. not again.
Sasha: Stop that! Goddammit how can I have a conversation w you if you just jump straight to the guilt trip? You make me so fucking angry that I can't see straight. Swear to god were you here I would scream at you then kiss you until you got over yourself long enough to shut up and listen to me.
Edward: listen to what, i got everything youd try and tell me. fuck monogamy and all that right... ill take your advice then. Edward the whore is back... yay.
Sasha: Fine. Do what you need to to make yourself feel better. And blame me or whatever you need. And maybe when you're done being angry at me again you'll want me. Because I will still want you. I want you and I want you to be happy. Sometimes those seem like mutually exclusive things.
Edward: but you dont want just me, so thats the point... i give the fuck up. no amount of caring for anyone makes up for being hurt. not again.
Sasha: I never set out to hurt you. And I am sorry if my honesty did that. And I'm sorry that I don't want an exclusive relationship right now. I fuck those up too easily. Altough it looks like I've done a bang-up job on this one, too.
Edward: i dont blame you. your just incapable of producing the same feelings i do. i only blame myself for being such an naieve ignorant jack ass. sorry. bye.
Sasha: Tell yourself whatever you need to. Like I said, when you want to give me a chance, or at least make an effort to know who I am, let me know.
Edward: yep. shouldve known it would come to this. you have no reason or right to give an ounce of shit about me. so enjoy who ever with whatever. hope its fun and fulfilling for you. goodbye sasha.
Sasha: OK. Just keep going ahead with the guilt-trip. I'll fall back on those people who don't make me feel like shit for being who I am. Good luck with everything.
Edward: ha... i cant believe i thought you actually cared about me. what the hell was i thinking. hahaha.
Edward: i think i got ya figured out. cant believe i thought you wanted me. ha.
Edward: yeah you too. enjoy your other lil toys. hope none of them fall for ya.
Sasha: Yeah, me too. Maybe they won't get such a kick out of trying to make me feel like a whore.
Edward: whatever. all i wanted was to be cared about like i do for you. but just one dick apparently isnt enough for Sasha. yay.

And there is where I threw the phone across the room, and it broke into five pieces. I think I terrified my roommates. Nevertheless, I slammed the rest of my drink, picked up the phone and went back to my room. When I came back a few minutes later, I asked my roommates if I could have some of their vodka, they both just stammered out "yeah yeah yeah of course, whatever you want!"

I didn't respond to Edward again throughout the rest of the night. But I didn't quite have the self restraint to not open the text messages he kept sending me.

Edward: god, i wasted fucking years on someone who i never be "good enough" for... fuck this shit im fucking done. ill just go do what you do.

Edward: none the less, i promise to never bother you a fucking gain. no need to be guilt trip for no reason.

Edward: god damn it Sasha why'd you have to fool me for so fucking long into thinking i mattered to you. god damn it!

Edward: what? you dont think i deserve a response as to why you bullshitted me for these past couple of years? or are you too busy fucking around with your other toys?

Edward: HELLO! ID LOVE TO KNOW WHY BULLSHITTED ME SO MUCH FOR SO LONG! HELLO!

Edward: PULL WHO'S EVER COCK OUTTA YOUR MOUTH AND ANSWER ME PLEASE!

Edward: yeah, didnt fucking think you had a reason.

Edward: just one more regret in my life. goodbye then Sasha, enjoy your life without me guilt tripping you or burdening you again.

Here is where he started calling me. I didn't answer. He called at least once between each o the following texts.

Edward: hmph. guess i didnt matter that much then. fine.

Edward: ... so ignoring me. fun. and here i was trying to salvage something, but i guess not then. enjoy yourself now .

Edward: my last attempt at salvage sasha. tonight or never. and seriously you will never hear from me again unless i get some kind of semblance to an explanation.

Edward: i merely wish to know why ive been bullshitted by the one person i actually trusted. why? if no answer then a permanent fairwell.

Edward: well then, you have fun now. goodbye sasha and take care, sicne you only want one... no wait many things. use a condom now. bye.

Edward: ill be sure to erase any way of us contacting each other again. facebook, phone number, everything. enjoy yourself now.

Edward: I KNOW YOUR BUSY FUCKING AROUND BUT AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH AND YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH I DESERVE AN EXPLANATION! I DESERVE CLOSURE OF SOME SORT!

Edward: so when your done getting your fill, it be at lest decent of you to explain. if you gave even an ounce of fuck about me... ever. then at least give me that.

Edward: do you really not give a flying fuck about me enough to at least give me that?!? id like how you hurt me to not destroy me more than necessary, so how bout it?

Edward: fine, ill just do the one thing i knoe will curb broken feelings. forget i asked anything of you. ever.

Edward: could you take who's ever cock out of your mouth for a second to fucking talk to me? im hurting here in more ways than one.

The last message was left at 2:48 am.
And then he abandoned the text messages in favor of voicemails.

"I still believe I deserve some kind of fucking explanation from you goddammit. I mean, fuck, I poured almost a fucking decade into trying to be with you, just to have you fuck me over, hell, worse than you've ever done. And why? It's nice to know how much you actually give a fuck about me. Yknow I really thought if anyone would be honest and not bullshit me, it woulda been you."

"Could you stop being a bitch for like five fucking minutes? Maybe? Or not, which fucking ever. God... damn. I cannot believe you did this again. Oh I am so fucking stupid. Wow."

When I threw my phone and went into my room, I couldn't hold back the tears. I was so angry. And so hurt. And felt ridiculously alone. They were the exact same feelings I used to have when ex hit and/or screamed at me. I just wanted to curl up into a little ball. I could tell myself, intellectually, that he was being childish, that he was just trying to get a rise out of me, but emotionally, he was beating me down. It was working. I sent out a few frantic texts and clung to my computer, hoping I'd find someone online who I could talk to who might not think I'm a life-ruining whore. Thank god, the Pilot was on. I had to reboot my computer, but then we started Skyping.

I still feel bad for unloading so heavily on him. He actually saw me crying (and the requisite coping mechanism, drinking), and I'm sure I was blubbery and not making any sense as he tried desperately to reason with me. But he was amazing. He stayed on Skype with me for well over two hours. Making me laugh, plotting Edward's demise... and telling me not to answer every time Edward called me. The final count was 26 times, the last one at about 315am.

Roomie also happened to be online in New Zealand, so she repeated the things I'd said to her the night before about our pasts not defining us and there being nothing wrong with being who we are. Again, it's one of those things I knew, intellectually, but my irrational emotions were winning over. At one point, she asked me how I was feeling about the whole thing, and I just said "i feel like a whore who won't ever be loved." This was her response:
"I admire you so much for how comfortable you are with your sexuality and how fearless you always are. Like you said, you shouldn't let anyone make you feel like shit for the things in your past. They're just things you've done, they're not who you are. As for never being loved, I love you, so you know that's not true. I know that there is someone out there that is amazing and worthy of you, and you'll find them because you are amazing. You have this energy that sucks people in. You deserve to be happy, and I know you will find overwhelming happiness."

And it helped.

A couple hours after the Pilot and I had started talking, Friend logged on to AIM as well. (I'd texted him asking if he was around.) The three of us chatted as they made more plans for Edward's destruction, and did their best to convince my intoxicated, emotional ass that I wasn't a whore and that I was loved. They did an amazing job. Some of it was reason, some of it was emotional appeal, mixed in with a lot of reminding me that they both love me. When it was becoming apparent that Edward wasn't going to let up (and I, in my stubborness, wasn't going to turn off my phone), the Pilot suggested he call me and we take a walk together. (Virtually, of course.) I put shoes on, but then remembered that it isn't particularly safe to walk around alone at 3am in my neighborhood, not to mention it was 45 degrees and I was already shivering from the drinking... But I still called him, and then we dialed in Friend, and I curled up in my bed.

It was so soothing to hear their voices. And hearing them together, it was like we were all actually together, back with the witty banter. The only thing that could have made it better were if they were actually there with me, because if they were, I know I would have been getting more cuddling and love than I'd even know what to do with.

Bear checked in periodically through the evening, although he was out doing things and so didn't get the worst of my meltdown. He did, however, send me the song he said he chose for me (after my selecting "My life would suck without you" for him. Here it is:


The Pilot and Friend stayed on the phone with me until 4am, when I promised I'd go to sleep. I thanked them, not knowing how I would have coped if I hadn't had them there for me. I told them I love them, they reminded me they love me, too. And I believed them. And didn't feel so worthless anymore.

I got up to get ready for bed and couldn't help but look at my facebook. Edward had sent me a message, but this time, reading it didn't make me crumble. I think my boys got through to me. In any case, here's the message:
"... Thank you for helping realize how fucking ignorant i was over you. Its been so long since i've had my heart broken i almost forgot how much it really hurts. Hope this whole thing makes you a bit happiier. Enjoy your life sasha, without me. You didnt lose me, i lost you. Goodbye and thanks again, i promise i wont allow myself to be so fucking naive again."

And the only thing I could think, was how much more I WILL enjoy my life without him. And how incredibly lucky I am to have so many people who love me. And are willing to give up their friday night to console me, thousands of miles away though I may be. The Pilot called me this morning to make sure I was alive and in one piece (he'd seen the worst of it... I think I scared him a little. I'm sorry for that, dear.). Edward called me again right after the Pilot did, and just left me an empty voicemail.

So I've published everything here as a way of purging it all. It's deleted from my phone, from my inbox... He's deleted from my life. It feels good. I have more than enough love in my life, and thanks to those people, I even think I might deserve some of it. And I'm pretty confident I didn't deserve how Edward treated me. I didn't lie to him, although he begs to differ. And actually, reading through all this, I can't exactly find the point where I did anything wrong. Where I lied to him or broke him or anything. If anyone else can, I'd love to know.

In the meantime, though, I'm going to go back to revelling in my wonderful life, full of incredible people who make it worth living. Thank you to all of you. I love you very, very much.

Sasha.

about P.

I was updating my "featuring" section over the past few days, and I realized that I still have P listed there. And as I tried to edit his description appropriately, I fell short. Because the truth is, I don't know what to say about him anymore. He has, in a subtle yet simultaneously forcible manner, removed himself completely from my life. I haven't spoken to him since he left Colorado at the beginning of the year. I see him online sometimes, and I don't even have to keep my hand from clicking on his name to send a message. (Which might not seem like a big deal, but you should see me try to do the same when I notice Edward or nonboyfriend's name pop up on the screen.) I don't have the slightest idea what's going on with his life. My last memory of him is him looking at me, eyes pleading, begging me not to ask him the questions I so desperately wanted to while we were at a mutual friend's house. He promised me he'd explain some other day. I told him I could wait.

And then I forgot to ask him. I couldn't remember the details about what, exactly, I'd needed to say to him, through my drunken haze.

And it breaks my heart to think that this might really have been the last chance I got to speak to him. And I blew it. I was too damn drunk to function properly, and then too embarrassed to admit as much when he asked me about the conversation a few days later. Our single conversation since was contrived and painfully limited in scope. So reading over his description in my blog, one I wrote over a year ago, physically hurts. I see myself writing words like "soulmate" and "unconditional love" and I realize it's entirely possible that I've lost all that. And what's maybe most interesting and at the same time most painful, is that I'm not mourning the loss of a lover. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. Because he isn't my friend anymore. He hasn't been my lover for some time, and that was something I could deal with. Especially because things never really, fundamentally, changed between us - there were only the logistics of whether or not we were sleeping together that month. He still knew me better than anyone, and I, him. He still understood me without words and knew exactly what I wanted and needed from him. He was never afraid to talk to me, to yell at me, to try to smack some sense into me (metaphysically... he'd never lay a hand on me in any way I didn't want him to). And that is gone.

Because he is moving a world away. And doesn't think long-distance relationships, of any kind, can work. Never mind that before he decided to make this move, he came to me, nearly in tears, saying he couldn't decide between being with me and living out this dream he's had forever that would take him across the globe. Of course, without hesitation, I told him to go for his dream. How could I have done anything else? But sometimes I think he interpreted that as me giving up on him. At the same time, that doesn't make sense, because he knows me better than that. Or at least he used to. Maybe now he doesn't care to.

The last few times I've spoken with him, I've gotten the distinct impression that he's ashamed of me. I have done a lot of shame-worthy things in my life. Very few, if any, of them have been in the past year that he's been treating me like he doesn't want to know me. I remember the last time we hung out before I left for Spain. It was me, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend, P, G, and Roomie. We went dancing. Myself, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend and roomie were all sufficiently sauced. We were, admittedly, not at our best. And there were some silly stupid decisions made, but nothing tragic. Everyone went home together and everything was fine. Nevertheless, in the morning, P lectured me about my relationship with nonboyfriend, getting all protective-older-brother-esque on me. I don't think I reacted particularly harshly.

But since then (although he knows I'm not with nonboyfriend any longer), P has seemed distant. And ashamed of me. Acting like he's gracing me, humoring me, with his presence. Like he's just barely tolerating me. I just don't know what I could have done to fall so far away from him. And with all he's forgiven me for, how could this really be the final straw? Or did I really just fall away and get forgotten? I'm not sure which is worse.

And this song has always made me think of P. He would know why.

Edward's song.

So yes, I know in the series, Edward writes Bella this beautiful piano lullaby and then that weaves its way through the rest of the books. My Edward, on the other hand, gets associated with a slightly different tone...

Patterns.

All right. Three times in the past four weeks makes it a pattern, I think.

First, there was a call from nonboyfriend that was unexpectedly friendly and even fond. He sounded almost sad when I spoke about how happy I am these days. (Of course, I didn't mention that I was also exceedingly happy when I was with him, and my contented state now still probably doesn't compare. Best not to let on too much. Because while that all is true, I'm not pining for him.)

Then there was Edward, who forced his way back in my life with a series of emails and then phone calls, usually lasting multiple hours. The sentiments were as I expected - he misses me, he loves me, so on and so forth. He made some effort to guilt-trip me that I make no apologies about having been with other people since I was last with him more than a year ago. He wants me to believe that he hasn't had sex with anyone in that entire time. Now, I generally take whatever he tells me with a grain of salt, but this is just an outright lie. One of the reasons he and I are physically compatible is a comparably insatiable sexual appetite. Just like I couldn't abstain for a year without some damn good reason to do so, neither could he. And considering before this month, we hadn't spoken since last year, there's no chance he has, either. I stubbornly refused to be guilt-tripped, pointing out that he never even discussed anything remotely resembling a relationship, let alone monogamy with me. Granted, had he done so, I more than likely wouldn't have agreed, but that's beside the point.

And just this week, a boy I was dating over break (one of the three, and the only one things definitively ended with when I left. There was a goodbye date and all) sent me a facebook message telling me he can't wait to see me again. And that he misses me. And when will I be home?

I'd noticed with this third guy that about a week earlier, his facebook relationship status had changed from "in a relationship with..." to "single." And then, like clockwork, came a message to me.

Nonboyfriend told me as much when he called me. At least there, I appreciated the honesty.

And Edward, in our last phone call, told me that a girl he'd liked as "more than just a friend" had just revealed to him that she has a boyfriend.

So, what do we have here? Three recent (but past) lovers. All suddenly single or momentarily unhappy in their relationships. And who do they call? Me.

At first, I was actually flattered. Remembering back to when I was in exclusive relationships, whenever things were going sour, the first thing I'd always think of was the last person I was happy with. So in one sense, I'm flattered to be that happy memory. I took it as a testament to the fact that my honesty and genuine attempt to be easy-going has gone over well and left much better impressions than previous monogamous relationships where I tried to be whatever my partner wanted me to be.

But somewhere around the third consecutive time this happened, I started just feeling like I'm everyone's backup. Like I'm the reinforcements. The B-team you bring in when those you really want are unwilling or unable to play. And that's much harder to take as flattering.

I'm probably making too much of this, but nevertheless, I do think it counts as a pattern. And essentially, it comes off that I'm not quite good enough to be anyone's first choice. Which sucks, no matter how enthusiastic a second choice I might be. Perhaps some of this is residual issues with nonmonogamy and having trouble moving so much that I never settle down enough to establish a "primary" relationship with any partner(s). I'm always the secret, the second-hand option. Most of the time, I'm happy to be that. And to be fair, this street goes both ways. These people aren't my primaries, either. (Perhaps with the exception of nonboyfriend, who I didn't see anyone else when I was with, not because I wasn't allowed to but because I genuinely didn't want or need to.)

Still, sometimes you just want some love. And to not be a secret. Maybe that's why the cuddling with the Viking was so surprising to me. I haven't had that in some time, either because I couldn't open up enough to be comfortable with it (Jacob is always willing to cuddle, to his credit, but I have intimacy issues with him) or because people would be silly and do things like never spend the night or insist they couldn't sleep and be touching at the same time. (Again, to nonboyfriend's credit, despite his restless sleep habits, he'd make a concerted effort to keep an arm around me. But I haven't been in bed with him in almost a year, also.)

I suppose I haven't really made any shocking revelations here. I just keep saying over and over that, well, it sucks. Because it does. I don't want to always be a backup. I think I might deserve better. Someday, I hope.

Almost lover.

Yet another post about Edward. Maybe this will be less scatter-brained. (Sorry about that last post, by the way.)

Anyway. I'm behind the times, but I just found this song. And it very much describes the whole Edward and I thing. I spent two hours on the phone with him last night. I can't be angry at him anymore. I don't have the energy. Although I was doing OK with him just letting me alone. But that hasn't seemed to be the tactic of any of the lost lovers in my life lately. But this song is sad and beautiful and resonates with fallen hope... I think that's appropriate.

And one more assertion that I couldn't have picked a more apt psuedonym for him - apparently this song is going to be in the newest Twilight movie. When Edward and Bella split up. Funny how that works.




should have known you'd bring me heartache - almost lovers always do...

The real Edward

i.e. NOT my Edward. Although he did randomly contact me two days ago. And it was strange. And I am pathetic in my inability to separate myself from him. I don't even fall for his lines any more, but I can't seem to cut all ties. Weakling.

Anyway... While doing some work for my academic blog, I stumbled upon an old photo of Leonardo DiCaprio, circa 1997 slash Titanic. And realized that he looks a hell of a lot like Edward, aka Robert Pattinson, from the Twilight movie(s).



other people MUST see the resemblance. I think some of it might be the pale-white-boy-with-spikey-hair look, but nevertheless. It probably also serves as testament to the fact that tastes don't change much... 10 years ago, tweenage girls were drooling over the exact same look they are now. (And yes, some of us are STILL drooling.) I actually prefer Leo now, although that might have something to do with the fact that I actually respect him as an actor. Robert Pattinson, eh, still to be determined. But oh, the boy can sing! Kind of a twangy James Blunt/James Taylor vibe. Interesting, indeed.



That's all I've got for you today.

HNT: NYE

Here is the first in a series of photos I took at and surrounding New Year's Eve 2009. Along with a new (and, I might add, teeny tiny) dress, I got new lingere as well. The bra was actually courtesy of one of my best girlfriends... Long story, but it worked out. So I finally have a pretty bra that fits right. Again, I've gone on other rants about the fact that it's really difficult to find bras which are actually PRETTY in anything bigger than a C cup. Stupid.

Anyway, so this is the first in the series, taken while getting ready for what became quite the evening. I had been texting with Edward for most of the day of and before, and he had told me he would come into to town... I had bought him a ticket for the club and everything, as he had PROMISED me he'd be there. He kept stalling and stalling, and finally, about 930 (it's about an hour to my place from the town he lives in), he simply stopped responding, which I've learned is code for "I'm being a pussy and avoiding you because I know I've let you down again." And apparently no amount of prompting about just WHAT he was missing out on... (Not just me, but my hot, and fellow single bisexual girl of a date) he didn't show.

Granted, it was his loss, and the night was one of the better New Year's Eves I've had. I had a great time pre-gaming with my date and her friends, we had a good time at the club, then went back to her house, picking up one of her boys en route. By about 3am, Friend was at her apartment, as well. There was a rather funny incident of a LOUD sack session with my date and her boy in her bedroom while Friend and I giggled on the couch in the next room. Eventually my date and her boy emerged semi-dressed, and my date curled up on the couch next to me. After the obligatory introductions, my date went back to making out with me. And then proceeded to have a conversation with Friend about whether or not I was a good kisser. Quite literally over me - she was on my left, and he was on my right. Thankfully for my ego, they decided I was a good kisser, and that the lip ring was an enjoyable feature. Of course, I'm not sure they would have said anything but kind things while I was there, but I suppose that's why they're good friends.

My date and her boy eventually went back to actually go to sleep in her bed, leaving Friend and I alone in her living room. At something like 430 in the morning. On New Year's... well, Day at that point. Clearly, there needed to be nakedness. I must say that I am quite the fan of Friend's tendency to pin me against the wall and remove my clothes. It's not as rough as some other people I sleep with, and I like that. It just fits so well with how we are with one another. And I love the trail of clothes that always end up left along the places we hang out. And of course, the ridiculousness that always follows the sex. I really enjoy the little, random things about our relationship. I haven't heard many complaints from him, either.

So, while my NYE was definitely Edward's loss, it wasn't mine. Or my date's. Or Friend's. A good night for all involved, if I do say so myself. Edward got what he deserved. So did we.

For the record (and the HNT), here's what Friend got:



HHNT!

The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.

My Edward.

Note: Yes, I've been reading the Twilight series. I just (minutes ago) finished Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn is waiting for me on my bookshelf. I'm mildly obsessed, and as such, this post will contain some allusions and references to the books. No spoilers, I promise.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to most that I'm mildly in love with Edward Cullen. Other than the striking beauty and eloquence, the danger he exudes is not only exciting, but enthralling. Yes, I know he's a fictional character. I'm not obsessed with him (nor even with the actor who portrays him in the film), but it is an interesting kind of fairy-tale crush. Were the fairy tale laced with deadly implications and dark (albeit infuriatingly restrained) eroticism.

Such a hero, free of the shining white horse and spotless past, has always appealed to me more than the stereotypical Prince Charming. The brooding intellectualism rather than the shiningly ignorant optimism, the mysterious past which can't quite be reconciled over the pedigreed and pampered upbringing... it's always fascinated me, and I suppose I was just waiting for someone to deify such a character so I could openly identify with the type of anti-hero I had been wanting.

Of course, there are darker motives, too. I like the danger. Part of me loves the uncertainty. We know I'm a masochist, and so there is without question a part of me that loves the pain brought on by proximity to such brilliant, dark people. And they are always brilliant, just like the storybook. Intoxicatingly beautiful. And utterly irresistible, for someone like me.

And the interesting part is that in many ways, this wasn't just a fantasy. Sure, several of my relationships have had elements of those dark fairy tales, but there has been one consistent anti-hero weaving his way in and out of my story for almost a decade now. Yes, I know that means we were very young when we met. Nevertheless, that's the truth. I will, for obvious reasons, call him Edward.

He was beautiful and dark from the moment we met. He avoided me so stringently at first that there was little to conclude other than two extremes: He either hated me immensely, or he was "unchangingly, irrevocably in love" with me. (Which sounds conceited, except that he's told me as much.) He was very much a mystery for a long time after that, and our sporadic meetings were as intense as any I'd ever had. When he finally spoke to me, he was condescending (though I was a year older), overconfident, and still strikingly beautiful. When he met my eyes for the first time, I forgot how to breathe. The piercing blue, in sharp contrast to his dark, spiked hair, ripped through me with a force I wasn't sure was human.

For those first few years, we fought almost constantly. Well, that's not entirely true. The tension and passion between us has always been thick, tight and tangible enough to cut with a knife. More often than not, those two forces overlap one another and what should be a screaming match has us out of breath and spent for an entirely different reason. His touch is hard and simultaneously comforting. I know he is stronger than me and am full aware he could easily break me - indeed, sometimes I wish he would - but that sets me more on edge and makes me want him that much more. Although he knows exactly the same, he has never once treated me like he was afraid he would break me. His hands rough on my wrists, his mouth hard as he would bite my neck.

And there is something more than vaguely vampiric about him. Besides the pale skin, dark hair and stunning eyes, the beautifully sharp jaw line and striking physical strength, the way he looks at me does resonate hunger. He was always unabashedly fascinated by my self-destructive tendencies, especially those that left me bleeding. To this day, he looks over the scars on my wrists with a morbid fascination. Again, to quote Twilight, he looks at me as though I'm something to eat.

And god, the feel of his skin on mine. The way that hunger translates into every time he touches me. How he knows exactly where to touch me, where to put his hands, his lips, his tongue... It's enchanting, and frighteningly disarming. I have no defenses around him. Effortlessly, he reduces me to putty in his hands. Looking at him would be enough, but his deft handling of my body makes resisting not remotely possible.

Our paths cross so infrequently that I am left clinging to memories of when we were together. More than once, they have become vivid fantasies. Sometimes the memories of things that have never happened. And in all likelihood, never will happen.

Amidst our passion, and perhaps as a consequence of it, we do get into knock-down, drag-out fights. We stop speaking for long periods of time. He falls off the face of the earth on a disconcertingly regular basis. And every time he does, I promise myself I will not, under any conditions, accept his excuses. Because he always has them. Every time he leaves, and hurts me by doing so, he comes back with some excuse. I don't bother believing them anymore. Because whether or not I believe that he was bailing his brother out of jail or joining the military or being a drug runner doesn't matter. We both know it doesn't matter. Because I know he'll come back to me. And he knows I'll take him back. It's a brutal, destructive cycle.

I know, unlike Bella, that Edward is no good for me. I don't want the kind of future he is always trying to promise me, because I know how incredibly unlikely it is to ever come to be. I know that Edward is dangerous. I know that he will cause me more pain before we can ever get to the happiness, if the barrage ever stops. But, like Bella, I cannot pull myself away from my dark hero. I guess, in a way, I am addicted to the pain. Maybe because it feels so good when it stops. And it feels so good when he's with me. I've never been with someone who understands me on such an intimate, intrinsic level. Who can make me so angry that I can't see straight, and hold me tight enough that I believe the world will stop hurting me, and kiss me so hard that everything else fades away.

And that's exactly why I can't pull away. I started writing this with the intention of calling him once I was done and telling him it was finally over. That he and I were over. That I couldn't stand the pain anymore, that it had outweighed the good - my attraction to him, and yes, my love for him. But that isn't true. And I can't lie to him. I tried, once. Tried to convince him I wasn't in love with him. He knew me better. Obviously, he is still here. And so am I.

In many ways, nothing has changed since we met. In many ways, everything is different. But what I still can't decide is what I am going to do about the facts. About the fact that he is bad for me. And that I'm bad for him. And that the passion we have for one another sometimes turns to anger. And that the way I feel about him is something completely distinct and unique from anything else I've ever felt, including about my first love. And that I write about him differently (and rarely) here because I am so uncertain of how I feel, but nonetheless, the words flow easily and uncensored. I know that we are like two combustibles, waiting to explode into a brilliant burst of flames the moment we touch. I never know whether those flames will be pleasurable or painful.

But not knowing is some of the fun. And part of the appeal in the masochism I have come to embrace. Something he knew about me before I discovered it myself. And there is something about the fact that he has yet to leave me - for good, I mean. I have said terrible things to him, consciously hurt him... and he always comes back. I don't know if that's love... or obsession. And I don't know if I care. I am so clearly unclear about everything Edward does. I know how he feels, I know what he wants, but I have no idea as to whether it's something that will ever actually come to be. I'm not even sure if it's possible.

And I haven't finished the series yet, so I don't know if Edward gets a happy ending. And even if he does, how happy can the ending be when one must sacrifice something so great to be with the other? In the end, who is really making the sacrifice? That's still unclear.

am I more attractive...

...when I'm not around?

This is partially inspired by Essin' Em's post about her tendency to start having sex with people (including myself) right before they leave for extended periods of time, and partially by the goings-on of the end of the summer and my time thus far here in Spain.

As I've mentioned, I had a fabulous summer. Fantastic friends, a great internship where I got some amazing clips for my portfolio (and a job offer), and a house in an amazingly vibrant part of town that was central to almost all of those amazing friends. Also, my sex life was, well, really good. I was not only getting laid regularly, but it was really good sex. Primarily with one person for the bulk of the summer, although there were a few others before this person and I got together and one after we knew we weren't going to see each other again. (Which, as I've written about, turned out to be exactly what I needed.) So I knew it was going to be a little rough - perhaps more than usual - to adjust to life in a different country where I didn't know ANYONE when I had enjoyed being so comfortable in my environment. And it has been difficult. I'm getting there, but it's slow going.

This is not a post about the fact that I haven't gotten laid since I've been here. That's actually OK. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling some skin hunger and an increasing desire to make out with someone. But this isn't a post about that, because that's about all there is to say about that. Instead, this is about my friends back in the states and a tendency of a certain one or two to flake on me when we're in the same state, but then profess their devotion when I'm gone.

Backstory on the worst culprit: I've known him basically forever, and we've been through a hell of a lot, generally based upon the fact that we can never seem to have feelings for one another at the same time. For quite a while, he wanted me and I didn't want him, then I wanted him and he thought I was a raging bitch (which, admittedly, I can be), and then we - for the most part - got our shit together and liked one another at the same time. We've never dated, due in large part to the fact that he lives a few hours away from where I live only a few months of the year, and he's not especially reliable. At the beginning of the summer, though, on a whim (and when I had the car), I drove the 90 minutes to see him. In the middle of the night. We didn't sleep at all that night, and had sex in all kinds of "unconventional" places. (There WAS something wonderful about wearing 5" heels and being bent over the hood of a car while it was pulled off a side-road in the woods.) And this was when I was still suffering - a word I use fully intentionally - from my inability-to-have-an-orgasm-with-a-partner brokenness. Well, he fixed that. Three times in a row. Needless to say, I couldn't keep standing in those heels because my legs and my entire body had turned to putty in his hands. Then I didn't see him again for the rest of the summer.

Not for lack of trying, though. We stayed in relatively regular contact, and I asked him (he who has a paying job and a car compared to my lack of both) several times to come see me. I invited him for weekends, for sleepless nights, for day trips. There were a few times where he said he was coming down, and then never showed. I accepted that I wasn't going to see him and told him so.

Now that I'm on the other side of the world, he's been in strikingly regular contact with me. Telling me how much he misses me. What he's going to do to me when I get back stateside. Telling me how I've "ruined" his fantasy sex life because he no longer fantasizes about a variety of women, just about me. That he misses me so much it's palpable. We instant messaged a day or two ago, and I gave him my cell phone number here. He promised he'd call. He hasn't. But this morning, I woke up to this message from him on facebook:

No i am not ignoring you, I'm currently over-enveloped by certain business ventures I can't delve into... meow kisses and hugs,
- Your boy

Unprovoked. I hadn't given him shit about not calling me. But I assume he was just checking in. Making sure I wasn't upset with him. And signing it "your boy..." it actually made me smile. And get a little bit of the warm fuzzies.

But here's my question: Why is he doing this now? Now that I'm gone? Why is he making such an effort to stay in contact with me, tell me he misses me, now that I'm away? Because, in reality, our inability to see one another is the same as it's been since the beginning of the summer. It's nothing new.

And he's not the only person doing it. There are another one or two people, as well, he's just the most prevalent right now. So why am I more attractive when I'm not around? Is there something about my physical presence that makes me less intriguing? And shouldn't it technically go the other way around?

*mew.*

the repair!

It came from an unlikely place. And maybe it only happened because I'd given up on it. But let's say, I am now confident that I'm no longer broken.

As some of you might (or might not remember), I've had a problem in that for the past year, I haven't been able to climax with a partner. It wasn't due to any partner's lack of trying or lack of skill, and so I was left with nothing to conclude but that it was something wrong with me. I wrote about it here. Recently, I'd given up entirely, thinking perhaps it just wasn't going to happen again. Which I felt was unfortunate, because I used to be one of those women who could have three or four orgasms in a given encounter, where each one was better than the last. It was one of the primary reasons I enjoyed sex so much. But I was trying to teach myself how to enjoy sex again without it, trying to convince myself that orgasm-centric sex is actually terribly heteronormative and maybe even a little chauvinist. I was succeeding for the most part.

And then I bit the bullet and went to go see an old friend... Who I was angry at for a long time because he stood me up, meaning I drove 120 miles for absolutely no good reason. Anyways... I called him, and very simply said "convince me to come see you tonight. go." And he started rambling but I wasn't really listening because my mind was already made up. I ran home to pick up condoms and put gas in the car, and took off. At 11:30 p.m.

In a little less than an hour, I was there, and he was climbing into my car. We didn't bother exchanging pleasantries. His hands were all over me, obviously annoyed at the amount of clothing I was wearing. Nevermind that it was just a short skirt and a tank top with an open back. I pulled him off me just long enough to take a breath and ask where I should be driving us to. He directed me to a campsite off a main road. I laughed to myself, because when we had talked, he'd always said he wanted to take me into the woods. And I laughed because I was in 4" heels. Nevertheless, I drove on.

We didn't make it out of the car. Before I knew what had happened, I was on top of him, panting as he bit my neck and shoulder and pulled my shirt over my head. There was something very adolescent about having sex in the back seat of a car on a side road buried in the woods. Somehow, though, I couldn't manage to give a damn.

He never once said he was going to get me off. He didn't make a big deal of it. He was obviously devoted to the task at hand, but we were both enjoying ourselves and there was a shockingly small amount of pressure. I forgot how skilled he was with his tongue ring (and yes, I know that's cliche, but in this case, it was true), and he was just as good with his hands. But neither of those did it. Which was fine with me.

I climbed on top of him, and he grabbed my hips to set a pace. I matched it. He started sighing, moaning, and I started breathing harder. I felt my pace quickening, and that numb-hypersensitivity sensation building at the base of my spine. I didn't give it much thought, but did start grinding into him harder. Subconsciously, really. That feeling started moving up my spine, each thrust sending another ripple of sensation through my body. I was breathing heavy, panting, whimpering, frantically biting at his neck and collarbone as by nails dug into the seatback behind him that I was using for leverage. Then, suddenly, and without his hands anywhere near my clit, I came. HARD. I felt it through my entire body - this familiar (and yet at the same time all too foreign) feeling of every muscle simultaneously tightening and releasing in the most glorious of pains where I had no control over my body, what I was saying, and all that mattered was this sensation ripping through me.

As the feeling subsided, I sat back to try and catch my breath. He was beaming in a disgustingly arrogant way. I wished I hadn't told him how long it had been since I'd gotten off, because now I knew he'd be gloating for the next year. But somehow I didn't care. I was still feeling tiny aftershocks, which resonated through my body and his.

Then it happened twice more.

Yes, my first orgasm in a year came as three. By the end, I was absolutely intoxicated. He thought it was funny. And true to form, his commentary on the entire situation (aside from the obligatory "i TOLD you so"), was "wow, you're so much less of a bitch now."

I reminded him that he was just as much of an ass as he's always been, and told him if he'd like to see me again, he can drive himself to me. Then I drove home.






(Nevertheless, it's good to know that I'm not broken, and the release of knowing that it's still possible has renewed my excitement about having sex. I'm especially looking forward to it with A, who I actually have feelings for. It's going to be a good summer. And on the upside, at least now I know I CAN be non-orgasm-centric. Which is good, too.)