i AM that girl

Last night found the boy and I tangled in the sheets, panting and writhing against the muggy summer heat and licking the sweat from each other's bodies, stopping only to rearrange, and sometimes to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Laughing at the absurdity of the two of us being there, together, at our uncanny similarities and our fundamental differences.

I fell back onto the pillows he'd piled up behind me, my face flushed and his glistening. As I caught my breath, he layed down next to me, stroking my hair and wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. He smiled at me and I managed one of those exhausted, mind-melted smiles that only happen after your body has been completely, deliciously ravished.

We babbled incoherently for some time, going over the details of our exorbitantly fantastic sex life. Then he kissed my forehead and brought his eyes down to mine.

"I'm going to say something really sexy," he told me.

"OK. What is it?" I asked.

....

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fucking STARVING. Thank god!" I replied as I threw my legs around to the edge of the bed.

And then we climbed out of bed and raided my kitchen. n

So yes, I'm that girl. The one who loves sex, especially when it's kinky, and isn't afraid to say it. I'm that girl who likes to kick your ass at video games, and talk smack even when she's losing terribly. I'm that girl who hangs out with the boys.

And I'm that girl who's afraid of scary movies, and loves snuggling, and wants you to notice when she gets made up or buys a new dress.

But I'm not the girl who wants grand proclamations of unending love. I'm that girl who is maybe a little too blunt for her own good, but manages to hang on to her friends anyway. I'm the girl who wants a comfortable relationship, where she can simply be with you, rather than having to conform to someone else's definition of happiness. I am that girl who wants to have a home full of love and positivity and puppy kisses.

And, for maybe the first time, I finally AM that girl.

The need.

It was efficiency sex. The kind you can only have when it's been too long and both of you know it. When the pleasantries are almost nothing but, since it's almost intolerable to keep your hands to yourself through drinks and conversation and the obligatory nighttime rituals. When neither of you can be bothered by worrying about how you feel about each other, and no one needs to say much of anything.

When every word you say only barely hides the innuendo behind it, because how could you possibly need to talk about anything when the only thing you can focus on is the need itself? The kind where when you finally start touching, there's an electric charge that doesn't disconnect, and just keeps running through your two bodies, feeding off itself to grow stronger.

Where a finger stroke is all it takes to completely void your mind of anything but the pulsating need to be filled. And a hand is brought to your neck, not bothering with a gentle caress but grasping on, hard, to bring your lips to the waiting pair, only momentarily shielding the tongue and teeth that now have you locked together.

And fabric rips, because you can't be bothered with buttons and zippers and propriety when your skin is this hungry. So nails find fresh, warm flesh, and lungs breathe in stolen air when they remember to function. You couldn't be untangled or properly identify which parts of what you're feeling are your own if you tried, but that doesn't matter for even a split second.

And you almost wince as you finally find the satiation you've been looking for - warm and hard and even better than you remembered. You feel more and more full, drop your hips lower into the sheets to raise them higher and feel it deeper...

So your knees are brought to your chin and your ankles are locked behind his neck before he even finishes sitting up. He leans down to you and his teeth find your bottom lip and pull and you breathe him in and for a moment make this stunning eye contact that bores into you somehow even deeper than he is, with you folded underneath him. You've lost agency of yourself to your desire and can't stop your hips from finding their rhythym with his. He pulls his head up as you thrust harder, and you swear you can feel it in your abdomen, but god is it fucking good. And so you raise your hips faster, and he matches your rhythym with increasing intensity.

Your nails dig into his thighs, and then you drag one hand up his body, shoving two fingers in his mouth. His teeth hold you tight as his tongue licks up and down and circles your fingers and you draw your hand out of his mouth still glistening with his spit. And without hesitation, your hand reaches between your legs, still clenched against his chest. He looks down at you as he fucks you harder and you rub yourself with your fingers, wet from him. His hand finds your neck, and he keeps staring into you as he tightens his grip. Your pulsing becomes more frenetic, raising your ass off his folded legs and slamming back into him harder and faster.

It starts there, as the muscles in your body tighten as the heat spreads from your pelvis to your thighs and abdomen, to your calves and your tits and your chest tightens as does his grip around your neck. Gasping and still holding eye contact, you can feel him slamming into you, harder and harder, filling what you both so desperately need. Finally, the heat spreads to your mouth, and you can't keep your eyes focused on this world as your toes curl and your entire body tightens itself around him, feeling him expand inside you, and everything just becomes heat and you don't know what you're saying but every part of your body is screaming at the same time, releasing everything it's been holding on to in one moment that rips through your body and tears into him, both of you lost to the need.

And everything you had been holding is gone, and neither of you can do anything but collapse onto one another, still unable to tell whose body belongs to whom. For just a minute, you lie there, quivering and afraid to touch but unable to disconnect. As your breathing slows to find its sync with his, you manage to look over at his face, shining with sweat but his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. You manage a chuckle.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

The New Normal

"Ecstasy's a pill, and not a stolen kiss.
Character is vinegar without the piss
And pounding heart's not for love or art, but a beauregard's
And plastic knives will save your lives when they break apart

It's the new normal,
The new normal
The old way was OK
But this year's a new day...

And genius lost its meaning, it got kicked around
and slapped on fresh-faced artists
with that brand new sound..."

-The New Normal, by Mister Mann

Ironically enough, this is an artist The Optimist turned me on to. He's a Canadian singer-songwriter, and while his lyrics are rather depressing, I actually think the message is one of hope.

Or maybe that's just how I'm perceiving it.

Regardless, my new normal isn't what I would have thought it to be. It doesn't include certain people who I took to be fixtures in my life, and it does include those who I never would have guessed would mean so much to me.

And I'm OK with that. Because actually? I'm happy. I really am. And it's a strange sensation. I still second-guess myself when I say something stupid to the boy, automatically assuming he's going to knock me down a notch for it. Instead, he tends to laugh and say something equally ridiculous. Or he just leans over and kisses me. Tells me I'm adorable.

And it isn't patronizing, which is fascinating. The dynamic between us is something unique for me. I am so exceedingly comfortable being myself - my full-on, crazy, nerdy self - and that doesn't for a moment compromise how wanted I feel. In fact, I feel more consistently wanted and worthwhile than I have in a long, long time.

So I guess Friend was right about one thing - apparently my I-can't-be-a-girlfriend complex WAS utter bullshit. Of course, it took someone ELSE to show me that. But that's OK. Because the person who's showing me that is doing it so genuinely, and so compassionately, and so well that I'm actually not able to second-guess him.

I believe that he wants to see me. I enjoy being a part of his life, his family, his routine. I believe him when he kisses me and I feel it in my toes. I believe him when he says he wants to come to shows, parties, dates with me. Because he does.

And I certainly believe him when he pins me to the wall, his body pressed into mine as his teeth close down on my neck. I believe him as he strips off my clothes and throws me onto the bed, tying my hands above my head, his eyes all fire and passion and stormy seas.

So then I believe him as he traces his tongue down my body, lingering at my breasts and hip bones. And then I lose track of everything as his tongue finds what it's searching for, his fingers pumping in and out of me and curling inside me as his tongue traces and licks and laps at my clit. As he moans into me, my hips rise to meet his mouth and I can't stop moving. And he keeps going and I keep moving, and faster and faster and oh fuck oh god yes please don't stop fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

And then I'm shaking and he's smiling as he kisses his way back up my body.

And I do believe him, maybe most of all, as he lies down next to me and wraps his arms around my body, gently kisses my neck and pulls me tighter as we fall asleep together.

And just in case I find myself doubting, I am reassured when, in the morning, he's still there.

HNT: Southwestern

That's right, I'm back, folks! I'm committed this time, I swear.

Also, don't tell anyone, but I'm actually in a relationship. A surprisingly healthy one. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm trying to just enjoy it.

One of the things I'd forgotten about having a regular partner is that you sometimes end up with their clothes. And for me, when I'm dating men, I always hope I'll look appropriately adorable in their shirts.

Which I promptly steal. Or, in this case, my boy "forgets" to ask for his shirt back when I go home.

So then, to make up for my theft, I figured it's only fair that I at least share the way the shirt looks on me. So this is the photo I snapped when I got home and snuggled into my boy's shirt on a night when he wasn't staying with me.

Of course, I sent him this photo first, but I don't think he'll mind my sharing it with you lovely folks.



HHNT!

I wonder...

I wonder if it's possible, that after all my insistence that I am not now nor will I ever be so-called girlfriend material, while I was so busy telling myself and everyone that I wasn't capable of treating anyone well or being good for someone... that I was actually, in fact, gearing up to become a decent girlfriend?

I'm ahead of myself a bit, of course, in that the GF word is still terrifying to me as the BF word is to him. But the signs are there. And it should terrify me much more than it does. I should be concerned that the kind things he says to me unprompted are just lines. I shouldn't believe him when he tells me how much he enjoys being with me. It shouldn't phase me that he wants me to meet his parents properly.

And I shouldn't be so satiated with the amazing sex I'm having with him, and only him.

Of course, officially, everything is still entirely non-monogamous, and I wouldn't change that. I like having the freedom to do what I like. But the chemistry between he and I is absolutely absurd. When we both turn it on, it's like a carnal incarnation of lust. There is no reason, or pain, or world outside the two of us. We are all that exists and we simply must have more of each other.

I wake up bruised and bitten, and he wakes up with scratches that have broken the skin down his back and chest and thighs. I always apologize when I see them in the morning, and he always just smirks and tells me he likes them. And then he kisses me softly and pulls me back into his arms.

And I am happy. I am exceedingly happy. I'm trying so desperately not to over-analyze, and instead just to focus on how much better he makes my life, right now. With no expectations, but also with no limits.

At the moment, my life is good. I am content. I feel loved and appreciated. And I still have a fantastic sex life.

Is this what being in a relationship is like? Because if it is, then I don't know why the fuck I was so terrified.

I should tell you...

I've talked about my Ex by several different names on here. He's been a kind of supporting (or not, as it were) character in the background of many of the experiences you've read about here. The short history - we dated for five years... All through high school, and then for our freshman year of college, for which we went to schools on opposite coasts. We went to a tiny high school where, by virtue of his being utterly likable and my throwing nearly every major party anyone in our class or below went to, we secured a tight group of friends. Many of those people both of us remained close with.

Which of course, made it that much more awkward and painful when we broke up in a BIG way at the end of our freshman year of college. He was the one who ended things - at the time I believed he left me for someone else, and I did, in fact, know who it was. In retrospect, I saw it coming. We weren't right for each other, but he figured that out LONG before I did.

And so we've spent the past three and a half years, essentially, discovering new ways to hurt each other - also known as "being friends." We both took our turns doing and saying terrible, cruel, inhumane things, that managed to affect not just one another, but our mutual friends, who grew to make concerted efforts to keep us apart when we were in the same state. Almost a year and a half, I was in rare form (or not, depending on who you ask), and confessed to him that I'd cheated on him back in high school. I'd like to say I did it to try and make myself feel better or in the interest of honesty, but really, it was my drunken, still-heartbroken last-ditch effort to make him hurt as badly as I did.

Near as I can tell, it worked. There was a single email exchange wherein we decided that we were not going to speak to one another again. We were both still angry and hurting, but it was probably one of the healthier things we'd done for each other since we'd broken up. It was three years almost to the day after he left me.

And we didn't talk. Or see one another. Or communicate in any way. Our friends were already used to avoiding the subject of each other when we were around, but even that became more pronounced. I moved on, dated a few people casually - some of whom were good to me, like Nonboyfriend, some of whom weren't, like Edward. My ex didn't cross my mind much.

And then, this summer, tragedy hit our circle of friends. Without going into private details, a terrible, unfair and unexpected thing happened to my best girlfriend, C. The Scientist and I, specifically, threw as much of ourselves into caring for and loving her as possible, and to her credit - she is astoundingly strong. I'm confident I could not have gone through what she did with such grace, maturity, perspective, and strength.

About a month ago, things culminated in an event that saw all of us who love C together at her house to support her. My ex (again, a good friend of hers) had been flaking on his friends back home, and, in all honesty, I think he was guilt-tripped into it. It was a deserved guilt-trip, though. He should have been there for C all along, but he absolutely needed to be there on this occasion.

Which found both of us back in town. In the same house. Together. I knew he was coming, and I also knew that this was neither the time nor the place to deal with any lingering issues we had. I knew why I was there, and it had nothing to do with him. Besides, I didn't have anything left to say to him.

He came early and I was the first person he saw. He quite literally froze in the doorway. He paled, and I swear I could hear him swallow from across the room. I looked at him, said "Hi," and waved. "Uhm, yeah, hey," he managed, a stiff arm and twitchy-fingered wave complimenting the awkwardness. Throughout the afternoon, he and I were pleasant with one another - I started a conversation or two with him... Just pleasantries. But I think we were both impressed at how we were able to BE so pleasant with one another. I found myself almost enjoying his company. Well, at the very least, not minding it.

As the evening wound down, C asked her friends to stay and party with her. Of course, we would have done anything for her, and this was hardly a stretch for any of us. We ended up going to a concert - C, her boyfriend, The Scientist, myself and my ex. We eventually convinced Nonboyfriend and his girlfriend to come down to town as well, because the occasion called for everyone to be there. (C, the Scientist, my ex and I all went to high school together, and the Scientist, Nonboyfriend and my ex are childhood friends, so Nonboyfriend had been incorporated into our circle early in its creation.) We all had a great time at the show, dancing, letting go of whatever we needed to.

At one point, as I was dancing, I took a step backwards and accidentally backed into someone I didn't know. I turned around to apologize, and the guy started hitting on me. Asking me to dance with him, what's my sign (seriously? people still use that?), and I tried to politely decline, telling him I was just there to be with my friends. He didn't go away. He wasn't doing much more than invading my space, but my ex caught my eye, dancing maybe 10, 15 feet away from me. He mouthed "you OK?" at me, and I kind of shrugged and made an "eh... uhm... sortof..." face. Before I could do anything more, my ex was next to me, put his hands around my waist, and pulled me to dance with him. The other dude vanished into the crowd. And I stood there, rather dumbstruck, staring at my ex. I managed to thank him, but I don't think I communicated how genuinely touched I was. I know looking out for someone in the group, protecting them from a creeper, is pretty standard friend behavior, but for my ex and I, the interaction was the friendliest, kindest we'd treated each other in years.

As the concert ended, we took several cabs to various places, some of us stopping at cars on the way, then all of us ending up back at Nonboyfriend's house. For a portion of the trip, it was just my ex and I in his car, after we'd dropped off C and her boyfriend so they could go in their own car. There were some awkward silences, but we did agree that it was, surprisingly, nice to see one another. We both seemed scared to make that assertion... like it might ruin the good we'd managed to accomplish that night.

But back at Nonboyfriend's house, my ex began playing guitar. And I realized he was playing songs that used to be ours. The rest of the group trickled back into the house, leaving just he and I on the patio. Him still playing guitar.

And then we started talking. The conversation started off slow, hesitant, cautious. But soon, it became open, and honest. He started the conversation. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and said "It killed me, to not speak to you for so long. I hated it. I tried to be angry at you, I really did. But I can't. You are such a part of who I am, and that will never change. You ARE important. You always have been." It broke my heart and healed it all at once.

We kept talking for almost an hour. There were tears shed, but I think more than anything they were a form of release. The most amazing part was that there was no anger. I think we've finally used it up. We were able to talk about what had hurt us, but also what was good. We were able to appreciate how utterly and completely and honestly in love we were with one another... once upon a time. And we were able to move forward.

He hugged me several times that night. And it was good to be back there, my head buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around me. It was sincere. It was necessary. But it wasn't inappropriate. There is no romance left. The fire that once burned so bright for him nearly consumed me... and now all that remains is warmth.

I can finally truthfully say that I no longer have any ill feelings toward him. There are still traces of the boy I fell in love with almost 10 years ago inside him. I needed to know that. I can look back on what we had fondly and without pain. I can wish him well and happiness with his girlfriend, and mean it. And I can mean it when I tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him when he's back in town.

So while I've called him many, many things over the years, and even over the course of this blog, really, the way I should refer to him is as my First Love. Because he was. And he deserves all the import that title commands. Part of who I am today is because of him, and that experience will always be a part of me.

And, finally, thank god, I no longer resent that fact.

"I should tell you

that you were

my First Love..

So it's Christmas time,

It's been three years

And someone else is knitting things for your ears

I have come to know I'll only see you

Interrupting my dreams at night

But that's all right

That's all right

I should tell you

that you were

my First Love

And it's all right

And it's all right

We were seventeen again together,

We were seventeen again together,

We were seventeen again...together."

It feels like we've been here before...

It's been a while since I've written anything overly personal on here. With my real-world job as a web editor (did I mention that I have a real-world job now? Like, an actual career?), I spend my entire workday staring at a computer screen, so sometimes I'm not overly eager to run home and do the same. I've been trading online interaction for actual, real life socialization. Imagine that!

But there are other reasons for the relative silence of late, too. And I haven't written about them in hopes that they would get better. But, the truth is, they aren't getting better. And I'm starting to feel myself slip down into those dark places I inhabited years ago... And I don't want to do that. In the past, you, dear readers, have been so incredibly helpful and gracious and insightful, that I thought perhaps I would turn to you again.

I've noticed changes in some of my habits. i think some of it is just antsy-ness - this is usually the time of year I would be headed back to school... So it's possible I'm still adjusting to and realizing that this is, in fact, my life. This is not a summer job and a summer apartment and summer flings, but rather the real thing.

Well, in some regards. Of course, it seems the things I wouldn't mind being temporary - the things I wouldn't mind trading out - are the things that are stable, and the things I so desperately want to hang on to are those which are slipping away from me. And it's started getting to me. I'm exhausted all the time. Regardless of how much sleep I get. Waking up is brutal, although I was getting good at waking up at 7am for work without much difficulty in the past month. That has stopped. Of course, when I do fall asleep, it's never through the night. This in and of itself, of course, doesn't mean much, but it seems to be just one part of a series of small problems that add up to something that feels unconquerable. I've gone back to always feeling rather sick - a combination of allergies and near-constant nausea that hasn't been so pervasive since, probably, high school.

If it hasn't been clear from my "frustratingly abstract" (according to Friend) posts, The Optimist is gone. Through no fault of his own, and no fault of mine. The universe decided to throw him a curveball, and he took the good, responsible, compassionate route out. A route that led him, suddenly and without a goodbye, far away from me and his other friends in this state. I don't hold the decision against him in the slightest - actually, quite the opposite. His making this sacrifice confirms my belief that he is this incredible, compassionate, giving person. It makes me respect him that much more. It absolutely supports my fascination with who he is and how he became this truly singular individual.

But his leaving hurt more than I thought it would. I've talked to Nonboyfriend about it - since he and I were in essentially the same boat, being unpleasantly surprised by The Optimist's sudden departure. I felt like (after convincing him that, no, I really wasn't going to turn into some crazy stalker and terrorize his best friend... Because we all know that I do that regularly) he and I could at least identify with each other's heartache. I don't say heartbreak, because that sounds too dramatic. But there is absolutely an ache. And it is palpable. And harder to ignore than I thought it would be. I'm not angry in the least. I am just very simply and without anything else, very sad. It's a pervasive kind of sadness that is at the same time purer than anything else I can remember feeling. I am sad for the loss of the memories I was so looking forward to making. I am sad for the departure of the butterflies that only inhabit my stomach when he's around me. I am sad to not feel that electricity when he touches me. I am sad to not feel his lips on mine and hope my knees don't give out but know even if they did he would catch me - and probably have some perfectly eloquent comment about it. I am sad to not know when I will see his face again. I am sad.

But I believe him (and Nonboyfriend) when they remind me he will be back. I know he will. And he hasn't misled me yet, so I don't expect him to begin now. (Right down to his parting salutation on the phone, which was, verbatim, what I've always told friends I wanted to hear from someone who wasn't sure when the next time they would call might be.) And, again, his reason for leaving is so good and so... HIM... that I couldn't do anything but support it. There was never any other option in my mind. I couldn't not support him. And I hope he knows that. The last thing I would ever want to be or do would be an additional burden for him. That isn't what good friends do, let alone lovers or partners or whatever we were. But it does leave me pining a bit for something I know I can't have. At least right now. And the uncertainty of when I may or may not see him again is eating at me, just a little. It makes it harder to overcome the sadness, because I don't have a set point to look forward to. It's too abstract.

And I know that wound, if that's what we'd call it, is especially fresh. It will caulderize with time... Although I hope my feelings for him don't. I love that I simply cannot have my walls up around him. I love that I feel safe and comfortable and happy knowing he's in my life. I love that he talks to me about life and art and philosophy and also that we can get drunk with my roommates and write haikus about a missing cat. Like I said, he's rather singular. I've never met anyone who affected me the way he does. And just like how it's so easy to get used to sleeping next to someone, and so difficult to get used to sleeping alone (I still sleep on my side of the bed, although I haven't had a regular sleeping-over partner in years), accepting that affectation makes it that much harder to forget about.

And other relationships are suffering as a result. A few nights ago, I completely flaked out on Bear. He was having a rough night and needed someone to talk to, and I just... fell asleep. And I felt so incredibly guilty in the morning. And he's told me that he's not upset, although his tone indicated otherwise. Mostly, though, I just feel awful for being such a shitty friend. My friends deserve better. And usually, I can deliver. I don't know why I couldn't then.

And my best girlfriend, C, is going through some really serious things. I want so badly to be there for her, and it kills me that there's only so much I can do. Going to dinner with her and giving hugs and texting everyday seems so inadequate for how much I love her and how much I want to make her pain disappear. And I know, ultimately, there isn't anything I can do to make it stop, to make it better for her. I just wish there was. But I do know she reads this, so I just want to reiterate, my love, that I am here for any and everything you might need. And I love you more than words, and I only wish there was more I could do. I want to make all this stop for you. I want to fix everything. And I know that I can't. And that just... destroys me.

Maybe that's the best adjective for how I feel right now. I feel destroyed. Not by any single event or person, but I feel just so helpless and out of control, that it's driving me crazy. I'm falling back into old patterns of coping with that loss of control. I don't even know HOW to process these things in a healthier way. And the last thing I want is help, as strange as that might seem. I just want to feel better. I want these things that hurt the people I love to vanish (yes, even when I am one of those things). I don't want any of this. I don't want to feel like this.

funny story.

I don't miss you anymore. I really don't. I think you might be one of the few people I have entirely moved on from. I don't even want you anymore. I don't remember what you smelled like.

I only barely remember what you made me feel like.

And in so many ways, that's such a good thing. You have moved on so completely, and so have I. Of course, your recipient is ohsoclose to you, and mine is - once a-fucking-gain, a thousand miles away. But that's the way it is, I suppose. But it was, I'll admit, hard to bite my tongue when we got into specifics. Because under any other circumstances, we'd be sharing this information. Which in no way means you have to share.... I'm just saying.

But it's funny, because there is a difference. There is a difference in how I feel. There is a difference in what I do. I wouldn't go so far as to say something crazy, but I do feel some kind of strange connection. And I know you do too. In case you forgot that I know you read this. Lovelovelove. I'm not ashamed to say it. It's ALWAYS a good thing to send more love into the universe.

And I won't apologize for it. Especially when I'm pretty sure love is what you most need right now.

I'm in love...

...with Jason Mraz.

All over again.

(Yeah, you can all relax now.)

I started listening to his music back in my freshman year of college, spent in Seattle. My friends and I went to a fabulous concert of his at the Showbox, where a just-before-he-blew-up James Blunt opened. Both Mraz's and Blunt's music is so gorgeously soothing and mellow that it has come to characterize Seattle for me. I can't listen to it without flashing back to fond memories of the people and the places I left back there.

And recently, my best friend from that year tipped me onto Mraz's blog. He's been running a series of posts where he answers questions tweeted to him by fans. This week's installation particularly reminded me why I love him and all of his crazy hippie-zen sex-positivity.

From freshness factor five thousand, first the Tweeter's question, followed by Mraz's response.

klneville2004: What advice do you have for the commitment-phobes?

Assuming your talking about being in a dedicated relationship, if commitment is an issue, odds are there is something you aren’t admitting to yourself. You might have hang-ups or further adventures elsewhere that need attention first. You should talk about EVERYTHING with your partner and see how they handle the REAL truth. He or She will either support you, send you off on your journey, or you two will become even closer and realize that commitment is easy when sharing what’s on your mind. Commitment is listening. Not committing is possessive. To honor your word is to be of good service. Shying away from the truth is to carry a belly full of poison. Flush it out and let freedom ring.

I particularly enjoy that he doesn't equate commitment with monogamy. And I totally agree. While I respect those who associate monogamy with commitment and can be happy and fulfilled in monogamous relationships, I don't think the two are dependent on one another. Commitment is important, but like Mraz says, I think the term says more about honesty than it does about exclusivity. I believe it's entirely possible to be in a committed relationship with more than one person simultaneously. I don't think there's any fundamental contradiction there. In fact, I like to think that's exactly where I've found myself, relationship-wise. It involves making a commitment to be honest with my partners, to (as Mraz suggests) communicate as needed, and to do my best to make them and myself happy.

And none of that hinges on monogamy. Which I think is brilliant.

(Of course, at the same time, it doesn't exclude monogamy, either. I've actually been sincerely impressed with my partners' acceptance of what I need to do/experiment with, monogamy-wise. More on that in the coming weeks.)

My one-track mind...

..and how I worry it sometimes hurts people.

Well, maybe not hurts, exactly. But I do have a tendency to get singularly-minded and focus a great deal of my attention and concern on a single area. I like to finish something that I start. If I hear a new band that I like, I want all their music, and I will listen to it on repeat until I know all the lyrics.

It's part of the reason my job as a Web Editor is tough for me - it's so multi-dimensional, and there are so many big things happening simultaneously that I can't ever finish any single "project" in a day. That can get frustrating.

So, too, I'd imagine, can being my friend when I'm really excited about someone or something. I've realized that the past few weeks, my personal posts have all focused on The Optimist. And, indeed, he is becoming a consistent part of my life. I love that. I love that he's in my life and he honestly fascinates and excites me in myriad ways.

But there are other people in my life, too. People who, maybe, are a little more unsung. Perhaps it means I take them for granted, but especially in regard to one, I feel he's been making an effort to be more present in my life lately, and I haven't acknowledged it as openly as I should. I suppose affections and obsessions wax and wane naturally, but I'm pretty sure it's been a while since I've written a post really talking about Friend. (Who, rightfully so, points out that his nickname is the least inventive of those I am or have been involved with. I still contend that's primarily because he is first, foremost, and always, my friend.)

As a refresher, I've known him for a long time, and we've been sleeping together, on-and-off (off when I was out of town or when I test out monogamy, not because we're fighting) for a couple years. He is very, very smart, and some of my favorite memories with him are conversations we've had where we get in often one-sided debates railing on the uneducated masses. (Snobbery, you say? Never!) Especially when we are together, we are exceedingly silly. He is one of the few people in my life I can always count on to cheer me up when I need to take my mind off something by just being goofy. A week ago or so when he came over for dinner, we found ourselves playing in the rain in a sweetly romantic gesture.

All of these attributes aren't anything new, though. They are things that have always and continue to attract me to him. I love and appreciate them. What I wanted to recognize is what seems to have changed, especially since I've moved back after graduation.

Sometimes, when I was home for summers or vacations or whatever reason, I would get frustrated with Friend's seemingly inherent flakyness. It never felt malicious, it was just kind of... saddening when we would have plans and he just wouldn't show or he would fall of the face of the earth conveniently for the week I was home. I talked to him about it on various ocassions, and while he would apologize where appropriate, I didn't see any change right away. I had recently resolved to just stop letting it bother me. It was, I figured, part of his personality, and therefore part of our relationship. I could deal.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed him making - what feels like, at least - an increased effort to include me. It's nothing major, but they are those little things that I really appreciate. If he's running late or has to cancel on our plans, he'll shoot me a text. Whereas I've historically been the one to ask him to hang out, there have been several cases recently where he called me and wanted to see me, not the other way around. A few nights ago, he called me up to come help him build some things for work. Admittedly, he needed an extra hand, but it was still nice to feel like he'd thought of me. It was nice to feel included in a part of his life that's normally cordoned off for me.

(It's important here that he's not the only one cordoning off areas of his life. I do the same thing, and as such our times together are necessarily usually just the two of us. We are, essentially, one another's secondary partners. Other partners know about each other, but only in an abstract sense, for the most part.)

The past few times we've spent time together, actually, there hasn't been anything particularly sexual about it. Which, as strange as it might seem, makes it feel MORE like a relationship, not less. I'm not sure entirely WHY that is, but that's the result that often seems to happen.

Regardless, the point is that he's been making an effort. And it has meant something to me. And I haven't mentioned it. So now I am. Because it's awesome. And appreciated. Much love, Gun. ;-)

HNT: Satin III

This is the last of the HNT photos The Pilot took when he was here last month.

I suppose that's fitting. I haven't written about it, but my Relationship with The Pilot is... well, it's over. We're negotiating our way back into a friendship, but that is a process. It's a process I think we're capable of accomplishing... but it will take some work.

So, mention of The Pilot will likely be somewhat more sparse. It isn't his fault, and it isn't anything terrible. It's just the way it is.

But here is another shot he took. And I know it's similar to another I've posted before, but the angle is a little different, and I think it's rather beautiful. So is he.



HHNT!

"If I'm just bad news...

... then you're a liar."

If you're going to tell me you believed what they said, then you weren't who I thought you were.

But then again, I guess I didn't turn out to be who we thought I'd be, either. And I apologize for that disappointment. I apologize for getting carried away and seeing things that weren't there. I guess I was so eager to see everything go well for once that I jumped the gun. And did silly things like I did.

"They said don't, don't let it go to your head..."

But I refuse to believe everything was made up. I'm not entirely delirious. I haven't fallen that far down. Because we both know that I'm NOT always such terrible news. Not anymore. Hell, you've even seen me smile. And sure, things aren't always running as smoothly as they could, but I refuse to acknowledge that as entirely my fault. I actually think I've done a pretty decent job of carving a life out of these ruins.

"You're a touch overrated, you're a lush and I hate it, but these grass stains on my knees, they won't mean a thing.."

Of course, you never really even saw the ruins. They were there long before you. And I should have known that what we created out of them would still be standing long after you. Or rather, I should have recognized that there would BE a time after you. It's not as scary as I thought it might be, not as dark. Although I guess dreams which build up so quickly and with such intensity burn out in the same fashion.

"Maybe I should hate you for this - never really did ever quite get that."

Maybe it's because it had such striking beauty while it lasted. Well, you did. No, scratch that. WE did. We were beautiful for those moments. That's all they were, really, when you compare it against a backdrop of an entire lifetime. There isn't much that really is significant. And maybe that's why there's just a dull ache, and not the sharp, stabbing pain of loss. It's all just a memory now anyway.

To be honest, I'm not sure it was ever anything more.

On the absence.

I apologize. Once again. For my absence of late. I can't really explain it. I just haven't felt up to blogging lately. But I HAVE been thinking a lot about sex. Yes, I know, what else is new.

The week The Pilot spent with me was particularly emotional, for both of us. We did a lot of talking, a lot of drinking, and, well, a lot of everything. All of it was needed, and I think we're in a good place now, but it was hard for me, in a lot of ways. Don't get me wrong, it was also wonderful, and loving, and sexy and a million other things, but I guess I wasn't entirely prepared for the emotionality that came with his visit. I learned quite a bit about The Pilot, but also a lot about myself. I don't know whether to say I've totally recovered from all of that yet. So I'm just going to list some of the things I've discovered as of late. I'm sorry for the lack of inspiration here, but I guess these are things I need to get out of my system before I can move forward, and hopefully get myself out of this funk in time for Pride celebrations this weekend.

I am not broken. At least, not anymore. I've written before about the fact that, beginning a few years ago, I've had a particularly difficult time climaxing with partners. It didn't seem to be something physical, as I could get myself off, but there seemed to be some kind of emotional block or something. It hasn't been as pervasive lately, but I've still wondered if I would ever regain the ability I used to have to have several orgasms in a given session.

Answer: Yes. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Yes. Perhaps one of my favorite things about The Pilot is how willing he is to indulge and experiment with me and just roll with the result. In this case, he found a few of my buttons, and learned to press them long enough and in the right ways to get me off. Five times. In a row. I'm pretty sure that's never happened before. He seemed pretty proud of himself, and I think he certainly had good reason to be. Needless to say, I was an illiterate, malleable puddle of girl by the time he was done with me. I couldn't even form a sentence, let alone any of my signature snarky, self-confident comebacks.

But, as we learned another night, there is a limit. And my being unbroken doesn't mean I don't also freak out sometimes. I freaked out HARD. It wasn't particularly anything he did, but my head was somewhere else. And then I just stopped and floated away. My head wasn't in the moment, and my body doing something my head wasn't up to speed with just shut me down entirely. The Pilot was good about asking me what I needed and listening when I finally was able to speak (or even acknowledge that he was speaking to me) again, but it was a scary experience from me, just in how disconnected I could be.

Which lead me to start thinking about being disconnected from sex in general. Not especially from my partners, because they are an important part of my life, but from sex itself. I'm well aware of the cliched woman who, while her man is having sex with her, is counting ceiling tiles or going over the grocery list, but I've never been that woman. And I like not being her. And while I wasn't bored with The Pilot when I freaked out, I just realized I wasn't really there with him. And I didn't like it. I don't like feeling disconnected from what I'm doing, especially in the bedroom.

There are certain things in my past that have taught me how to disconnect what my body is doing from what my heart is feeling. I know this. And I've known I was capable of doing this. But I haven't done it lately. Or at least I didn't realize I had been doing it. But thinking about it, I have been, for years now, disconnecting relationships (little r or capital) from sex. Not that I don't have sex in my relationships, I certainly do... and good sex at that. But I don't often equate that action with being dependent upon the relationship at all. I was talking with my roommate the other night, and she said she'd never had sex with someone she really didn't like. I have. I've had sex with people I couldn't stand outside the bedroom. On repeated occasions. Because it was just sex. Sex itself has been so inherently separated from relationships, or even love or real feelings, that I had forgotten there was any other way to do it.

Talking to The Pilot about this, he was pointing out his philosophy, which is absolutely at the other end of the spectrum from mine. He ONLY has sex with people he really cares about. And as such, sex is intense with him. It was an interesting reminder of philosophies about sex that I haven't had, really, since I was about 16. I think there are valid reasons why I haven't felt that way in such a long time, but it was fascinating to be reminded that not everyone does that.

And it made me wonder if it was something I could go back to. I don't know if there's been too much... everything... in my life to think that way any more. But I want to give it a try. I'm not resorting back to monogamy, but I am pulling back a little bit. I don't totally know how to do that, so I'm fumbling my way through it. It has already started with pulling away from a few people - one being Jacob. I ended things with him... Romantic, sexual, and platonic. It was a selfish decision on my part, but he is somewhere where he needs me in a capacity I can't provide. And it wasn't fair to either of us for me to try to string him along in hopes of sparing his feelings. I should say that he handled it well, and like the grown-up I so want him to be. But there's always a little heartache involved.

It also involves not actually having sex (intercourse, although I hate that word) unless I really want to. Maybe that seems overly simplistic, and I don't have a brilliant explanation for why I'm holding out on penetrative sex, but it's a big deal to me. I want to see if it's something I can make special again. I don't necessarily want it to be the end-all, be-all, and to be honest I don't think I'll ever be at The Pilot's level of intensity about it, but I'm working on that as a model. And appropriating it for myself, and my personality and my history. And we'll see how it goes.

And finally, perhaps the scariest part among all this re-evaluating, there are things that have remained the same. Things I'm letting myself feel instead of quashing them like I usually do. And I must admit, they're driving me a little crazy. It's hard for me to not stop myself, convince myself what I'm feeling is wrong and unreciprocated and silly. It's kind of a losing battle.

But at least no one can say I didn't try.

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.

Feels just like I'm falling for the first time...

I'm going to go ahead and title this entry as such, even though I already know Friend thinks it's cheesy, and overly mushy or whatever, but I'm rolling with it. It's not only appropriate, it happens to be the theme song of the weekend, and the boy this entry is about, well, he already knows this song makes me think of him. And I should warn you that this might be the most giggly, girly rant I've published to date. I blame the boy.

But I'm not sure what to call him. There are so many things about him that fascinate me, I can't pick one to focus on. Every time I talk to him, I learn more about him and I am increasingly amazed. I cannot say enough good things about him. And he's done so many things, and in many ways, IS so many things, that I'm having trouble picking just one thing to identify him with. But what astounds me most about him (and he knows this), is his persistent optimism. It isn't naiveté in any way, but rather the honest and true belief that things will work out, that everything happens for a reason, and, I think, that people and life are generally and genuinely good. And that belief, that personality, is in such stark contrast to my own that I am just endlessly fascinated by it. By him, really. So, dear readers, allow me to introduce you to The Optimist.

He is a dear and long-time friend of some of my own dear and long-time friends, although we had never met before this weekend. At least not in any official capacity - we realized he had come to a party at my house in high school, but I don't know that we were introduced at that time. I met him this weekend at what became, essentially, a weekend-long lovefest at Nonboyfriend's house, along with Nonboyfriend's girlfriend, myself and The Scientist.

But all that is a story for another entry. Or five. This is just an introduction to The Optimist. I should preface this that I am a little nervous about writing on here, not because I've told him about the blog (although I have), but because often, when I put things I'm excited about into print, it seems to jinx them. And I would really, really like to NOT jinx this burgeoning relationship with The Optimist. If you hadn't known, you wouldn't be able to tell that we met just four days ago. While we're counting this weekend as our first actual meeting, it seems like we've known each other much longer. I'm hesitant to speak too much for him, but I know, for my part, I am shockingly comfortable around him.

He is warm and inviting and completely disarming. The optimism is contagious, affecting even my jaded moods. He's clearly brilliant - and a good deal more intelligent than I am - but I've never once felt talked-down-to. That intelligence is well rounded and applied and reflected in his speech and diction, but he isn't so proper that profanities don't escape occasionally (yes, sometimes at really opportunely sexy moments).

And speaking of sexy... His kisses are just... there are no words. Me. I have no words for how fantastic they are. They really should be a controlled substance, because I'm pretty sure I'm already addicted. And he'll bring his hand to my jaw and pull me to him and and and *swoon.* With some guidance from The Scientist, but also largely on his own, he's already figured out where my buttons are, and he takes non-verbal direction better than possibly anyone I've ever met. My skin, my entire body, is electrified when I am near him. It's like there's some current running through me, recharged every time his lips touch mine or his hands touch my skin or or or. And he says these beautiful things to me, and I love watching his eyes change color, or when he looks at me and smiles, a little sleepy, and pulls me tighter.

But it's more than that. And that's what really has me fascinated and simultaneously terrified. Because while, yes, I want him, I want to be around him. I want to talk to him. I want to hear about his life, I want to hear his thoughts on things, I want to hear him sing along to the car radio... I just want to know more about him. He listens to me when I talk, and asks questions that prove he's listening. And I find it so natural to return the favor, because he's just fascinating. It isn't that I don't find my other partners interesting, but at present, I've known them all for years, so the relationship is already established. I already know that I'm interested in them, and I know how to listen to them because we've spent so much time together. The Optimist and I have spent perhaps 24 hours with each other (total), and I feel like he has already reached that same level that I have with other partners I've known for years.

And that is scary. Establishing that kind of connection usually takes me much longer than it has with The Optimist. And I've talked to him about most of this, and he has taken it all in stride. Listened to my fears, validated them, and then, if need be, talked about them. I don't feel quite as much like a crazy person around him. I feel like maybe my feelings are reciprocated. Mostly because he tells me they are. Oh so eloquently.

So, yeah, basically, I'm in trouble. And can't wait to get into some more.

There are worse things I could do...

So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.

There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)

Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.

So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.



Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.

Sigh.

Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!

Love letter to a memory.

The pillows you'd put on the bed for me are scattered on the floor, along with the comforter we didn't need to keep us warm. There is still some tangle of sheets around our knees, lit by the sunlight just starting to break through your still-shut curtains. It gives your whole bedroom a soft, warm and inviting aura. Or that might be you. But the light does look beautiful on your skin, catching your eyes and your smile that you flash at me sleepily and affectionately. I melt and get goosebumps at the same time, and I think you know you do this to me. That must be why you keep smiling at me.

I sit up onto my knees, try to run my fingers through my hair, tangled from your hands and my own movements. As I start to fumble with the sheets, I hear you sit up, and feel your body heat before you've touched me. As you close that distance, one hand finds its way to my bare waist, my hips, and pulls me to you. Your other hand brushes the hair off my neck and shoulder before it joins the other at my waist. I close my eyes and lean into you as you kiss my neck, softly and sweetly. You pull me tighter to you as you rest your head on my shoulder, and as you do, I glance up - and see our bodies reflected in your vanity mirror.

And in that moment, kneeling in your bed, with your arms around me and your head on my shoulder, seeing us reflected and bathed in the light of morning, I felt more beautiful, and loved, and perfect than I ever have. Neither of us spoke a word, but you stayed with me, like there was nowhere else you'd rather be and I forgot there was a world outside your bedroom door. Our reflection made the moment cinematic in the grandest way. And looking at you, and your incomparable beauty, I was more beautiful, too.

Being with you was worth the wait. And surpassed every expectation I could have. Then again, that part I knew the moment you kissed me. Whenever I look up to see a full moon, I'm reminded of you. Thank you for being exactly what I needed. Thank you for being such an unbelievably beautiful memory.

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.