Close CallPosted: April 6, 2015
The Husband is working evenings now. I get home from work sometime around 4, 4:30, and he is gone by 6. We needed to rearrange his schedule so we wouldn’t need to put our preschoolers in daycare, but that means I get significantly less time away. Obviously, someone needs to be here with the kids.
When I worked afternoons, I could go out right after work, because regardless, the kids would be asleep by the time I got home. I was with them in the mornings, but I always missed bedtime.
Now if Papa Bear wants to spend time with me, he needs to come to my place. And last time, for the very first time, we fucked at my house. I got drunk and he bent me over the couch and pounded me. It was hot. I squirted everywhere, soaking the throw we keep on the couch.
In a way, this is a good thing. It means that I can’t go out for random sex most nights, and on the nights The Husband is home, I either want to spend time with him, or with Papa Bear. But I can’t help feeling frustrated at the same time. Old lovers are coming out of the woodwork. No one I was ever serious about–just people I’d hooked up with, plus men from dating sites, hoping to hook up with me. I am booked solid. I cannot do it without taking time away from one of my existing relationships, or my kids.
But I really, really want a random fuck. A no-strings attached rendez-vous. I’ve actually been thinking about Sugar Daddy, if you can believe that. That asshole! Yet I’m strangely tempted to text him with nothing but the words “fuck me”.
I will make time. I will spread my legs. I will sneak away and say I am shopping for work clothes, or meeting a friend for a long lunch, and I will let him go at me for three or four or five hours. Oh fuck yes.
Also, I’m drunk. That’s how I cope now. I read The Buddha and The Borderline, as recommended by Little Miss Lola. I have been trying to be zen, but the problem is that its hard when you literally feel like everything in your life is swirling around you. I tell myself to breathe deeply. Focus on the moment, or if the moment sucks, attempt to not view it as “good” or “bad”, just fact, and think about how to get through it instead. Sometimes it works, but sometimes my nerves are shot to hell and I need wine to calm me the fuck down so I don’t lose my shit.
I want pot brownies, but I think I’d be going over to a bad place if I added a substance that tasted delicious to my list of self-destructive tendencies.
I wrote the beginning of this post nearly a week ago. Here’s what’s happened since:
I looked in my “blocked” folder on my phone, and saw that Sugar Daddy, wonder of wonders, had texted me a couple days before. I sent the text I mentioned above–the one with the words “fuck me.”
I thought I’d get laid, then not hear from him for awhile. Get laid again when similarly horny, not having it be anything or cost anything. Instead, he said he’d broken up with his girlfriend and Jailbait. That he wanted to start seeing me again. He asked about my relationships, and I told him they were still in tact and going well. He said he was fine being third behind The Husband and Sugar Daddy.
I did not want him to be third. I did not want him to be anything.
He asked which nights I was free, and I told him. He said he was booking me for a couple, and listed the dates.
My “oh shit” meter went off. This wasn’t what I wanted.
He asked about my husband’s career. He said he’d help him get a day job so we could hook up more often.
My discomfort grew. I thanked him, but didn’t forward him the information he requested. I talked to The Husband, and he said this was bad news. I talked to Papa Bear and he asked me to please stop.
I was horny. So horny. I didn’t want to make love, or look into anyone’s eyes. I did not want to hear that I was loved and treasured. I wanted to be fucked into oblivion. It was a palpable need.
I went on OkCupid and went through my messages. A cute blonde guy one year younger than me wanted to know if I was into casual sex. Bingo. I would fuck him instead.
I told Sugar Daddy I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to start seeing each other again. I blocked him once more, and set up a date with The Blonde.
It was supposed to happen today–we are both off work for the Easter long weekend. It was supposed to happen in an hour. But I cancelled this morning. This isn’t what I want or need.
Maybe this did not happen of my own volition. The Wifey has been away, so Papa Bear has been hanging out with me and my family during the day, and we have spent two nights together, fucking like rabbits. He took the edge off. It was delicious. We watched porn. We did not get emotional. I stroked his cock under the table when we went out for dessert, and he fingered me in the car on the way back to his house, calling me a slut. So. Much. Sex. So much screaming sex.
He loves me and he likes to show it when we are in bed together, but I think he realized what I need in order to not relapse again. I’m still horny–but not unbearably so. Just a warmth spreading from my tits to my cunt.
I have things to do today. Paperwork. Chores. Errands. Work stuff.
I will see my Papa Bear tonight, and he will bend me over the side of the couch and fuck me like I need him to.
But I’m proud of myself for evading this potential crisis. Nothing has the power to control me, if I don’t let it.