Visits to the doctor to assess my meds.
Looking for a new job in frantic bursts, then doing nothing on that front for days at a time.
Hours spent in bed, hiding in a book, because fuck reality.
Crying, then raging, then going numb, then feeling fine, rinse, repeat.
I can’t say much more than that. Writing more would require being able to untangle whatever is wrong with me, which I can’t. Can’t make sense of it.
I need an 8 hour therapy appointment, but that isn’t going to happen. Slowly waiting for the dust to clear so I can see what we’re dealing with here.
This is the reason I keep fooling around with Boss Man: to try to recapture our first time. It is such an insanely good memory. Like candy, so sweet.
I keep wanting that again, but I don’t know if I can ever have it again. I want the teasing. The playfulness. The passion. The curiosity and the banter. The completely inconceived and unfounded hope that just maybe, this could be something.
That hope has been dashed. Stomped on. Thoroughly decimated. But I keep holding on. I want him to hold me all night. Kiss me like he’s drowning and I’m his last hope. Fuck me like he’s been wanting this for a year and is desperate to have me.
But we have no future, and we know that now. I know that. I know he can be cruel. That he can hurt me like very few can. That he can turn his emotions on and off like a light switch, while I flounder and flail, trying to keep up, to understand, to hold on, to let go. I know all of this.
And yet, when he says he wants me again, I can’t help but want to say “Yes.” Because I hope that this time he will hold me. That he will mumble sweet things into my neck. That he will love me again, and erase the times between the first time and now, where I just felt like a used, dirty whore.
That I will somehow be able to justify what we’ve done, because again I’ll feel like it’s love. And love is messy and complicated and doesn’t follow rules like “do not cheat on your girlfriend.”
I don’t think I’ll ever have that again. The beautiful, passionate, true story of our affection, our lust, our discovery of one another, finally, after months and months of longing.
But I want it so badly. To bookend what we had/have with something that is not dirty, but is messy and painful and lovely and sweet.
Ok. I’ve got it. I have no close friends and no real family to speak of. I have my husband but as amazing as he is, I try not to lean on him too much because he has a lot of his own demons to deal with. His lows can cause me to spiral, and mine can do the same to him, so we’re careful with each other.
My two best friends live on the other side of the country and I haven’t seen them in two years. Even when I lived back home we were in different cities and saw each other a few times a year tops. I miss them so much and I’m so lonely.
I don’t share much with work friends because most people wouldn’t get the poly thing so I leave them at arms length. When I spend enough time with them to realize they’d judge my life if I told them, I stop hanging out with them.
I tried to form a poly family and that was a disaster. It led to so much heartache for all of us that I really seriously doubt ever wanting to attempt something like that again.
Then there’s Boss Man and he has been close to me since the beginning. We right away felt like we could be open with and trust each other. Yes there was a sexual attraction and a really strong connection that isn’t quite “in love” and isn’t quite friendship but something else unnamable. And I was lonely and sad and I asked him to fuck me.
Whatever was between us caught fire and exploded and expanded and took on a life of its own. And since then we have been trying to make sense of it.
Maybe we’re in love or maybe we’re soul mates or maybe we’re just sexy friends or maybe we’re best friends or maybe we hate each other. Maybe he’s using me for sex or maybe I’m using him for sex or maybe we’re just both unimaginably fucked up and can’t help self destructing together.
Today I finally talked to him about it. I told him I felt like I had no real friends, and he was not my friend. That he’d only spend time with me if he wanted sex and that he keeps blowing me off when we make plans to hang out.
He told me he feels like I only want sex, or that if we hang out together we’ll end up back at his place fucking and be back to square one.
I told him the way things are is making me feel used, and that is would really prefer to just be his friend but I feel like sex is the only way to get him to spend time with me.
So. No more sex. No more kissing or ass grabbing or dirty texts. Not because we feel guilty or because we don’t want to get fired or because we have no future. Not because of external situations. Because we want to be in each other’s lives and fucking just screwed it up.
The thing is, that it’s all so horribly unbalanced. He texts me any time he wants and I respond immediately and talk for as long as he wants to. If I text him and he doesn’t feel like talking, he just doesn’t reply.
He won’t make plans with me in advance (or he will, and then cancel), but he thinks he should be able to tell me to come over any time and I will (I don’t, because I’m usually busy by the time he gets around to asking, but then I spend hours wishing I was wherever he is).
I have been going through a very unhappy period. Everything has felt wrong. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to go to work, and I don’t want to stay home either. I don’t want to find another job. I don’t want to socialize. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be me. That is what it felt like.
And then…we hooked up again. At work. He fingered me against a wall and we kissed and then he lifted me onto the counter and kissed me again.
And the next morning I wanted to get out of bed. I wanted to see him. I told myself over and over again that it was just going to hurt, that this changed nothing. I begged myself to see reason–asking myself over and over, “Have you not cried ENOUGH???”
I have. I have cried enough. So what the holy fucking hell is wrong with me?
Why did I let him take me home and cum in my mouth? Why did I not tell him to fuck off and never talk to me again, when he refused to cuddle with me after because he broke his phone and it was more important to go get his phone repaired THAT INSTANT than to take ten minutes to at least pretend that I hadn’t just been horribly used?
Why am I waiting around for him to tell me if he wants to see me this weekend? So that maybe THIS time he’ll hold me, which is all I actually want?
There is something in me that is fundamentally broken. This is all just proof that I should stay away from broken people. I already have healthy relationships, and something inside me still wants this sick, twisted thing.
I don’t get it.
I save the selfies he sends me and email them to myself so no one finds them on my phone. When he’s being particularly shitty I have awful fantasies about telling his girlfriend about us. I never will, because I don’t have it in me, but it makes me feel better to pretend I have even a modicum of control.
And yet I have been here before. Where it’s all wrong and it hurts too much and I should just run as fast as I can in the other direction, but I don’t until I’m literally so fractured and bruised that I couldn’t continue even if I wanted to.
But why is he so good to me sometimes, and so bad to me others? Why is he so hot and cold? How he can make me feel so precious and yet so utterly irrelevant–even as a friend?
Why can’t I just be the one to push him away, for once?
It occurs to me that I am not handling the end of the affair very well. It’s not horrendously painful anymore, but I haven’t moved on. My feelings for him don’t completely overwhelm me or drive me insane, but they are still there.
I want to be neutral towards him but I’m not. When he tells me he is pretty sure he and Tinder Girl are going to break up before the end of the month, I have to actively discourage myself from hoping that’s true. Because even if they do break up, and even if we started up again, it would just lead to more pain and misery down the road.
I desperately want to spend time with him, and it’s a little pathetic. He might mention that maybe we can do something on the weekend and even though he is notorious for bailing, I will either leave my weekend open and he won’t see me, or I’ll make plans and then he’ll want to see me. It always happens that way. It’s probably for the best, but I can’t help just wanting to know him better. I just want to soak up all the him-ness that I can, even just as his friend.
It’s not a very healthy situation. I cannot just put my phone away or say “Okay, I’m going out now, talk to you later” when he is texting me. I crave being able to talk to him, to the detriment of everything else.
At work, I literally live by his moods. Today I was dancing and I caught him looking at me, with that look, that “I fucking love you” look, and it made me so happy. And then in the afternoon I tried to joke around with him and he completely ignored me. I wanted to steer clear of him from then on because it is so bad how he affects me. Then he started sending me selfies, and instant mood boost. I’m fucking bi-polar for him. It’s sick.
I am looking for a new job, but no luck so far. I need professional help.
Papa Bear and I have been having amazing sex. It has been off the charts. Every time is different and sexy and hot.
A few weeks ago we finally engaged in consensual non-consent (rape play). It is something I have been wanting forever, but it takes a lot of trust and a deep understanding of the other person in order for it to feel and be safe for both parties. We have talked about it enough that finally, one night, we just did it.
I started by teasing him. Doing a little strip tease, then dropping my dress back into place over my legs and pushing my thighs together.
I’d open my legs and play with myself a bit, then close them and wink. He’d kiss me and grope me and I’d reciprocate for a minute or two…and then scamper off.
Eventually, knowing exactly what I was up to and what I wanted, he pushed my legs open and used his mouth on me. I was clearly enjoying it, but I struggled, because that made it hotter.
He grabbed my wrist and pushed me towards the bedroom and threw me on the bed. I went back and forth between fighting him off and coming so hard I could barely stand it.
He choked me and spanked me and held my wrists against the bed, and I loved every second.
It was beyond hot, but of course, TOTALLY consensual. After two years of talking about it, we were comfortable and intimate enough to go there.
That is the difference between rape, and rape play. Rape play is fun for both of you.