Example

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Decisions, Decisions

There is nothing more embarrassing than unwanted cyber sex.

I was trying to finish a physics assignment with MSN running in the background when E (the guy in the last post) messaged me. He cut straight to the chase: he was coming into town in a few weeks and he wanted to get together.

Normally, this is the sort of encounter that I would jump at. The weekend he was coming down, I had agreed to house sit for some neighbours, so we would have a huge, beautiful house all to ourselves. On the other hand, I was plus one boyfriend since our last meeting.

But this man, this man is like a drug. No matter how many times I try to break the habit, I keep coming back for more. I agreed to meet him on the designated weekend, but I was very conflicted. All I wanted was for him to leave me alone while I decided what to do.

I tried telling him that I really needed to finish my assignment (which was true.) But he didn’t take the hint. Instead, he launched into a very graphic description of just what he intended to do to me once we were together. Normally I’d go along with it in the spirit of things, but today I was NOT in the mood. I didn’t want to tell him to take a hike, though, because I do care about him and he was clearly enjoying himself.

I tried to interject some witty comments in an attempt to cool him off, and finally he wrote:

“You don’t seem very turned on by this.”

My fingers were itching to type, “Yeah, well, your ‘heaving passions’ don’t go too well with my tangential acceleration,” but that would have been cruel. So I just said “I’m not very good at this.” Which was lame, but it shut him up.

I still had the problem of what to do about his impending visit. My body yearns for his, it always has, but every time we get together, I spend weeks afterwards sad and depressed. Like Samantha of Sex and the City says, “Sex with an ex can be depressing. If it’s good, you don’t have it anymore, and if it’s bad, well, you just had sex with an ex!” For reasons I won’t go into, an actual relationship with him is out of the question, and sex is just a reminder of what I no longer have.

And then, of course, there’s the issue of my current boyfriend. I love him. We’ve had a very complicated relationship, breaking up and only recently getting back together, but I feel closer to him than anyone else in my life. He’s someone I can see myself getting old with. Ever since I’ve started dating, all I’ve wanted is that one person to depend on, to be with the same person for years, even though I’m not even close to wanting to get married. He’s that person. We don’t play games; we fight but underneath it all is the understanding that we are committed to each other. I don’t live in that perpetual fear of rejection that has plagued most of my relationships.

So why would I want to throw that all away for one night with my ex? He excites me in a way that BF doesn’t. But is it worth it? I don’t think so.

I messaged E yesterday to tell him I can’t meet him this weekend. A part of me is very sad. But he’s bad for me. And I know it.

Welcome to the Cruel World, Continued

As much as I despise Celine Dion, I have always enjoyed the sentiment behind that song: “I drove all night to get to you.” That was probably my real reason for wanting to drive so far just to get laid; I just wanted to act out the song.

It was a beautiful night, with a huge harvest moon in the sky. I love driving late at night, looking at people in other cars and wondering where they’re going at such a strange time. The closer I drove to him, the more excited and nervous I became. It had been almost 8 months since I had seen him last. I wondered whether he had changed. What new tricks had he learned in our time apart?

He was my first love and the first person I ever slept with, roughly a year and a half ago. We broke up due to forces beyond our control, and have retained a certain…fondness for each other. Sex with him is always passionate, sometimes vicious, but always infused with a tenderness that would break my heart if I let it. No matter how many other guys I date and sleep with, I always come back to him.

By the time I had parked my car in front of his house, my pussy was already damp in anticipation. I knocked on the side door like he told me to, and I saw him at the bottom of the basement stairs, on his way up. He was as sexy and beautiful as ever.

He opened the door and grinned at me. “I can’t believe you actually came,” he breathed. I couldn’t, either, to be honest. It seemed slightly surreal to be standing in his door in the middle of the night, after so much time had passed. He drew me in and kissed me, his mouth on mine sweet and insistent and very familiar.

The sex was, sad to say, pretty boring, at least as far as a play-by-play goes. The usual. But the little details about him, those little things I had loved, resurfaced with a vengeance, making me ache for him. The feel of his soft blond hair under my hands and the smell of his scalp, which somehow reminds me of pine needles…the way his mouth tastes after he goes down on me…the unbelievable hardness of the muscles in his arms as he strains above me. He has the most gorgeous ass I have ever seen, hairless and incredibly muscular.

We finally slept, for a few hours, his arm clamped around me like a vice. I remembered the first time I had seen that forearm. Just the sight of it, the pale golden skin, the blond hairs, and I was in complete lust. How far we had come from that night.

Early in the morning, I woke to see him still sleeping. I admired his strong features, relaxed now and very peaceful. I swear, he has the face (and body) of a Greek statue. Marble, warmed and brought to life. I reached over and stroked his cock, until he groaned, rolled over and gathered me in his arms. He took me, and I clung to him, with my fingertips I held him fast. His body was a spar, I held it even as I felt him slip away, for another 8 months, maybe forever.

I left him with a kiss, and no promise of a next time.

I had fooled myself into thinking I had driven three hours for a booty call. I realized I had come looking for validation, for tenderness, for love. No matter what front I may put on it, even to myself, being dumped is hard. Even being dumped by a boring, insensitive asshole is painful. But as I walked back to my car across his damp lawn, the taste of him still on my lips, I knew I was whole again.