Apr 052017
 

The conversations pieces were from notes (in bold) that I posted in this blog February 2nd, 2016 and I show I last modified this post in May of 2016. Some of them blurred as to exactly when they occurred as I truly was an emotional wreck on the drive and for a few weeks after he asked for the divorce. I believe the May edits were probably more of spelling edits and of course my introduction (before the bold) was just written).

My letter D for this year was almost my letter D for last year with the post Driving, but I wasn’t to that part of the story yet, so I modified it to be P for Pressure:

“I drove across the country, literally from one coast to the other, with my family and what belongings I could take. I only stopped to sleep, get gas, and food. I was exhausted but pushed on, rushing because I was finally going to moving in with my husband and I had job interviews to make.

Every time he talked to me, he mentioned how hard it was for him to know that soon he wouldn’t see his girlfriend all the time, how great his girlfriend was, how soon I would meet her, asking how soon I would allow them to see each other all the time again. He told me the night before I was to arrive that she sent me a message asking when I would meet her so that I would be fine with them.

Five hours before I arrived, 42 hours later on the road, he told me that some kink events I wanted to go to I couldn’t, because I was a bad person, because he went to those things with her and it just wasn’t right that we would be going instead of him with her.

I told him, exhausted and really tired of every mile closer to him getting more negative about my arrival because of what it meant to their relationship, that I didn’t want him to have a relationship with her anymore….”

I shouldn’t have pushed for him to end their relationship, perhaps I was beyond tired and emotional from the trip. What I didn’t share (but of course wrote down because I write down every damn thing it seems) is some of the conversations I was having with him (not her, she reached out too, a reason why I blocked her on Fetlife later).

“Shy timid virgin foreplay” were words he used to describe how she was so very different from me, some qualities that he really appreciated. He felt that he could mold her, teach her, something I knew he always found appealing and why he used to explain his surprise at liking “someone like me” when we first started dating – he used to look down upon and judge women who were very experiences sexually. He found the concept of virgins or inexperienced women appealing. I was trying to be happy for him at this point in the car drive still, and he only ever wanted to talk about her, kept diverted the conversation I was trying to steer of plans of seeing each other again and our future back to her. I had probably prompted the conversation to thing that he had experienced that perhaps I could do as well, and he dismissed my ability to do so with this type of talk.
“So tight,” a comparison I didn’t want to hear (if it was even a comparison or just a description) and one that pinged so many of my insecurities that I winced at even through the phone as if I’d been hit. I have no idea why he felt the urge to explain her in this towards the end a long day of my driving closer to him. It led to keeping me awake that night in a hotel room, trying to talk myself away from so many fears.

Doing new things,” and all the sudden, the closer I got to him on the drive, the more he shared about wanting to experience new things with her, and what they had already done that was new to him; including “cutting with my knife,” and  “buying of toys.” I was incredibly upset over the knife that I viewed so symbolically as ours, as leading us towards kink, being used on another woman. He had other knives, but he used ours. I tried to convince myself that I had no right to get upset because I had never vocalized how I viewed the knife as just ours, never thought to. It wasn’t his fault – he probably just naturally gravitated towards that knife for use on another because that what he knew from us.

Day two on the road and his grumpy tone of: “When will I see her again”, how he would miss sleeping next to her, telling me to check her Fetlife “message to meet,” and respond, though I was driving, to give her reassurance – which I did and wanted to. Later in the day he described how they were both crying at the loss that my arrival would mean, “how she was already pushing for more,” though the details of what that meant were vague, though he stated that soon he would want her to live with us. He said that he didn’t want to go to events with me because what if she was there, and they had already, in the two weeks that he knew her, had already gone to several public events together and that was their thing. When I argued that, he compromised me on some events he would go to with me, but ensuring that she wouldn’t be there first.

When I mentioned that suddenly I felt like she was more important, he stated that she was “no more important than you,” and I felt done with the drive towards his, felt like I was no longer important at all, felt like a woman he knew for two weeks would always be a priority over me, the family and future, we had built together.

I felt like he no longer wanted any part of that. As I drove towards him, I made an ultimatum: I didn’t want him to see her while we settled in for a few weeks, and then when kept describing how wonderful she was and how awful I was, I further that threat and said that he had a choice of her or me.

42 hours on the road, when I could no longer turn around nor veer towards somewhere else for the night: was when he told me he wanted a divorce, no longer wanted to be with me. 5 more hours more I was in front of his door, having no where else to go, exhausted and hysterical, begging for him to forgive me and be with me.

So these were the conversations or notes in bold that occurred, that broke my heart little by little each mile I traversed.

Apr 042017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

*This was written four months after my ex husband asked for the divorce.Wicked Wednesday

“That’s some pretty intense scrutiny for someone who wants to start with a clean slate. Plus we have to be able to trust that we will both be able to forgive and move on, and yet I feel that you are looking for more reasons to leave.

This isn’t healthy, and it’s not working towards the trust we want to re-establish.”

This is a text I sent my ex-husband. It echoes so many other texts and talks and emails. It’s hard untangling all the ways that kept you connected to another person, and we sorted and shifted and disengaged through so many modalities – the downfall of a long term relationship and often a long distance one from being in the military.

He stalked me online – there is just no other to state that. These scenarios were both while we were separated and the few days every so often that we “reconciled”. I sent the both text while we were reconciled and he wanted to forget everything and start anew, just a few weeks after he asked for the divorce.

Of course, he had easy ways to do it – the blog, twitter. I blocked his twitter account, he created another. Told me I couldn’t stop him as twitter is fairly anonymous. Confronted me on what he was reading, though he no longer had that right. Told me I was breaking his heart, using a guilt tactic (and I’m sure it was true, but still used it as a manipulation ploy), so I told him to stop reading me, to stop trying to find out what I was up to if it bothered him so much. I asked that he at least have the decency to not lash out at me verbally.

He used a lost phone app and would track where I was, even using the sound system if I blocked his phone calls, and one point locking my phone (it ended up locking an old phone not my current one) when I still refused to talk to him. The app was deleted off my phone from that point forward.

He would call me and question whose phone numbers I was calling, why did I talk to them so much, threatened to call them up as well. We disentangled the phone bills – I was removed from his plan.

photo credit: Tom Simpson Space: 1999 monster via photopin (license)

Why was I in (x.y,z) place, what did I spend the money on? Another slippery hold untangled of our bank accounts separated, another knot that bound us cut and severed.

I blocked him on Fetlife, he created a fake account, pretended to be a female and befriended the new rope people I was making, reached out to me through Fet on this fake account and stated was new and shy, and was hoping to make my acquaintance since we knew the same people, asked to be friends – which I fell for because she/he was friends with my new acquaintances. All so he could see my pictures on Fetlife and see if I was up to anything new. He confessed this sometime in the summer, one moment while we were happy in a post sex haze and in each other’s arms.

He didn’t get through on other social media sites like Facebook (but then again, I was hardly on).

And shortly after that confession, he again told me it could no longer work (probably due to being resistant to compromise on my end because by that point I felt like it was more of control).

So his girlfriend took up the reins. He had already confessed that his girlfriend was just as crazy and stalker-ish as he confessed to, that she would go through his phone and sometimes text me like it was him – just to see what I would say. She would also email me, pretending to be him – one time specifically to see if I would be desperate enough to drive to the halfway point to fuck him “one last time”. He knew this, but never said anything to me until that post-haze sex confessional.

But what he didn’t share was that he would also text and email me hurtful things to push me away to prove to his girlfriend that he wanted nothing to do with me, so that he could share that information with her and reassure that all was right in their relationship and he had moved on.

What he didn’t expect was that she would email me after he shared an email he sent me (and that then shared my email address with her) and harass me since I had blocked her on as many different modalities as I did. I was protecting him, still months later, on his cheating on her with me. Once she harassed me through email, and he had just broken it off with me (again), I had had enough. Readers may remember the painful post where I finally published a draft called Dialogue with brand new ex, in which I stated just a few of the things we did within weeks after he requested the divorce. He had asked me to keep it a secret, and I had respected that wish through all the heartbreak of being off and on with him – but he he betrayed my trust too far in allowing her to harass me to such an extent.

I was unsure why she even felt the need.

She left him shortly after the blog post, and her and I had a quick heart to heart, mostly sharing how he played us both with his cruelty and sharing of information (because he would do the same things to me for reassurance of their communication).

I would like to say that she and I both learned our lesson and no longer had anything to do with him, but we did not. Even know, I find myself thinking of excuses for him on why he behaved the way he did.

I guess the biggest excuse for us all is that love makes us do crazy things.

Apr 032017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

** After we separated, I heard “he’s not that smart” repeatedly. From almost everyone. This was written three months after our separation.

Now, I did hear this a lot when when we were together, but I heard it constantly once we separated. Sometimes it was said as a comparison, for example, he wasn’t smart enough for you, or I don’t know how you tolerated someone so far below your own intelligence. Sometimes it was said as way of balancing out his better qualities to more neutral ground, for instance he was so nice but an idiot.

I am not discussing how he was an idiot for leaving me – though I heard that too. I am talking about his overall intelligence level.

What is it about talking about a person’s flaws and faults, or insulting them, after someone leaves them? To make them feel worthy of more? I felt worthy of him, and even at times didn’t feel that I deserved the happiness he gave me so would sometimes self sabotage the relationship. And by people critiquing him afterwards, they were still insulting my own intelligence by choosing him to begin with.

A far more productive comment I heard is that he would do (x, y, and z) which didn’t work with my personality, or which hurt me. Facts  and actions, not judgments or opinions on character defects.

And honestly, I didn’t find him stupid – a fact even our mutual friends can’t believe (and didn’t believe even when we were together). So telling me that he is not intelligent doesn’t make me feel any better about separating from him- it actually takes away the validation of my sharing my life and future with him.

I may be guilty of this destructive soothing verbiage towards loved ones as well, but I hope I learn from being the recipient. It isn’t soothing, it’s insulting, and it makes me feel the need to defend him rather than make me feel better.

Apr 012017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.
** The following was written two weeks after he requested the divorce.

He’s rewriting history.

“I didn’t choose her over you, I chose the area, my career, being close to my family”

I guess he’s conveniently forgotten when I showed up to his doorstep with high-paying job interviews lined up ready to move in with his family for a couple of months until we could get our own place in the area.

Good thing I wrote down things (which granted is going to be bias), because he’s completely rewriting history.

He told me, as I traveled back to our home to gather our things and questioned how I was to packed everything, that I should spread my legs to get moving help. Then he criticized my slutfest and said I was disgusting.

And then he was upset that I won’t sleep with him this weekend and telling me that he’ll help if I have sex with him. It is our stuff that he is talking about, while mostly mine, I packed up anything that had meaning to him, that was sentimental, things he didn’t even ask for (because the only thing he asked for was rope making materials).

“Throw it away, I don’t want it,” he told me when I requested about pictures.

He’s throwing out the truth to deflect his own actions. I hope that I do not the same just to make myself feel better –  how easy it is to rewrite history.

***He told me that first quote repeatedly the 7 months we were on and off in reconciliation attempts. A few of those attempts I was willing to even move back up to his area and walk away from the safety (and small support) of my hometown again.  

Apr 302016
 

Z is for Zilches, for my A to Z Challenge. Zilches mean: a quantity of no importance. This was written two months ago. 

“I want us to work, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Tell me how many people you have been with,” that’s how my husband began the phone conversation one late night, about two weeks after asking for a divorce.

photo credit: Numeri via photopin (license)

photo credit: Numeri via photopin (license)

He knew about 3 or 4, I told him about all 8.

“You’re disgusting,” he said, “and I’ll remember I said it this time.”

What difference does 3 make or 8? We weren’t together, it was none of his business who or what I did with them. I was honest when he asked, and I was being punished for it.

“I knew you would sleep around, I just didn’t know it would be that much.”

I fail to see where the problem is, where the number makes any difference. He knew and accepted I did sleep around, why should how many matter?

Slut shaming.

They were not significant and they didn’t lessen his significance. The significance of any number in my life is the fact that my husband is the ONE who I have trusted and confided everything to, the ONE who I have truly bared my soul and laid myself out vulnerable. He is THIRD in my life who I have confessed to loving, but he is the FIRST that I really exposed my heart to.

*As a follow up: over the course of two months, he will occasionally call me in a similar manner about wanting to get back together at all costs, but first he needs to know all the details of what I’ve done in the time that he’s been away. I think it really bothers him not to know. And then I’ll hear some excuse of why he doesn’t want to be with me, or worse – many reasons why he doesn’t want to be with me. No kidding the last time I heard this was April 21, right before our wedding anniversary.

I think he does this for two reasons:

  1. He seriously feels like he needs to know every detail of my intimate life; and,
  2. He is currently fighting/arguing with his girlfriend and he wants to have me lined up just in case.

It’s taken me about two months to figure out he has zero intention of being with me again, he is simply playing with me for some unknown reason (but clearly I can guess).

Apr 292016
 

Yummy Men is truly the ultimate of my Slutfest week stories, for the letter Y for my A to Z Challenge.

Slutfest: a week and a half between my husband leaving me, my travel back to our home, and packing up the remainder of our stuff to move it across country and say goodbye to every thing I knew. My sis A named it that with her friends in the periods between when they were single, and my sister helped me design an online profile to attract the type of men that only wanted a hook up. Apparently, I’m the only one of her friends – herself included – to do slutfest completely sober, all the more reason why I’m suited to it, she commented. I am truly emotionally unattached to sex, if I chose to be so.

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

Slut fest total: 8 in 1.5 weeks, 3 of them prior partners

I went for the “pretty boys“, mostly the young military men newly formed and sculpted, the ones who spent hours a day at the gym and hours more being active at work. They would even message me asking if I were interested in someone younger. I went strictly for looks and perhaps that is why I was overall unimpressed with skill, except the last guy. I am often not attracted to looks, it is not important to me, and maybe that’s I changed my tactic this time – to be the opposite of me; plus if they were just going to be a body to fuck and nothing more – the body should be in peak physical form to satisfy me..at least in theory.

Again, the reality is that these men overall didn’t bring skills to the table, perhaps they thought their gorgeous bodies were the only thing needed. And they were pretty to look at, to touch.

But many of the men couldn’t stay hard (I heard a lot of condom griping), didn’t care about my pleasure, foreplay was unimportant, sex was the monotony of ramming as fast as they could without angles or even rhythm.

Sometimes I wondered if I was just there to fill the empty places in them, the same way that I was using them. If it even mattered at all what the opposite person in front of us wanted or needed, because they were just a distraction from ourselves. The men didn’t know me any better than I knew them. Was I another notch on their post, a conquest gained, or did they seek me out to combat the lonely holes in their own lives?

I used sex for all the wrong reasons during slutfest, but I am still glad I did it. I felt desired, I felt like I could find another and that I didn’t need to worry about being alone the rest of my life; I felt like I could relax and rest and recuperate before pursuing something a bit more real and authentic – whatever that ends up being.

I don’t think I’ve got fucking out of my system wholly, I do after all truly enjoy sex for the sake of sex, but I am more ready to take a deep breath, be a bit more patient and less desperate, and seek out someone compatible rather than a distraction I was to discard immediately.

Apr 282016
 

I’m not even trying to match X for my A to Z Challenge. Might as well admit it now. So this is for the letter X.

So last minute, after I sworn off the hit it and quit its, I get a message from someone wishing me good morning. I wanted to end my slut fest on a good note, and after the emotional night before, I decide to give it another shot.

I am nothing if not optimistic.

He was cute, a smile that was absolutely contagious, and an amazing body. He didn’t waste time but suggested we go to the bedroom, which was perfect for a hook up.

He takes off his shirts and reveals such an amazing body. I take off my shoes and socks as I watch him.

Suddenly he comes over and pushes me down on the bed. He grips my wrists above my head and tells me that I’m going to do what he says, asking for consent in the demand.

He has this sweet southern gentleman charm about him, and I’m unsure if this is him or because this is what I told him I wanted days ago.

Regardless, I voice my consent. We kiss and our bodies press together, I can feel how hard he is through his sweat pants. I go to kiss his neck and he slaps my face, telling me that he didn’t tell me to kiss his neck.

Slapping my face probably should have been discussed and consented to prior, but he isn’t my first uneducated partner by this point. I’m beginning to realize that many people just do things first and hope it’s okay rather than ask. I was trusting in the fact that if I asked him to stop, he would, but honestly, for some reason that probably is a darker one, I didn’t mind the face slapping. Which he did throughout the course of our time together, a few times quite hard to where my cheek was marked.

He kept a serious face and firm tone, had strong arms to manipulate me where he wanted me.

He was about pleasing more than anything, however. His fingers brought me to orgasm, then his mouth devoured me for so long. He was the first hook up to go down on me, and he was skilled at it. After awhile, he told me to sit on his face, his arms picked me up as he laid there and move me to his face. The wall was a bit close and my forehead hit it as he navigated me over him, but I didn’t pay attention to it, as his mouth already closed on me.

We had already discussed anal, and I said I hadn’t and wouldn’t do anal, but some stimulation was nice, so he asked if he could finger me. I said yes, and he spit and inserted a finger. After a minute he tried two but that was painful, so he went back to one as his mouth fucked me.

He ordered me to go down on him and then have sex with him. He wasn’t fully hard the majority of the time that we had sex. He alternated between ordering me to watch him stroke himself and having sex with me.

When we went to be doggy style, he spit on my asshole and inserted a finger, then two but I protested how it felt, so for some reason then he tried to slip himself inside my ass. I told him no and he slid inside my cunt and asked if that was what I wanted.

The fact that he wasn’t staying hard prevented truly decent sex, but I was already pleased from everything else and it felt good. I liked his commanding presence and the fact that he was about my pleasure. Every time I opened my eyes, he was staring at my face.

At one point, while I was riding him, he told me to spin around but to keep him inside of me. He wasn’t fully hard and I knew it was going to be impossible. He looked up at my pondering face, cracked a huge smile, and told me it was fine. His smile, I can’t stress enough, was breathtaking, and a sign of the softer side of him that I thought he was versus the stern one he was showing himself to be.

When I moved to be reversed, I watched his thigh muscles bunch and tense while I raised and lowered myself. It was mesmerizing until he yanked my head back with my hair, thrusting his hips up as I slammed myself down even harder, arched back.

When I became tired and rolled off of him, he ordered me to suck on his balls while he stroked himself, told me to spread my legs so he could finger me at the same time, and told me that when he came I was to “lick it up”.

He especially loved watching me lick it up. Then he held me and told me how hot I was, how much fun it was, and how much he enjoyed himself. I stroked his chest hair for a few minutes and then rolled over, sweaty and hot. A few minutes later, he left.

He really was a sweet, and gorgeous, man. By far the best hook up so far, and the first I would I would want a repeat performance from.

*As a follow up, he still fantasizes about me and we message each other back and forth at least on a weekly basis even months later. If we ever get near each other, and we’re available, odds are pretty strong we’ll hook up again. I never imagined making a friend out of an online one-night hook up, but he certainly is becoming a friend of mine by this point. 

Apr 272016
 

Wishy-Washy is what he described himself, so I’m using that for W for the A to Z Challenge. While written two months ago, not much has changed with us in these two months. I would like to especially thank my husband for allowing these posts to be shared, as long as I take out certain parts – which that decision was a good one as my intent is not to be hurtful but express heartache and confusion in the ending of my marriage. He is handling me badly – has treated me poorly in this ending, but he is a good guy overall whose intention isn’t cruel.

photo credit: Passing via photopin (license)

photo credit: Passing via photopin (license)

I’m angry, I’m sad. I feel lost. I feel unloved. I feel that this is fair. I feel that I don’t deserve better. I feel that this will rip us apart. I feel that this will make us stronger. I wanted this. I didn’t want it like this. I feel like this is a tiny death that we can be renewed from. I cling to the past. I want to spring off from this towards a future. I’m done. I’m in love.

It doesn’t help that he is also so back and forth. “Let’s have sex,”, to “you’re disgusting – I wouldn’t touch you.” He wants me, his wife, to be the other woman because he’s already in a committed monogamous relationship with her. “You can’t tell anyone,” he tells me before he propositions to fuck me.

He compares us in the bedroom – something that deeply disturbs me if for no other reason than I’ve no wish to hear details of their sex life and that it is maybe a reason why he wants me back – for purely physical reasons. For some reason, I am now more emotional and he is more physical when it comes to sex – a complete opposite to how we’ve ever been in all our years together.

He fucks me – expresses how amazing it all was, and goes back to her.

He tells me he loves me – creates a happy illusion for her, still going off afterwards and choosing her nonetheless.

He tells me he believes that his future includes me, that every scenario he envisions I am in it, that I will give him the best future – but he wants what he has with her as long as possible.

I block his number because he calls like we are friends, demands details of what I am doing and who with – he changes his number and yells at me for blocking him. I try to be friends with him, after all I’ve been friends with all my exes, but he has crushed me in a way that I’ve not experienced, and I don’t know how to cope.

I have no self-pride, there are times that I bend because my heart urges me to and I become the other woman to my own husband, and then he leaves it tattered and shredded because he changes his mind, does not know his own mind.

He tells me he wants me back because:

“I think I want to get back together because I pity you.”

“Insert a myriad of negative comments about his girlfriend here.”

He tells me it’s not about her, that his decision has nothing to do with her.

And I…I feel desperate, like I would give him the world to be in his arms, and I hate that desperation. I hate how he can reach into me and manipulate me so easily. I hate how I feel that I deserve to be alone, or second place. I hate how I feel weak and vulnerable. I hate how I don’t know how to move on yet, I am impatient with myself.

I get angry, and it’s all directed at me.

 Posted by at 8:11 am
Apr 262016
 

Vacant would be a good adjective for my next two men, for my A to Z Challenge. There was a lot absent in the experience with both of them – one an entire memory, the other was just a self centered jerk who I still continued with because I was desperate to stop the hurting. I ended up far more hurt than I could have imagined.

photo credit: via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

The ginger I was unconscious for.

I have no recollection of what he looked like, neither his body nor face, though the dating app shows pictures of him. I found two condoms in the trash can the next morning.

That doesn’t make him a bad guy – he was probably unaware of my mind state. That night, after so many nights of crying but still not sleeping, my sister gave me an Ambien, where I apparently had what is known as an Ambien blackout. I probably started messaging him first, regardless of what I did next to unconscious, I gave him my address somehow during this blackout.

I don’t remember him leaving either, but thank goodness he did, because that would have freaked me out – to wake up with a strange man in my bed.

There are just a few moments that I remember, it would all amount to a total of five minutes perhaps, but it was was at different parts.

I answered the door in a flannel.

I remember going down on him and nothing else on a physical level – I don’t remember actually wrapping my mouth around him, just leaning down to do it.

He repeatedly asked: “where have you been the three years I’ve been here?” and I remember thinking he repeated that question a lot.

And compliment after compliment from him.

Thank goodness he messaged me the next day, otherwise I would have been clueless who I slept with during the night. He kept the conversations very focused to things like his free time over the weekend and how he wanted to see me during them.  He was sweet and kept messaging, telling me his work schedule and asking about what I was doing so that he could see me again. Neither of our schedules worked out – I didn’t see him again* and I really wanted to – just to know who he was that I had slept with. It is odd to me to sleep with someone I don’t know/remember.

>>>>>>>>>>Another Night, another guy<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Pull Out Get Out, seriously if I could name a guy (which I can on my blog) it would be that. The dude was gorgeous (slutfest was mostly about female votes on who was the hottest as a deciding factor for my one night stands), but he didn’t ask a single question about me and then left immediately afterwards… seriously he pulled out of my body, rolled off of the bed, stood up, dressed, and muttered about going to smoke as he shut the door…and didn’t return.

He was also the only man during slutfest that I was set up with, a friend of a friend who immediately came over when he heard I just wanted sex and then talked a lot about himself as an awkward getting-to-know you, but wasn’t curious in the slightest about who I was. I knew nothing about him outside of his work (his only topic).

I was tired that night and almost skipped a night of hit-it-and-quit-its and by the time he left me, really wished I would’ve stuck to that instinct.

It wasn’t all bad: he made the sexiest grunting noises, but zero foreplay outside of what I did to him. It was all about him, just like the conversation.

It also felt like he was splitting me in two; he was far too big especially with my body not thoroughly prepped but still he pressed in, pressed on.

Him on top, me on top, doggy style for some stupid reason even though that made him bigger.

He hurt my cunt to mirror my heart, perhaps that’s why I allowed it.

I felt terrible about being with this man, would rather have been a guy of my choosing – which it didn’t feel like it was, this meeting of a friend already negotiated for sex.

However brief  the conversations and connections, at least on the dating apps I saw them first, they engaged with me, messaged at least a bit to get a feel of something.

I was so emotional when I knew he truly left (I had to check because he didn’t say anything); I didn’t quit crying that entire night.

A terrible end to what I thought of as slut fest, the one that spotlight shined the desperation in it.

I was a hole, and no matter how many cocks slid into my hole, it was there incomplete, wounded, gaping, exposed. Disgusting. Unworthy.

…Unloved

*He texts me still, constantly for awhile. Apparently, I was amazing at giving him head and being on top. He wanted to know when I would come back to the state so that we could hook up again, and I gave him that chance when I visited again about a month and half later. I believe that I wrote about that second encounter as well, this man that I had slept with but was meeting for the first time. He was/is nice.

 Posted by at 8:54 am
Apr 252016
 

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U is for Ultrahot (yes it’s really a word) for my A to Z Challenge. This man I experienced a lot of firsts with, and he has to have been the hottest I had ever had sex with (if we’re going by society’s standards – he didn’t turn me on physically the most out of every body.)

He was pretty. His photos were of a body that was incredibly sculpted, his smile friendly. He had light eyes and hair. He contacted me within minutes of my new dating profile that my sister had helped me create for “slutfest” – as she called it. In my profile, were a lot of lingerie and me in a bed type pictures so people didn’t get the wrong idea. The tagline and profile was a mixture of corny and pretty direct – I would have never written it myself, but with sis A at the helm of the keyboard, my inner most slut was polished and put on online display.

If he would have contacted me later, I wouldn’t have responded, as his message was generic. The first few guys had the advantage in that I had zero expectations towards communication. And the amount of communication I received in being so direct in just wanting sex was staggering.

We exchanged messages, and then kik (which I created because he suggested it). He was respectful, left openings in the conversations, but didn’t come across as aggressive or desperate.

We met at my place, the place I went back to to pack up the remainder of what I could gather in the home my husband and I had shared – all the way across country (this time I flew back). It was still in the same week my husband had turned me away, and I figured that I needed to empty the house belongings before I looked for a job since I couldn’t guarantee my husband would help me move later. (He did offer to help in about 2 months, but that was no guarantee with two people divorcing.)

I stuck out a hand and introduced myself at the door – how does one make an introduction to an online hookup…a kiss, a hug, a handshake? He was my first ever hookup in such a manner. I asked if he wanted to go into the bedroom; he smiled and said yes, eyes widened in surprise at my directness, but he was there for one reason only and I didn’t want to engage in small talk – I was still crying daily and the smallest things set me off.

I hopped up on the bed and began undressing, he complained he was bloated before removing his clothes. I laughed at his self consciousness as I admired the incredibly gorgeous body that was being revealed. He sat next to me on my big bed, and leaned forward to kiss me. I pushed him back so he was laying on the bed and kissed his neck. He gripped my hair and pulled me onto my back.

He hands were often forceful around my throat or in my hair, an unusual move for someone new who had zero discussion of my comfort with kink. He tried to penetrate me without a condom, even though I stated condoms were to be used before he even arrived. I kicked out from under him and reminded him of the condoms.

He had a hard time staying hard but we were certainly all over the bed when he was erect. I was on top. He was top. He pulled out, put his face down and spit between my legs – the first ever to spit on me and one I tried to not laugh at – it seemed so porn-like; I disliked it but said nothing. He rolled me over for doggy style, where he almost spanked me but instead his hand came down hesitantly, softly down upon my ass cheek; again the hesitation surprised me considering that I found a hand around my throat more risky than a spanking.

Then I was back on top.  I marveled at his strength, couldn’t keep my eyes off of his arms as he picked me up and fucked me standing, lifting me up and down with such an ease. After some time, I was laid back on the edge of the bed.

Again with the spitting – so strange to me, lube is far more effective if we needed it (and I almost never need it) and it was almost a show with its line of slow spit. Too much porn?

Almost face slapped, and just like his spanking, his hand came down softly on my cheek, the movement tentative. Then he told me to “spit on it, jerk me off,”. Apparently it was my turn to spit, but I just couldn’t do it – I don’t spit for starters. I gave him head instead until he took control right before he came and stroked himself furiously. He came in my face and down my body. The first man to ever do it and an experience I could have done without. It felt a bit rude and a day afterwards (when he contacted me) I recommended he ask someone first before gushing over their face.

Too much porn? I thought that far too often with this man.

He suggested a shower afterwards, complained his butt was big (it was gorgeous like the rest of him), and then asked so many questions about me that I had no inclination to share but didn’t want to be rude. He was sweet and respectful, soft spoken in contrast to his sexual dominance. He laid in the middle of the bed and reached out for me, not necessarily to cuddle but just to be near. I stroked his chest and felt the prickly shaved hairs, thought what a shame – I prefer a hairy chest.

It was not a bad first encounter for a hookup. I liked his dominance – an unknown factor, though some discussion would have been nice. When he left hours later, he was expressed more self consciousness – this time of his hair. I joked he was pretty, that he was slightly obsessed with how he looked.

He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and I shut the door after him, locking it.

*As a follow up, we kept in contact a good month after the fact; he would occasionally begin contact, and I genuinely liked what little I knew of him, though I kept the conversations short.

 Posted by at 8:42 am