I slept with four different men last week. None were strangers to me, like that somehow makes a difference, but I’ll point it out anyway. I’ve done worse, as my long-term readers know from the three-in-a-day episode several years ago but it’s been a long time since I’ve smashed (forgive the pun) out so many in such a short period of time.
It was not intentional but then I guess these things never are. A little intent in my behaviour would probably make me a very different person to who I am but that’s not really the purpose of today’s post.
The first man was the Dark Horse, my submissive from two years ago. We briefly dated and then he broke up with me quite unexpectedly a couple of hours after meeting my whole family at a Christmas in July dinner. I never found out the reason for the sudden ending until we matched two weeks ago on Tinder. I was surprised to see that he had matched with me and it was out of curiosity for the reason he so unceremoniously dumped me that I also swiped right on him.
He told me that he had been scared of the idea of being in a serious relationship. I told him he had shit timing. We shared a few memories of our short time together and he flirted outrageously. He was more open about his sexual appetites these days which he actually credited to me, which I guess is nice to know. He’s had some mistresses, some casual fun, some fun with couples and was now back on Tinder looking for someone to delete the app with for the last time.
I realised that despite matching me, it still wasn’t me he was looking for. Any thoughts that followed a path where he had realised his error in breaking up with me were quickly shutdown. He wanted sex with me, sure, but that was all. Some fun like old times. He thought I’d been an effective mistress.
So, after several days of flirty messages and snaps, I turned up at his house, the story of which you can read here. That was Tuesday.
On Wednesday, I saw Tom. Now it is always a given that Tom and I will have sex, but the how and why of it is sometimes hazy. I hadn’t seen Tom since February when we had a couple of hours in a hotel room one Sunday night before I realised nothing had changed. I ended it the next day, over before it even got started again. We hadn’t spoken since until I messaged him from the airport last month.
Airports make me nostalgic for him, perhaps because the first time we ever chatted he was writing to me from an airport. I messaged and he replied and over the duration of my work trip we chatted. I would send updates from whatever country I was in and he would tell me how much he missed my “wow rack” and eating my arse. We made a plan to catch up once I was back in Australia.
That catch up was always scheduled for Wednesday. I insisted that we talk first, about us, what this was or could ever be. We had only done this once before, spoken so candidly face-to-face about us and it ended with me in tears and him leaving.
This time felt different (but don’t I say that every time?). We set out our expectations for each other, hard, realistic expectations, not just the ones that would get us naked the fastest. That’s when he told me he’d moved, his whole family in fact, three hours away. He’d not been living locally since January.
It was a shock but something he said he had always wanted to tell me in person and didn’t have time to tell me in February because I ended things so abruptly. The point of all this is that he is now, in a way, more available to me. His head office is still here and he will be visiting semi-regularly. It means I might actually get to spend a night with him at some point. Gees, I settle for peanuts these days. But, it is something that has changed.
He also, not for the first time, but the first time to my face told me he liked me. That finding a connection like we had – mentally and physically – was rare. I’ve spoken of this before and I agree – it is rare. It’s why I think we’ve never been able to stay away from each other for more than six months. It will be four years this November since we first connected. It’s a long play for casual sex. I guess what I’m saying is, it was nice to hear him say it out loud. That I meant something to him.
We fucked, of course. We acted out a fantasy he had shared with me while I was in Europe, complete with restraints, a collar, nipple clamps, porn and me sitting on his face. We talked some more, like we always tend to, limbs entwined and then we fucked again. When he left, I felt happy.
On Thursday, I had a date with a guy I met recently through Tinder. I suppose you could call it our third date even though we were staying in. He came to my house and I made dinner and we drank wine. We fucked but it left me oddly unsatisfied as he never came. He didn’t on our second date either. A combination of medication and anxiety. The sex is otherwise fine. He’s fine. But he’s not wowing me.
I know he likes me because he’s told me a couple of times but I can’t bring myself to say anything that I don’t feel. I’m enjoying the company more than anything.
That brings me to Saturday night when the Architect came to chill. We hung out, as we always have since we first met in late 2019, ordered in dumplings, watched old episodes of Brooklyn 99 and fucked. The Architect and I fuck on and off when we’re both single but we hadn’t since 2020. He broke my drought the week before last with a quickie one night but didn’t stay over.
On Saturday night, we both got crazy drunk – beer, then whisky, shots of Café Patron and Red Bull and vodka. We fucked for hours, bolstered by the caffeine no doubt, and he made me squirt everywhere which is a first for him and I. But again, unsatisfying as he didn’t come. This isn’t usual for him but I can’t always take responsibility. He asked me to give him a blowjob the next morning after I rode him again to get my fill but I declined. He’s never once gone down on me in the time we’ve been hooking up and I’m done giving that shit away.
So that was my week of four men. I’m not proud or anything like that but I won’t be slut shamed either. It’s an interesting space to be in, my head these days. I’m on a pretty high dose of medication and my GP just added another to the mix to help me sleep. Feelings come slowly, if at all. There’s a hollowness to most of the sex, except with Tom. Almost like I activate robot mode.
I’m aware this isn’t ideal behaviour. I’m aware there are definitely some things I need to sort through and work out with my psych, who I’m seeing again tomorrow. But, writing has always helped me deal with what’s in my head so here it is – my metaphorical warts and all.