I used to blame the ebbs and flows of interest I had in some men to the emotional highs and lows of my mental health. And … that’s exactly what it is. However, throw in some temporary sobriety, exercise, and being off my meds, I’ve (not for the first time) realised, I choose the wrong men.
So, I’ve cleaned out the roster, a sex life spring clean if you will. I fucked off the re-run who only wanted a mistress to play with. I also said goodbye to the nice but boring former teacher. We had very different ideas of what was funny and once I saw his sense of humour while sober, I decided it was time to leave. This decision was immediately justified when his response to me announcing I was leaving was “You can’t go. We haven’t even smashed yet”. *simultaneous eye roll and face palm*
The Architect and I have been hanging out a lot since I got back from Europe in July. It’s not as if we never hung out before just that it’s become easier and more frequent since I moved.
Sometimes we sleep together, and sometimes we don’t. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it but the past couple of times have left me wondering why I bother. He’s quiet as a mouse for starters, which we all know really frustrates me, and he’s just not a good kisser. I think over the years, when it was a fuck here and a fuck there, I probably forgot and/or was drunk. I swear I used to remember it being decent.
But now, I’m struggling to get interested and the ratio of fucking to not fucking is definitely tipping towards the latter. I still want us to be friends and hang out but I think I’m done sexing him. It’s not like it was developing into anything more. I think we both know that’s not what we want.
Then there’s Tom. And let’s face it, Tom is never far away.
I never know how to describe what Tom and I have but, right now, I would say we’re lovers. It’s certainly one of our longest truces and I can see he’s making a real effort this time.
In a way these past couple of months we’ve been rediscovering each other and not just because we hadn’t seen each other for a significant part of the past year. It turns out, we’d never talked much about the sex we had apart from it being amazing and we wanted more of it. Sure, he read my blog a lot in the beginning, and occasionally still does now, but since we actually started this relationship four years ago, we’d never shared our fantasies, our likes, our limits.
And it was only because of a throwaway comment about being a dirty girl that he tentatively tapped on this door I never knew had been closed to him. I write a blog about sex and relationships. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he felt there was anything he couldn’t ask me. But then he told me he had always been reluctant because he didn’t want to be accused of only being interested in sex (which I frequently used to allege). In short, there was a lot of assumed knowledge.
But of all of sudden, in the space of a few emails, the door wasn’t just unlocked but thrown wide open, and his messages became feverish, lustful, frantic, almost like we were actually fucking rather than just sharing our most sordid fantasies. He didn’t hold back and neither did I. It turns out that we had only scratched the surface of what we could experience and it was hot.
For example, I discovered he wanted me to wear shiny black latex and shoot cum all over it. So, I bought a latex bodysuit with a zipper that opened from boobs to arse and wore it for him during a recent visit. He loved shining it up, running his hands all over me before bending me over the bed, unzipping it and fucking me from behind.
Later, I teased his cock and gave him a really wet blowjob like he’d described in one of his fantasies before I finished him off with my Doxy against the head of cock, giving him an intense orgasm like I’d never seen from him.
He surprised me with a visit again yesterday, a few stolen hours of exploring new ways to pleasure one another. My bed was covered in an array of toys and vibes and lube and we were comfortable enough to laugh and make silly jokes about pedicures when he contorted me into a position that ended up with my feet pressed together on his chest and under his chin.
Dare I say the word I used to loathe when it came from his mouth but it’s been “fun”. It feels like I have finally let go of the tension and volatility I had created between us, a tension borne from feeling like I was never going to be enough.
Someone asked me recently if I still love him. I think the answer is yes but it’s a different kind of love now. It’s not the naïve love of a mistress who thinks he’ll leave his wife for me. It’s not even the love of a
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