It’s amazing what some sand and water does for my wellbeing. I’ve been getting to the beach as much as I can but this week’s unexpected leave has allowed me to spend even more time in my favourite place.
Today I lay on the sand reading my book for about four hours. Sure, I had a swim, perved on the fine surfing specimen on show – and there were many today. The conditions were beautiful and, while it did come over grey eventually, the temperature remained warm and I enjoyed basking in the brewing storm conditions.
I took some snaps and sent them to a friend and he commented that I looked so relaxed and it was true – I do feel relaxed. Like I’ve found some semblance of my old self. A session with my psych yesterday also seems to have helped.
It was a difficult session to be honest, but probably one that needed to happen. She told me that my approach to sex is “fucked up” – her actual words. We both knew this already of course, but she’s never said it so directly. And I responded in kind – how do I stop?
Not stop fucking, of course. But how do I stop the behaviours that manifest into me using sex as a test, a test that everyone fails, because I set them up to. I literally use sex to put distance between myself and possible relationships. Which is interesting when we look at my relationship with Tom through that lens. The obvious correlation is that Tom was never actually available to me so I could “safely” fuck him knowing that, despite what I told myself: it was never going anywhere.
With new men, I throw out sex as a question, a test, a piece of bait and see how they respond. If they respond greedily, eager, keen, well, basically like anyone with a healthy sex drive, I immediately (literally immediately) get offended, automatically categorise them as only being interested in me for sex and they fail.
On the other hand, if they don’t take the bait, that’s also a rejection, a rejection of me. I automatically assume I’m not attractive enough, that they don’t want to fuck me. And they fail.
See this lovely predicament I have created for myself over the years? It’s really no wonder we describe my approach to sex as “fucked up”. It was among all this that she asked me if I ever “make love”. I laughed and cringed, like I always do.
“Never,” I said. “I never say it, never want someone else to say it to me.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Strictly speaking, of course, I have “made love” (god even writing it makes me want to vomit) when I’ve been in a relationship, although I don’t think this has been the case since I was married. But the phrase, the term, is just horrible to me. I have no idea why I find it so repulsive but there it is. I fuck.
Anyway, the discussion about this behaviour has given me cause to reassess my evaluation of the guy I’m seeing. I have red flags – some pretty big ones – but she pointed out that a) I’m looking for red flags b) I’m not giving him any benefit of the doubt c) and this is probably the most important – I don’t actually have any evidence to support these red flags.
And she’s right – I haven’t seen anything to support this feeling I have. With B earlier this year, the red flags came from everywhere but I ignored them and talked them away. But the actions were real, the actions that made me question what I thought. With this guy, he’s done nothing to make me question his motives or any behaviour to support my fears. It’s all in my head – for now.
I won’t discount that he could still be a colossal dick but for now, she’s suggesting I need to trust what I can see. And what I can see right now is – the guy bought me flowers, chocolates, came over to cook me dinner when I had a bad work day (then left when I asked without receiving anything from me apart from a bad mood), wants to spend time with me, messages me, and the sex – well, it is pretty fucking incredible. The guy even picked up my dog’s shit while I was showering. Like what the actual?
Anyway, he’s on his way here from work. I’m cooking dinner tonight and dessert is just out of the oven so I should get my domestic goddess on because I’m getting fucked tonight.
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