Sexting with your Ex: Taboo?

The other day, when I made that emotional post about feeling such guilt about the way things went down with my ex-husband, it bothered me deeply all morning. When I got on my lunch break I had to find some relief so I sent him a text explaining how selfish I felt and how sorry I was. He told me that he already forgave me long ago and that I shouldn’t let the pain of the past hold me back. We talked all day long about how we felt, how we get through the day-to-day, reminiscing about memories and soon about some of our best lustful encounters. He and I always shared an overactive sex drive. It was what initially connected us and helped us understand each other so well. Before he left, I encouraged him to pursue his interest in writing, something he had always claimed he wanted to do but never actually did. His story turned out to be erotica, the story of the first night him and I (re)met and the intense passion that ensued. I loved it and encouraged him to do more. Yesterday he sent me another story he had written – one about a guard and a prisoner who used his body while he was chained to the bars. There’s still this sexual hunger in our texts, teasing about what we once did, what we’d love to do again.

I’m happy to be back in regular contact with him. We’ve been texting regularly since that afternoon and it feels so good to be talking to someone who actually knows me. My only fear is that talking to each other like this might bring up old feelings and confuse me even further. Or maybe that’s just my over-thinking tendencies. I dunno. Who am I to do anything the normal way?

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Emotions, can you just like, not?

Had a good day yesterday, and woke up in a good mood today – until I remembered a glimpse of a dream where my ex-husband and I told each other that we missed one another. That one hit deep. Now the tears are rolling and I’m trying to drink my breakfast drink through it to pull it together for work. Man, I miss what I had.

I  have a friend on facebook, a guy I’ve known for probably a good 6 years or so. When my ex-husband and I were just starting to hook up, he had approached me saying that he had feelings for me. I shut him down because my heart was already in it with someone else, despite this guy being a genuinely great person. Not long afterward, he began to date another friend of mine. I’ve seen their journey to a new house together, taking vacations, bonding with his kids, and now they’re engaged. I’m very happy for them but it makes it visually obvious what kind of opportunity I  passed up. I loved my husband, but he didn’t have drive in life – now it seems he’s doing far better than me in that aspect. What is it about me that when I push someone away, they soar above me and I sink far below? What if my ex really was the one for me and I’ve been so lost and miserable because he’s not with me anymore? Why do I keep sabotaging my own life?

Damnit, spring won’t last forever. Pretty soon I won’t be able to use the allergy excuse for my eyes in the mornings.

Drifting

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m no longer stuck in a funk, and that I really am back to battling that “depression” demon on my back. I’m drifting through each day with a constant sense of failure and I find myself physically forcing my mind to focus on the moment at hand. As I was driving home from work yesterday I shouted “Damnit!” as I felt the tears welling up and cranked the music up, making myself sing along, telling myself that this isn’t a bad moment and that I need to try to be in it.

It’s the random moments that make it so apparent. I had a pretty good night last night. After work I went to Hedburg’s place to watch the latest few episodes of Archer. I laughed and enjoyed the shows then came home to cook dinner and get lost in Netflix for a bit. As I began to turn off the lights, I suddenly recalled the silly tradition my ex-husband and I had when it was time for bed. One of us would say “Sleepy cuddle time?” to which the other would reply “Sleepy cuddle time!” and we’d both chant it, making our way to bed, wrapping up in each others arms and drifting off to the peace of knowing our love was near. I fell asleep trying my hardest to envision the color black instead of the other thoughts trying to flow through. When I woke up, I laid in bed for an eternity, feeling the emptiness next to me, remembering waking up in someone’s arms – not the physicality of it, but the emotional connection and feeling of safety.

When I go to work, I don’t look forward to it – but I don’t cringe at the thought of it either. It’s just that thing that takes up my day. It may be a good day, it may not, but at least it’s something to do. Then I get my paycheck and my heart wrenches again at the meager pay and the fact that I still have to borrow money from my mother to get by, even with my dollar store grocery budget. Fun events coming to town? That’s nice. I can’t afford it. I can’t afford anything. My life is work, netflix, shower, sleep – repeat. Sometimes someone will take me out somewhere and I truly do appreciate and enjoy those moments. Last Saturday was fantastic though Clove and I haven’t been able to talk much during the week. It happens. Whatever. Still talk to other guy (Pickle) here and there but the whole opposite work schedule has made that pretty slim as well. I deleted POF from my phone. I was only keeping it there for the opportunity at good conversation but would just feel more and more let down by it so I just let it go.

Today my mother is coming over to spend the day and night with me. The biggest annual festival around these parts is going on this weekend and we plan to go together like we did last year. It’s actually in walking distance of my apartment, which is convenient. When I was cooking last night, I had my kitchen window open, listening to the music and cheers from the crowd. It helped center and distract me a bit. I’m sure I’ll have a good time with my mom today. I just need to try to focus on the moment. I’ve already had my morning cry and vow to do my best to keep it together through the day. I hate showing my mom my weak side. Maybe later we’ll have wine to make it easier to talk about. Have you ever just had that recurring pain in your chest that just makes you want to stab it away with a knife so it will shut up and release you? Yeah maybe I shouldn’t tell her that. Don’t worry folks – not suicidal – just way too familiar with this more-than-a-funk.

Clove

Yesterday I took a big step in trying to get out of this lonely funk. Of the aforementioned two people I’ve been talking to, the one who started reading my current book series asked if I’d like to spend Saturday with him. After some deep breaths, I agreed to go ahead and give it a shot. If nothing else, I’d get out of the house which my mother has been barraging me to do lately. I’ve decided to call him Clove, since those are the only type of cigarette he smokes and the smell that’s still lingering in my nostrils this morning.

First, we agreed to Greek food for lunch. I looooooove Greek food so I was all about it. I only ended up eating half of my falafel wrap while we were there due to the unstoppable conversation. At first he seemed quiet and timid, like he was unsure how to read the situation, but I soon learned he had a quiet demeanor, like me. We boxed up our meals to go, popped them into my fridge since I lived so close, and carpooled to the local Go Kart/Mini Golf/Arcade place. I’d never been before but he had suggested it and I figured it would at least make for an entertaining date. I’m sure he must have spent a good $30 on tokens while we were there. We tried every game in the building and were near tears laughing together just 5 games in. At the wheel of fortune game there was a bench you could sit on to play – big enough for 2 children, or two adults squeezing in. I initially sat to play the game with him, and then I noticed him crouching down to sit next to me. For a moment my heart jumped – someone touching me? Last time was terrifying and it was just an arm around the shoulders. He sat down, thigh against mine, arm brushing against me as he put in the tokens. I breathed him in and felt his warmth and I was okay. I actually liked it. Human contact I like!! Once we’d finished using all of the tokens he had on hand, we put our tickets in the counter, ready to eye the prizes when we saw a game to knock down clowns with little red balls. The (adult) people playing were racking up in the ticket department. A nice blue mound had piled up next to them and our eyes lit up as we turned to one another and he declared we MUST beat down some clowns! We lingered a few feet back, anxious to claim the game as soon as it was available, laughing together at how awkward we looked loitering around in a room full of kids to play a game. In the end, we decided to spend our tickets on a zombie bendy doll for him to hang from his rear view mirror, a tiny Finn figure that now sits on my toothbrush holder and 6 mystery tattoos (a nice blend of super heroes and princesses). We then played a round of mini golf, making up scores and awful jokes about their disgusting water trickling through the course. When we’d both get our balls in the hole, Clove would fish them out and hold his hand open for me to take mine. By the end of the rounds I was purposefully grazing my fingertips along the palm of his hand. We played the last hole together, counting down and hitting our balls at the same time. I’m pretty sure that’s the most fun I’ve ever had playing that game. Afterward we stopped by the store to get a bottle of wine (and become waaaaay too distracted by the dollar section) and then headed back to my place to ink each other up.

Youtube was our entertainment, sharing songs and a breathtaking wordless movie about the world and the people in it. We’d periodically pick a tattoo at random (he got all the princesses) and apply them to each other. He started with my arm, then my leg, then my neck and chest. Each time I’d feel the warmth from his hand as he held the damp rag to my skin. He began to lean over me to pick a video to watch. I got excited. I had none of the fears of being close. I happily let him closer and closer. Still talking and laughing through the evening, we sat together against the wall outside to smoke. We agreed that it had been a wonderful day and in an instant our lips were locked. Oh how I missed kissing! It went on for an eternity and, once inside, led to a heated walk to the bedroom. The sex was tender, passionate and gentle. We were both quite intoxicated from the wine but still enjoyed every bit. I don’t even remember falling asleep afterward but when I woke it was near 6am. Forgetting to close the blinds and curtains the night before, the light from the grey sky filtered into the room and onto Clove laying beside me. He smiled and said “Hey.” We snuggled up close and spent the next few hours resting, kissing, a small bit of sex and holding each other. Periodically he would kiss my cheek or head. It felt sweet, comforting. Eventually we had to get up so he could head home. We embraced and he went on his way.

First off, FINALLY. I feel so relieved to get some of that pent up frustration out. Now, thoughts on Clove. Physically he’s really not my type (a tall skinny freckly redhead) but looks have never really mattered to me in the end. He is quite handsome in the face and has a great smile. As far as the size down below, Damn. I actually had to stop him last night in my usual favorite position because the size was hurting me. I was drunk and it was hurting me. He was wonderful in bed, extremely satisfying and a big time cuddler which is a major plus. We clicked extremely well. Our sense of humor mirrored the other well and the conversation flowed with ease. He lives about an hour away and has 2 kids that I’m assuming he has every other weekend. Hmm. I think I may like this guy.

Looking Forward

It’s amazing how sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone can be just what you need. I’ve been in private sadness for quite some time. Most of my life really. I have a terrible habit of telling people I’m just fine and keeping everything to myself – the main reason I started this blog, actually. Yesterday I got back in contact with my ex husband and made an (admittedly vague) post on Facebook about feeling more lost the more I try to find myself. It was a rough day. I hadn’t felt pain like that in a while. Since then, it’s amazed me how some people really do care. My mother surprised me today by cleaning my entire apartment while I was away at work, my ex husband randomly texted me about the puzzle he’s working on that we had bought together and he took with him in the separation, and a mother from the old preschool I used to work at reached out to me to talk openly about depression and finding yourself when you feel alone. I think sometimes we build it up in our heads that nobody cares because we’ve lost that value in ourselves. I’m still hurting but I feel like I can breathe a little. I haven’t been completely forgotten.

On another note, I’m doing something I swore I’d never do. For a little while now I’ve been talking to two different people. Bad, bad, I know. In all fairness I started talking to them around the same time. The both live a decent distance from me so it’s only been texting thus far and that’s been a comfort. They’re both quite different from each other and one obviously has much more interest in me than the other – at this point. I don’t know where those are going to go but rest assured, it’ll come out here. It’s been a good escape. I do want to move forward, get close to someone. I’ve already blabbed on in detail about my longing for intimacy again. One works nights (making talking a pain) and lives alone with a cat. We have extremely similar interests and sense of humor and have already broached the heated sex conversations. The other is a single father of two, more eager about life it seems, and is available to talk to during the day which is nice. Physically the first is more my usual type but I’ve come to discover that “types”are meaningless. A great personality is far more attractive than anything else. Guy one is working on saving for a downpayment on a new car since his last one was wrecked, then hoping to come visit for a “real date.” I haven’t even broached the subject of meeting guy two, though he attended the Holi Festival that I went to after I told him all about it. Didn’t see him, but honestly was pretty preoccupied with the festivities. He even started reading my favorite book series once I told him about it. On book 2 already, quite impressive.

We’ll see where all of that goes. Right now it’s time for a shower, my favorite part of the day.

Missing Happiness

Today, on a whim, I decided to text my ex-husband while I was on break. I hadn’t spoken to him since December when I was deep in the abusive clutches of that awful living situation. I’ve been feeling extremely lonely and hopeless today and had a maddening curiosity as to how he has been doing. Immediately tears came pouring down my face. He’s trying his best but is quite lonely where he is. I can’t help but feel responsible. When we started going downhill, I uprooted us to where my family lives for extra support on my end. Upon our separation, he opted to move out of state again to stay with his mother. Everyone we knew, grew up with, is far away and terrible at keeping contact outside of facebook likes. Our relationship wasn’t a bad one. We had some amazing times and he’s the best friend that I’ve ever had – just not the best partner in a marriage. I thought back to the good times, and even the bad ones when I thought things were so terrible. How very wrong I was. Things got much worse for me after our split.

It’s not that I want to be with him again. We’re both different people and I know this. I want to move forward. However, being so alone in a place where you feel like nobody really knows you makes you long for the connections you once had. It hurts my heart to hear that he’s lonely and struggling. I wish nothing but the best for him in life and I truly want to see him thrive. I guess it kind of gave me some comfort to know it’s hard on him too, though, in a terrible selfish way.

My sadness is crippling today. I feel like, despite reconnecting with my mother, moving here hasn’t helped me move forward in life at all. This last year has been nothing but a step backwards and now I’m thrown back into the muck I was in a year ago, yet more damaged. I’m barely keeping my head above water and waking each day with nothing to look forward to. I go through the motions but my heart’s not in it.

I feel incredibly lost and honestly don’t know what to do to pull myself out of it.

The Minx I Was

“I’ve never done this before” he stuttered, as my hand gently grazed his thigh. My eyes met him with a reassuring smile as I leaned in to softly kiss his cheek, making my way below his ear and down his neck before he turned to me and hungrily met my lips with his. His kisses were gentle but voracious and I could feel the heat rising off of his skin as our hands reached for each others bodies, pulling one another closer together.

Still entwined, we collapsed on the bed, lips never pulling apart. I could feel his erection press against my thigh, grinding into me as his leg pressed against my eager sex. Like teenagers we fumbled our clothes off hastily, breath already labored with passion. To my surprise he was absolutely huge and I craved every last bit that he had to offer. It was hard, sweaty, passionate. Every touch, every breath getting lost in a cloud of heat and wandering mouths. The sexual connection was intense, held in place by eye contact and moans. He didn’t last long enough for me to taste him, but by that point I was ravaged and grateful for the chance to rest.

We didn’t see each other again after that but he would frequently send me messages telling me how he couldn’t stop thinking about that night, about our tryst together. The inexperienced young man who was shown the time of his life by the older minx with a basket-full of tricks. I would smile, flirt back. I craved his touch again but we were never able to reconnect again. Shame.

I used to have this confidence about me all the time. I still maintain a great deal of pride in the sexual department but have this terrible issue standing in my way of being able to initiate or begin the process. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to flirt. Not that I necessarily miss the meaningless sex, but the confidence to attain what I want when I want it. And, ok, sometimes the meaningless sex too. I’ve surpassed my record of time without so much as a kiss and it’s driving me insane. Even a night of hot and heavy making out to think about later would be nice. I’m sure I know one or two people who would be happy to oblige but I freeze up and come up with excuses in my head not to. Would it help me get past this rut if I were to suck it up and go for it? Should I just close up shop on the lady bits to everyone but  myself? You know you miss intimacy when your porn searches change from rough group sex to “for women” sensual clips.  I just want some good, passionate, affectionate sex. Damnit.

Fear of Feeling

I’ve been trying to pinpoint what’s really been holding me back lately. I think back to before my 6 month shit show and how differently I handled myself. I would easily meet people, no anxiety about it. We’d get a drink, have a deep discussion. If we clicked, I had no problem making a move. Brushing a hand, begging for touch and intimacy with a look, a sweet peck on the cheek to initiate physical contact. If I began to really like them, I would cautiously hold onto it until I knew whether or not they reciprocated and then let it blossom naturally, excited for the unknown.

I feel like my experiences changed me. I’m an anxiety-ridden mess when it comes to the idea of meeting someone. I find myself having to get to know someone for weeks before I’m willing to even grab coffee together, and even then my mind is constantly filling with doubts and fears. If I begin to feel something for somebody, it terrifies me and I end up talking myself out of it, trying to let go of it like a stray balloon. With feelings comes vulnerability and I’m really not sure how much more heartache I can endure before I become ice cold. I was never the type to be afraid of commitment. I find great peace and inspiration in having a partner, and I’m sure I still would, but now I have a constant lingering fear – a little voice in my head that tells me I’ll only be used again.

The whole reason I moved to that backwoods town was the guy I had been dating (and not long for that matter) had called me up in tears. He told me of his ex taking his children, of being haunted by past experiences and getting depressed to the point of suicidal. I’ve lost friends to suicide before, once because I wasn’t there when they asked me for help, and I vowed never to let that happen again. I hopped in my car and drove the hour to go be there for him to help him through the night. I ended up staying to make sure he was stable, all the while having to call in for work during a very busy time. I missed two days. They fired me. With no place to go, I suppose Grumpy felt guilty and offered for me to live with him. A few months in I discovered he was an alcoholic pathological liar. All of the things he had told me were complete bullshit and he was trying to drag me down with him. When I broke up with him, I was still stuck living there as his roommate for 3 months. Grumpy was always drunk and not a happy drunk, especially with someone in the household who had “broken his heart.” On a daily basis he would harass me. He would try to pick fights, calling me a Godless whore, explaining just how hideous I was, saying how I was useless and worthless and a pussy for feeling hurt for the experiences in my life. That was when I met Micky, who was graciously helpful. There, my feelings began again. I knew they shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it. He just so happened to be everything I ever wanted in a partner, or so my desperate mind thought. In the end we both knew we had feelings but needed to let them go. So I did. It took time and it hurt but I’ve had no contact with him for weeks. He seems to show no interest and that in itself still hurts as well.

So that’s where I’m at. Fear of Feeling. The last two people I grew feelings for either emotionally and mentally (hell, and physically) abused the fuck out of me or built my heart up only to send it sailing away. I feel like everyone has an ulterior motive and I can’t trust a soul. It’s a terrible way to feel and exactly what Grumpy wanted to achieve. I guess his methods were successful – asshole.

So how does one overcome this fear? How do you let yourself be vulnerable when you feel like it’s you against the world? I’m tired of being alone. I really am.. but I’m afraid of others’ ability to hurt me. Maybe it’ll just take the right person to be patient enough to put me at ease.

Whiskey Induced Thoughts

I’ve been spending most of my afternoon/evening sipping coffee with bourbon, brown sugar and a splash of milk. It’s fantastically delicious and has led to me cleaning my whole apartment and dancing my ass off to Tool and Faith No More. My head is scattered so I’m going to try to empty it of a bit of its riffraff.

  1. Trump is terrifyingly close-minded and I shudder at the thought of him winning the presidency. I live my life with the theme of love and respect and hearing his shitty hate-based, close minded, petty junior high level bullshit just makes me want to shove his horrible hair piece down his own throat. How the hell do you have a presidential candidacy based off of dodging questions and poking fun at your running mates? Sometimes I fantasize about slapping every damn Trump supporter in their smug, retarded faces. I’m pretty sure America wasn’t founded on hatred towards everyone who didn’t believe the same thing you do. Isn’t that why people came here in the first place? To escape being forced to follow something they didn’t believe? Just love your fellow human, regardless of sexual orientation, faith or race. Not every Muslim is a terrorist just like not every Christian is a saint. Get the fuck over yourselves.

2. I pride myself on forgiving those who have hurt me in my past. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s really fucking hard. I can vividly remember the moment I decided to speak my forgiveness out loud for those who have hurt me. The hardest hurdles were my father’s widow and my grandmother. It took me years to forgive them but once I did I felt so freed. At the moment I’m having a lot of trouble bringing myself to forgive Grumpy McDrunkypants, or his mother for that matter. He sent me a text today asking how I was doing. I looked at my phone and said “How dare you fucking text me!” I haven’t felt such hatred toward someone in such a long time. I’m not proud of it but he screwed me up so much that I’m not ready to let it go. I’m not a fan of the word “cunt”. It’s sharp and harsh and I have plenty of other fun words but I couldn’t keep count of how many times I called him that right before I left. Even that didn’t seem a harsh enough word. Fuck that guy in his stupid alcoholic abusive face. This one will take me some time to move past. I should really print out a picture of his face to adhere to a punching bag. I’ll be in shape in no time. Fucker.

3. It’s interesting how different types of alcohol will have different effects on a person. After years of irresponsible drinking, I now know what I can handle and what I should stay away from. Vodka used to be my drink of choice. I’d drink it day in and day out. I had a vodka drinking buddy who I’d spend most of my time with and when I wasn’t with him I’d drink it on my own. It became a terrible habit that began to affect my job at the time. Fortunately I met my ex husband at that time and re-discovering marijuana helped me to get over my vodka addiction. I don’t touch the stuff now. Even the smell makes me cringe thinking of the awful way I felt the next day. Gin, I only had once as a teenager. I remember filling a water bottle full of it and sipping it at home, feeling so rebellious. I didn’t even enjoy it. Haven’t touched it since. Tequila makes me horny but it’s been ages since I actually drank a margarita with someone of the opposite sex so I haven’t even been able to take advantage of its side effects. PSH. The last time I drank mead was at a renaissance festival where I almost got kicked out of poetry readings for being the obnoxious drunk in the front row. Apparently it makes me quite perverted and obnoxious..so a pirate. Mead makes me a pirate. I used to think whiskey made me sick but realized that was because every time I had it before, I mixed it with a ton of other liquors. I’ve recently begun to drink it and realized it makes me happy, energetic and confident. I’m a fan! My favorite by far is wine, though. Wine drunk is the best! I become more talkative and open but don’t lose my sense of right and wrong. Also, the closest to a hangover I’ve ever had from wine was half an hour of a headache. No biggie. Though I’d still take a bowl over a drink any day. Just saying.

4. So I’m going on about 8 weeks without sex. I’m frustrated but not overly so. If I’m out for an orgasm, nobody is as skilled as myself as delivering one. I can hit 3 in 10 minutes if I do it the right way. What I really miss is kissing. That’s something I can’t take care of myself. I miss feeling someone’s lips against mine, gently prodding their lips apart with my tongue until theirs meet mine with gentle passion, tenderly pressing my lips against the sweet little corner of their lips and traveling slowly along their jawline, behind their ear, down their neck to the collar bone that I always crave. That feeling when someone kisses along my neck, letting their hot breath bathe my sensitive skin along the way. Damnit, now I’m getting horny again.

5. I just heard a commercial for Raising Cane’s talking about their lemonade and sweet tea served over their “signature crushed ice.” Signature crushed ice? Really, Cane’s? Really?

Ergh, time for a refill.