It’s not much, but it’s a start http://www.awomanlikethat.wordpress.com
1. Grow a Beard. Or don’t. But for the love of all things smooth and soft in this world, please mind your facial hair. Granted, I am partial to boys with beards (it’s my thing, don’t judge), but however you choose to upkeep your face you must heed this warning: do not come anywhere near my lady bits with any sort of shadow. I don’t care if it’s 5 o’clock or noon on the dot. Keep it away. It’s prickly. Uncomfortable. And can leave me sensitive for days. Also it puts me in an extremely difficult position of explaining to the next gentleman (with finely groomed facial hair, mind you) as to why I let a porcupine attack my vajayjay.
2. Don’t talk a big game if you don’t intend to back it up. I guarantee that I’ve never slept with a man that I haven’t properly vetted beforehand. I like to know what I’m getting myself into. Plus my particular brand of kink involves lots of dirty talk and tension building far before the main event. But that’s the thing: I don’t bullshit. And you shouldn’t either. If you tell me that you’re into hair pulling and multiple positions then I damn well expect to find your fists against my scalp and to be tossed around just a little. I’m not saying we don’t all embellish a little when recounting secret fantasies, but for goodness sake don’t talk up your sexual prowess and then lie there like a dead fish letting me do all the work. Ain’t nothing hot about that.
3. Don’t fall of the face of the Earth. I’m a big girl. A big girl that likes sex just as much as you probably do. I am under no false assumptions that sex equals love, commitment, or even a second date. But the other things I like almost as much as sex are honesty, respect, and maturity. Trust me when I say that you aren’t breaking my heart if you tell me you want to leave it at sex and that’s all. Friends with benefits, if you will. Instead, it breaks my faith in humanity and kindness if you simply fade into the ether as if what we experienced never happened at all. Own your feelings/intentions and I vow to do the same.
4. My boobs are not your playthings. I like my boobs. Probably more than you do. They are a symbol of my womanhood and my sexuality. Touching them feels good…under the right circumstances. Touching them when we’re watching tv or cooking dinner or walking through the grocery store does absolutely nothing for me. In fact, the only thing it does is de-sexualize them during moments when we could both be deriving pleasure from their awesomeness. If you grabbed my boobs twice while we were watching Saturday Night Live, I’m pretty sure the effect will have worn off by the time we hit the mattress later that night. Caveat: doing this in a flirtatious manner in the hopes that it will lead to more totally doesn’t count.
5. Yes, you have to wear a condom. Can we all just agree to agree that the old, “but i can’t feel anything while wearing a condom,” line is bullshit? You can feel it, just as well as the last guy and every other guy after you. Does it feel better without a condom? Probably. But trust me, the reason you can’t keep it up has zero to do with the latex barrier that is between us. The barrier that will protect me from any nastiness that might be harboring in your urethra. And also from adding “baby-momma” to my resume. It’s as easy as that: you either strap one on or you aren’t coming anywhere near me. Literally and figuratively. I know from experience that absolutely amazing sex can be had with a condom and if you don’t know that same thing then chances are you aren’t doing it right.
Well, it certainly has been some time since I’ve visited you all here in my corner of the internet. It’s probably due to a combination of having so much to say and simultaneously having absolutely nothing to say. At least nothing of any significance. It amazes me how much the feeling of being overwhelmed can render me mute.
Boys have come and gone. Some have stayed longer than others while some simply refuse to go away. Relationships have bloomed and wilted; partnerships have soared and spoiled. And all along the way, I have been struggling to find growth–personally, emotionally, and financially.
I’m going to try to be better. Writing helps me in ways that few other things can and I know that I am doing myself a great disservice by not treating this space with the respect that it deserves. Sometimes, I choose the path of least resistance which often means you’ll find me lying on my couch with a pillow over my head in an xanax-inspired stupor. Ok, so I exaggerate a little. The point is, I want to be better.
The X. I just don’t know where to begin. He’s apparently dating some 22-year-old child. I’ll just give you a minute to take that in…..
Yup. 22. As in 8 years younger than me and 10 years younger than him. Lest you think I am blind, of course I can see what a walking, talking cliché he has made of himself. Next thing you know, he’ll be trading in his SUV for a shiny, candy apple-red sports car and jetting off to Europe for three weeks. Oh, wait. What’s that you say? The Europe thing? Yeah, he already did that. It’s cool though. I did get a postcard out of the whole deal. Mind you, it was never actually mailed to me from Croatia, but rather, hand delivered as he yammered on and on about all the amazing experiences he had over there. None of which included an enlightened moment of clarity involving wanting to work on his marriage. Nope, just a postcard, showing up 30 minutes late for our dinner date, and a fuck-you-I-traded-you-in-for-a-younger-model.
But it’s cool. I’m clearly beyond the anger, bitterness, abandonment, and outright feelings of betrayal. I’m going to be just fine y’all–I’ve got
Jesus in my heart vodka in my blood. (And no lethal weapons in my general vicinity).
Speaking of my inner peace, she and I have been asked to participate in a panel discussion tomorrow on HuffPostLive at 3:30pm EST. We’ll be discussing the topic of dating exes. Should be fun. And if not fun, then mildly embarrassing paired with a side of resentment.
Come cheer me on, ladies!
I removed the password from my previous post. I had locked it up because I didn’t want Mr. Professor reading it just in case he somehow stumbled upon my blog. But I ended up biting the bullet and telling him pretty much everything anyway, so now he can feel free to read whatever he wants.
We are both very well aware that the other is still dating other people. In fact, we often discuss our dates and interactions with those other people. Well, if I’m being honest, we talk about how much those other people suck as dates and all the things that are wrong with them. I actually can’t recollect a time when either of us has spoken promisingly about another date that we met or sex that we had. Then last week Mr. Professor emailed me a copy of an email he sent to a girl with whom he was planning to go out with that Saturday. He sent it to me because he thought I would find its contents funny–and I did. But I also felt something else that I wasn’t expecting to feel: jealousy.
I was jealous that he would be spending his Saturday night with her and not with me. I was also jealous because I knew she had to travel a long distance and would likely be spending the night at his place–something I’ve yet to be invited to do (more on that in a minute). So, I did what I knew was the right thing to do. I sent him the following email:
I can’t believe that I’m writing this and actually going to send it….
I think I need to take a break from hanging out with you. Or you might want to take a break from hanging out with me after reading this. Either that, or you just need to talk me down from my ledge 🙂 As I’m sure you know, I can get a little over dramatic and over analytical. I’m hoping (since you are the one with all the experience in these matters) that you can tell me that it’s totally normal to feel this way given our situations. The sex is fantastic and I surely know that I would miss that. But I think that I might be enjoying your company a little too much. No man has made me laugh in some time in the same way you do. Or appreciated my body. Or cooked for me. Or engaged me in interesting conversation. Or made me feel so comfortable being me. Or called me out on my bs (even if that bs is just that I’m way too nice!) Or made me anticipate the next time I get to see him. There have been other men who have made me feel those things to a degree, but it’s always proven to be fleeting.
And I certainly haven’t spent entire Sundays with a man (since I was married) like the two that we previously spent together. And the sex…I believe it was episode 4 of that day 🙂 The one you said was “special,” felt a little too “special.” Not because I didn’t like it, I very much enjoyed the intimacy, but because I know that isn’t a kind of intimacy that you can spare. I’m a little worried that it freaked you out. I’ve never done this kind of thing before–it’s a very new experience for me. I don’t know what’s right, wrong, normal, or abnormal and I don’ want to say or do the wrong thing…something I am quite prone to doing.I know very well what your situation is and I have so much respect for that–enough respect that I feel telling you this is the right thing to do even though it sucks for me. You girlfriend is truly a lucky woman to have a guy who is so committed to her and so obviously loves her. I totally understand your desire to continue making that relationship work and admire your drive to do so.
And as much as I have told myself that this is working as is because you and I are in very similar situations, the more I think about it, we are actually in two entirely different situations. I have a relationship that is beyond repair and is ending. You have a relationship that you are very much still invested in. When I set out on this endeavor I told myself, you, and every other guy I’ve met that I’m not emotionally in a place where I can get involved. However, as time goes on I am starting to realize that while it may be hard at times, I might actually be ready to start opening my heart up to that again. This is not to say that I want that from you, I’m not asking for anything more. I just didn’t want to deceive you.
Really, I should be thanking you for that. Over the last 6 weeks, as I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve learned that it really isn’t that difficult to do once you find someone that you connect to on levels other than and including sexually.
Wow, that was a massive brain dump. Sorry to pile it on you. Ideally, I’m hoping that everything can stay exactly as it between us right now, but that I can alleviate the guilt (not sure if that’s the right word) over feeling this way when I know exactly what your situation is. I just felt that I owed it to you and your relationship to tell you this. And I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the “i’m breaking up with you even though we weren’t really dating” conversation.
I know this is a conversation probably best had face-to-face or via the telephone, but I wanted to throw it out there. But if you want to talk about it, then that’s fine too. I’m pretty sure you know how to reach me 🙂
Normally, I wouldn’t post his actual response verbatim (because those aren’t my words to share), but I really need your advice and I don’t think my paraphrasing would do this situation any justice. So here is how he responded:
Email was just fine. I think I knew this is where you were getting. The facts that you know that about yourself, and that I felt attuned to it is just proof of why I’m attracted you, and why we enjoy one another the way we do, respectively.
For my part, I think I do need to take a break from the intensity of you. I realized that in the past few days when it dawned on me exactly how much emotional time you take up for me: I have to recover from the intimacy we share. While in fact I have no idea whether I have any future with my girlfriend, I am not ready to put myself in the position that is…. just below the ledge where you described yourself–but I think I’m there, too.
For the record, I think we’re fucking awesome for recognizing this, and I think you’re fucking awesome for saying it so clearly. And I think that awesomeness should make this easy and not hard.
Also, I think we should still fuck… fairly hard… on a to-be-determined but perhaps-less-continuous basis.
We can talk about it later but just wanted to give these first thoughts.
Then we pretty much agreed to see less of each other. But over the last week since this email exchange, we’ve texted, emailed, or talked on the phone every single day even if it was just to say hi or to say ‘I’m thinking of you.’We did hang out last night…sex, grabbed some dinner, shared an ice cream, talked, laughed, cuddled. The usual. It was great and didn’t feel awkward at all after the conversation that we had. But he did say that we shouldn’t have sex for a third time that night because it would be “crossing the intimacy line” with a smile on his face. I guess that’s the arbitrary line that he’s drawn when really, the other things we did we equally as intimate as the sex…..
Now these are the possibilities that are playing out in my head:
1. We both really like each other and are scared of what that means in regards to what we thought our futures would look like. We both love someone else and this is just a case of bad timing.
2. I’m just being dumb and setting myself up for heartbreak. He knows how I feel about him and I know how he feels about me, yet we can’t be together and we don’t want to be apart.
3. Sometimes I think it’s just for the sex, but both of us are more than capable of meeting and having great sex with other people–so why do we continue to do this to each other?
4. Maybe it just needs more time to play out. Maybe I’m over-thinking it. Maybe it just is exactly what it appears to be–two people who like each other and have great sex. Why does it have to be more or labeled as such?
5. I’m in way over my head and I need to
run get out now and never look back.
6. I’m just being paranoid. I know (from what he’s told me) that he is often brutally honest with girls who end up liking him or wanting more from him. He hasn’t even remotely drawn that line yet. And, damn, I know I’m good in bed, but I can’t possibly be that good that he would overlook those things just to continue having sex with me 🙂
I hate this….guessing game. I have never been a good mind reader.
Lately, the timeline of my life has been sharply divided into two distinct parts: before and after.
Before I became pregnant. Before I became separated.
After I lost my baby. After I left my husband.
When I make the effort to contemplate all this becoming, losing, and leaving I almost always end in the same place that I started: my pregnancy.
I have a room in my house that I very rarely go into. It is the would-be nursery that is currently packed with so much junk that I can barely step foot in there. This evening I ventured into that room for the first time in months. I was searching for an extra bobbin for my sewing machine and figured it might be in there among the chaos. Upon opening the door, the very first thing that my eyes land upon is the chalkboard that I made to document my pregnancy.
It’s the prop I used to tell my Mom that I was finally bearing her a grandchild. It’s the picture that I sent to my BFF to share the amazing news. It was my project–built with my own two hands–that I intended to use to document my growing baby. It was intended to be the constant–the inanimate object by which to judge the growth of my bump; to compare my baby’s size in-utero to various fruits; to simultaneously count-up the weeks until I was to give birth while counting down the weeks until I held my baby in my arms; and to finally welcome her home.
I find myself wondering how it’s even possible to miss someone who I knew for such a short period of time. How one can possibly become so attached to someone so intangible. I think it’s because I already knew her before she was even conceived. I have dreamed and fantasized and created her in my mind so long ago that it was really only a matter of time before my body caught up with my fantasy. When my body finally welcomed her into existence it was as if my mind could breathe of sigh of relief that she had finally found her home.
Tonight my home feels vacant and hollow. Her presence, one that was already so abstract, now feels like a ghost that will forever haunt my memory.
I don’t know why I never erased that chalkboard. It’s been frozen in time, stuck inside a room that I can’t bring myself to commit to any other purpose.
I just can’t seem to let go. I see everything through the lens of my loss. Even my relationship with The X–I feel tethered to him because he was the other half of that life that grew briefly inside of me. And I wonder if that’s the only reason that I am holding on to a possible future with him. I decided not too long ago that in one year from now, when I turn 31, I was going to try to have a baby on my own–IVF with donor sperm. But the truth is, I don’t want that. What I want is the whole experience of creating another life with a man who I know and that I love.
I want to look at my child and recognize features and personality traits because I am already intimately familiar with those traits that came from their father. When my child smiles, I want my heart to already be acquainted with that asymmetry. Or when my child excels at reading and writing, I want it to because their father has spent every night reading to her from the books he loved as a child. Or when my child develops a stubborn romantic streak, I want her father to recognize his own father in those sentiments. And when the father of my child looks at me, I want to see the love, respect, admiration, and connection in his eyes for me–the mother of his children–the love of his life.
I’m not ready to settle just yet. I’m giving myself time to find all of that and hopefully, more. Through my grieving, I am learning that the reason this is so difficult for me to get over is because for a moment in time, I had everything that I wanted. And I think the only way to truly overcome that grief is to allow for the possibility that I can have it again. Not the same baby, not the same man. But, the same me. Only, hopefully a more actualized, satisfied version of me.
“Jocasta”–Noah and the Whale
When the baby’s born
Oh let’s turn it to the snow
So that ice will surely grow
Over weak and brittle bones
Oh let’s leave it to the wolves
So their teeth turn it to food
Oh its flesh keeps them alive
Oh its death helps life survive
Oh the world can be kind in its own way
Oh well your future’s a machine
With the mechanics of a dream
And it’s your mind that spins the wheel
And your heart that makes you feel
All the guilt for all your sins
Oh and as that wheel spins
Oh well it plays as they believed
And for your husband you have grieved
Oh the world
Still deceives you as it turns
And in my lucid moments I could see
Oh that the heart may be
The weakest part of me
Oh and the moon controls
The movements of the tide
Oh but it has no weight on the movements of my mind
But if you turn your hands to flames
Oh the light will burn the same
Whether you just pass it through
Or if it’s what you meant to do
And your sense of culpability
Is from the guides that you perceived
Their constant lie that you believe
Will show you grace
Oh when you turn to a ghost
Oh but now the love you found
Is raising you from muddy ground
And oh the death will let you down
‘Cause your curse will still go on the same
I have really been neglecting this here corner of the internet. But in response to your comments, emails, and texts I will gladly provide you with an update. Oh, who am I kidding? I have missed this space and I have missed you all! I guess I’ve just been a little…distracted. But I am back to regale you with another sordid story of my singledom and sluthood.
First, however, there is some business I must attend to. One of the reasons that I haven’t written in quite some time is due entirely to my big mouth. I just get so darn proud of myself for maintaining this blog. And I get a little braggy about all you wonderful people who still stop by to read what I have to say. And I then I like to tell people about it. Especially when I write something about them. So really I have no one to blame but myself (and snooping boys too, kind of) if I am unable to maintain my anonymity. That being said, The Actor knows about my blog and he even knows what it’s called, although he promised that he wouldn’t look it up. I know that if it were me, I would never-in-a-million-years have been able to keep that promise. He saw my phone and the separate email address I keep that is associated with this space. He asked me what in the world “Sub-Fertile Slut” is and I had to tell him the truth lest I come across looking like a total weirdo–as opposed to the sort of weirdo that I most definitely am.
I pretty much straight up told Mr. Professor about this space. I did not, however, tell him the name. In an attempt to tease him just a little, I told him that I had written about him on my blog and being the slightly vain guy that he is, he went Googling for it to no avail. At least not as of the last time we talked about it. It’s not that I really care if any of these men read what I have to say about them, it’s more that I don’t want them to read what I have to say about other men. And to complicate it even further, it’s not that I care if they know about the other men, it’s mostly that I don’t want to have to censor myself. So, that’s exactly what I am going to continue to do–I don’t really know any other way.
Also, The Actor and/or Mr. Professor (and you know exactly who you are), you should definitely say HI if you are reading this. I promise I will still continue to write about you, regardless.
Now back to regularly scheduled programming….also known as what’s been going through my head, but haven’t been writing about due to the above business matters.
I have a major crush. Even at the risk of sounding like a 14-year-old schoolgirl, I will admit the extent of this crush is truly major.
I have been spending a lot of time with Mr. Professor–quality time both in and out of the bedroom. But, there are two major problems:
1. I’m married. I set out on this whole adventure with the intentions of avoiding getting in a relationship and developing major feelings for any guy. I simply wanted to date and have glorious, glorious sex. And up until this point I have been quite successful in that endeavor. I deemed myself “emotionally unavailable” and made that clear to every guy that I have gone out with. I even told Mr. Professor up front that I could not and would not ever be able to be his girlfriend. This worked out nicely for the both of us because he is in a similar situation, which leads me to the next problem.
2. He has a girlfriend. They’ve been dating long distance for a few years (long distance as in she lives on the other side of the world) and a while ago they decided to open their relationship up in the physical sense. I don’t want to share too many details because that is his story to tell, not mine. But things haven’t been on the most solid of ground lately and they are trying to determine what their future holds, if anything at all. I know that he is absolutely heartbroken over this. I know it both because he told me and also because I am intimately familiar with those same feelings. In much the same way I did, he made it clear that he was “emotionally unavailable” and not looking to be anybody’s boyfriend. He even had to give a “I’m breaking up with you even though we were never really dating in the first place” speech to another girl that he was hooking up with because she was getting attached and wanted him as a potential boyfriend.
So, what’s a girl to do?
I really like him and I think he really likes me too. And I just don’t know what any of this means. Or even if it has to mean anything at all.
I find myself questioning my desire to be non-monogamous. Maybe I want to try my hand at having a boyfriend? Maybe I don’t. I really have absolutely no clue. The only things that I do know are the following:
- I like him.
- As soon as I leave him, I am already anticipating the next time I will see him again.
- I anticipate the above because our sexual chemistry is amazing, but I also crave just being around him.
- I get a slight twinge of jealousy when he causally mentions another girl he’s gone out with or is planning to go out with. I do the same thing though and I’d hate to think that I’m imposing a double standard.
- I think he’s incredibly hot.
- When we aren’t together we are constantly texting and emailing.
- I forget all about my marriage and The X when ever I’m around Mr. Professor. And sometimes even when I’m not.
- He makes me feel hope about a future beyond my marriage even if that future doesn’t include him.
- I now know what it feels like to be simply adored by a man.
- He calls me sweet pea. And I think it’s adorable.
- He likes my laugh, a trait I’ve always been self-conscious of.
- He’s a southern gentleman and I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for southern boys.
- He teaches me things–backgammon, new sex positions, and poetry–just to name a few.
- He is kind, intelligent, a good conversationalist, and open-minded.
- I don’t want to mess up what we currently have by mentioning that I might want something more. Especially because I’m not sure if I’d even be any good at that “something more.” Whatever that might be.
Part of me wishes that he would find this blog and read about what I am feeling–save me the anxiety of having this conversation face-to-face.
Part of me wishes he would just come out and tell me how he’s feeling even if those feelings are as complicated as my own.
Part of me wonders if I should say something, test the waters, as they say.
Part of me wonders if I should keep my big my mouth shut for once and maintain the status quo.
All of me hopes that he has feelings that at least somewhat resemble my own and that he would want to explore them together–both of us knowing full well that this would be a terrible idea, but one that is full of potential for greatness.
Yeah, you read that right.
The X and I decided that it would be a good idea to try dating one another throughout this separation. To see if there is still something here. To see if we could find that one tiny spark buried beneath the hurt, anger, and indifference. To see if dating one another would be that little puff of oxygen that could feed that spark and return it to the flame that it once was. We have both changed so much over the past 10 years, exponentially so in the last year alone. I don’t think that either of us recognizes the other any longer. But we are both clinging to hope that maybe, just maybe, the people that we have become could love each other like the people we used to be.
So on Friday we had our first date. And it really felt like a first date. I came home, showered, and got all dolled up in the hopes that I could make a good first impression. After all, they say you only have one chance to make a good first impression. I suppose that also applies to re-dating your ex-husband. I was full of nerves and my stomach fluttered like butterflies. I was overcome with anticipation of seeing him again, but for the first time. Like any other date, I wondered if we’d have chemistry? Would we have anything to talk about? But also feared that this would truly mark the end–that my first impression would be my last. That he wouldn’t like me any more than the last time we said goodbye.
We met for drinks. Him, a martini. Me, a dark and stormy. I ordered the caprese salad. He ordered the beef tar tare.
One of the things that The X didn’t like about me while we were married was my picky palate. I’m simply not adventurous when it comes to food. I decide by looking at something whether or not I want it on my taste buds. It used to drive him crazy the way I would turn my nose up at anything that looked weird to me. So when he asked if I wanted to taste his tar tare, I said yes. He spread a little bite on the bread, sprinkled it with salt, and then sprinkled it with pepper despite knowing how I despise pepper. I gave an inch and he took a mile. But I smiled and silently accepted his dare. I knew it was a test and all I had to do in order to pass was the put the tar tare sprinkled with pepper in my mouth and swallow it. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my mind, I think I thought that this one bite of raw beef would make him like me again.
I tried to like it. I really did. But I failed when he handed me the napkin in which to spit it out.
The plan was to have a drink and a light meal, go see a play, and then grab drinks afterward. So from the bar, we headed to the theater. The play we saw was called The Last 5 Years. This is the synopsis:
The show follows two timelines:
Cathy begins at the end of her marriage and relationship with Jamie
and ends with the moment following their first date.
Jamie begins with the first date and struggles forward through the relationship.
Jamie and Cathy rarely appear or participate in each other’s scenes;
only as silent objects, props for a focus, or to provide a hint of what once was, or could have been.
The Last 5 Years asks many questions:
Why do we fall in love?
Why do relationships fail?
Why do people grow apart?
Does success for one mean loss for the other?
Suffice it to say that this might have been the worst idea I’ve ever had. Of course we both took something away, but the take-away wasn’t nearly as enlightening or progressive as I thought it might be. Instead, we were both left with an overwhelming sadness over the demise of our marriage. Could I have been more understanding? Could he have been more supportive? Or was it the other way around? One line in particular really caught my attention–“Why do I have to lose because you can’t win?” As we sat in the small, dark theater and watched a fictional version of our marriage unravel right before our eyes, that one simple line seemed to sum everything up. But, really, in the end it just makes us both losers. No one wins because we no longer have each other. It’s just so sad.
We both cried quite a bit during the play. There is one scene on their wedding day (the only point in the entire play where the actors are on the timeline) that really touched us both. We sat there, hand in hand, as we watched ourselves in the actor’s faces say ‘I do’ and share their first dance as husband and wife. The tears were unstoppable at this point so we both just let them fall. We both expected to feel was a sense of grieving for what was, but in the end we were simply left longing and wondering where it all went wrong.
By the time the play was over, I was entirely too emotional to go out in public, so we headed our separate ways. Me, to our empty home. He, to who knows where. That night I cried my eyes out over the immense sadness that riddles my heart. I sobbed for the profound loss of something that I have always held so dear. But in the end, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe this isn’t over after all. If there is still something there to feel, then maybe there is something there worth saving.
For now, however, we’ve both agreed to let him plan our second date. Perhaps something that hits a little further away from home….
His name is Mr. Professor.
I met Mr. Professor this past Saturday, but we were both out with other people. The entire evening I was distracted by his intensity, imagining what it would be like to get my hands on him. Little did I know, he was thinking the same exact thing. He texted me the following morning to tell me so. Well, he told me that and so much more. We ended up texting back and forth most of the day and making plans to hang out just the two of us.
When I say texting back and forth, I should probably expand upon that and tell you that these texts mostly outlined the things we wanted to do to each other. Now, I’ve never been a huge fan of sending dirty texts…well that’s not entirely true. I’ve always been a fan of receiving them, but I’ve never been good at replying to them. Suffice it to say that this guy found a way to bring that out in me. I’m a lover of words in every sense, so using them erotically gets me in a way that few other things to do. Mr. Professor has a way with these words which should really come as no surprise. And I quote:
I’m a poet. Fucking poetically means ‘fucking is a dirty poem.’ Words are the sexiest things there are. So few know their erotic power during sex.
And did he ever follow through on that promise.
He started by cooking me an amazing dinner–lamb soup with rice (cooked properly) and spinach sauteed with garlic. It was the yummiest meal that I had in weeks. And it was just a prelude to all of the yummy things that would soon follow. An hour of tension building with sweet kisses, hand holding, and light touching and teasing. Getting to know each other–our backgrounds, where we come from, what our families are like. Laughing, sighing, and creating a need for one another that only the other could satisfy.
One thing lead to another, as these things often do, and alas we were in his bed getting to know one another on an extremely erotically charged level–one that I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. But by the time we moved on to round two, I was quite familiar with this particular brand of sex. Quite familiar with my desire to want it again.
I shared with you that I know I have a thing for teachers, but Professors??? Who knew? The power, the intelligence, the sexiness of imparting knowledge is almost more than I can handle. But I will admit that what turns me on the most is knowing that he is standing before a room of undergrads who are all thinking the same way about him. I’m positive that there are at least a handful of students that he teaches that want to get their hands on him, but I know (with smug reassurance) that while they are fall picturing him naked, he’s attempting to control his fantasy of having sex with me. I know this because he told me so. I know this because he told me he had to think of nothing but my hands yesterday lest he not be able to handle the anticipation of the thoughts that were attempting to take over.
I will definitely be doing this again. And again.
2013 is shaping up to be a promising year for me. I’ve already learned so much about myself that I didn’t know 3 short months ago. My 2013: Get Growing List is coming together very nicely. And I’m pretty sure that this summer is going to be epic for many reasons.
- My kick-off to summer officially begins on April 27th with the Charm City Folk and Bluegrass Festival. It makes me so proud to have such great music right in my own backyard and I can’t wait to show my support for my favorite city and the talent that it holds.
- Then I turn the big 3-0 the following day. I haven’t made any plans for this milestone just yet. I’m still coping with the bitterness that I am feeling about it. Not so much because I’m separated, childless, and turning 30, but more so because I threw The X a super awesome 30th birthday two years ago and I wasn’t expecting to have do it again for myself. I thought he would be the one planning the party and demonstrating his love for me. Instead, I am in the process of accepting that this year is about celebrating myself and demonstrating the love I have for the wonderful person that I am. Even if that acceptance includes having to throw my own shindig.
- May 11th is the Baltimore Color Run which I will be running with my awesome team members and gaggle of best lady friends, Rapid Thigh Movement.
- The following weekend, my team and I will be doing the same run, but in DC.
- June 18th I will be seeing The Postal Service, one of my absolute favorite bands!
- And perhaps the thing I am looking most forward to, Firefly Festival.
I’ve never really been to a festival quite like this before. And I’ve decided to go alone. Three days of great music, meeting people, and camping. In a tent. By myself. I have no doubt that it will prove to be one of the best adventures of my life. I know quite a few people that are going and I will more than likely hang out with all of them, but in the end, this trip is for me. It’s for me to dance, camp, and have way too much fun. But it’s also about me being alone in a crowd of thousands.
- At the end of July will come another big adventure for me. I’m flying (on an airplane!!!) all the way to Seattle for my sister-friend’s 30th birthday. It should be known that the reason this is such a big deal for me is because flying is my #1 fear. Fear actually doesn’t even begin to describe it. Flying is a phobia of mine, but I’m ready to shed myself of that. I want to have the whole world at my fingertips, not just places within reasonable driving distance. Come July, this will no longer be an issue. Promise.
- Pretty much as soon as I get back from Seattle, a few of my lady and I will be seeing the Lumineers in concert. It will be third time that I get to see them; they have a special place in my heart as so many summer 2012 memories were made with the Lumineers playing in the background. They were (and still are) the soundtrack to a very important time in my life. A time wherein so many things were changing at a rate so imperceptible that it’s really only in retrospect that those changes are visible. The Lumineers are my seismic shift.
- Then to end the summer, I will be running the Dirty Girl Mud Run. Something that I have ALWAYS wanted to do!
And then it will be over. Then it will be time to start making plans for 2014: The Year of My Baby…but more on that later.