Anticipation.

Today I am a little scared that I am afraid of us. That whole shit be getting real thing.

I'm afraid we've accepted that, in whatever way we do it, we love each other. Why does that make me want to puke? That we've accepted it seems to be the catch. We've accepted and are going to let it do its thing. He doesn't appear to be putting up so many road blocks to slow shit down.

This happens sometimes when I'm going to see him again after a week of not. The last time we were together is always great, the fantasy memories of it throughout the next week are great, the love, because of the distance and want, grows - and then I'm afraid it will be gone?

What if I loved it in my mind so much that it does that thing that things do and makes itself more real than is pretty and alluring.

What if we've fucked the fuck out of each other? What if we've exhausted this?

I also feel that when his skin is close to mine, I can breath again. I can let go of the breath that I didn't know I've been holding. I can relax.

Today it feels even more urgent that I be in his arms and feel his warmth. I'll have to work with him for a full 8 hours before I can touch him. Before I can relax.

Maybe that's what scares me.

My skin, my heart, wants the breath. What if it's not there?

Knowing that something exists that you no longer want to live without... chancy.

It's always been that way for me, knowing I didn't want to live without it. But, he never really gave it to me before. Now, it feels like he's surrendered to a majority of it, not all of it, but most of it. It being the idea that him and I are more.

He has given over a piece of him that I wanted which has, perhaps, lulled (or is lulling) me into a false sense of security.

Now, I'm letting myself love him, not knowing what will come of it.

Where Things Start to Feel (a tiny bit) Dangerously Real

It went well.

Of course it went well.

I told him I had a past that affected my sexuality in a way... yadda, yadda, yadda.

I told him that I faked some orgasms. He said that, if anything, that hurt more and asked me to please not do that. If I don't have one, that's fine, we'll find a way together.

Shit be getting kinda real in a "sure, okay" shrug of shoulder aint no thang kind a way.

And over this past 2 weeks, so many other things have happened. He asked me about my fantasies, I said I couldn't nail down just one as the fluctuate, but they all boil down to one thing usually, either a) intimacy so profound that you have earth shattering orgasms or, more likely and often  b) sex where I'm being slightly dominated and my body simply there for their pleasure - and often there is more than one of them. There, I said it.

I don't like to admit to that because I'm afraid/ashamed that my desire for that comes from my experience, that on some level I'm trying to recreate what happened all those years ago.

Ugh. There, I said it. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

He wants me to tell him my fantasy, but that right there is why I can't.

Anyhoo, the funny thing is: I've mentioned, he's a real talker in bed, to the point where I laugh because it seems silly. He also likes to be a little dominating and pushy at times, which I also thought was "pretty cute."

But then, I realized that some of what he does/says IS THE SHIT THAT IS IN MY FANTASIES.

hahahahahhahaha.

So, the other morning, as he was working at making me come with his hand while he's fucking me, he's whispering in my ear dirty little words. Instead of thinking it was a him thing, I listened. I followed him, the sound of his voice, to where ever he was. I let him take me there. I let go. 

It was fucking fantastic. 

Shit be getting real. I love it, but it scares me that it will scare him. I can see we're falling in love. I lay in bed with him in the mornings ('cause we sleep over now, too) and I love him. I feel shit stir as my skin touches his, as I run my hand along his body. I can feel myself loving him. 

I think we can stay the way we are and still be in love. We don't have to move in or spend every waking moment together. But it is still love and it will continue to grow unless one of us feels the overwhelming need to stop it. 

Transparent

So, things are good and okay. Nothing bad happened. I cried a bit - for what, I'm not sure. It's possible that I've worked myself up into a lather thinking about if and how I might tell the Greek a bit about my past so as to make myself accountable around the orgasm and my journey to learn how to let go and have them for real.

If I don't tell him, I'm forced to faking it because I know I wont have one (because I think I don't know how to let go enough nor do I feel comfortable saying what works and doesn't work for me) and I don't want him to think he's not good at it. And it brings him such happiness to see me have one.

A friend of mine and I had a good discussion last night, mostly I was giving him my blah, blah, blah on how to resurrect your soul, but I managed to tack on my dilemma at the end, asking for his take on whether or not I should tell the Greek this shit about me - or is this something I could do on my own without bringing up the downer subject of my past.

He suggested I just say it, that I deserve to have a full chance of taking this opportunity to get this last part of me back.

I was able to get back the art of performing sex without attaching it to my past. I own that now. However, I have never learned how to receive sex. I believe I was happy to have partners that didn't push for that, that left me alone. Now, I've told the universe that I was ready to do what it takes to have something sweet in my life - who fucking new it would bring this shit up.

Being transparent with the Greek about this makes me accountable to me. It lets him in on my secret so I can't hide behind it anymore.

the thought of it makes my hands sweat:

What if he thinks I'm too damaged
What if it makes our sweet bubble too real
What if he thinks I'm gross
What if he thinks I like our dirty/rough sex because I'm used to being a sex slave (ugh, that's gross)
What if he wants to take care of me
(seriously, my hands are sweating)
What if he doesn't want to take that type of project on
What if...

But, in the end, I think my friend is right. I owe it to me to be transparent (and thus accountable) to see if I can take this last piece of my sexuality back. I think I need to take this chance and let the chips fall where they may.

I will be a humble, poised Queen, and I will reveal myself.

Obviously, I will let you know how that goes.

Umm.

I don't know what happened. Some thought whipped its way into my head and created a feeling of dread and dislike. I think it has something to do with my daughter being out, probably late, with the Greek. A bunch of people from the office went out to play cards and she stayed around till the end I believe...

I don't like something  - it's either intuition or misplaced fear.

I'm glad I'm not going into the office. I think I am mad at him and myself.

I have anxiety about everything this morning. It's uncomfortable.

I'm asking the universe to reveal itself. If I need to see something, please show me what I need to see.

This weekend we have a get really dressed up event, the Greek and I have agreed on a skip this weekend break upon my suggestion. I wanted to save it up until the next weekend which is our christmas party.

Today, I don't want any of it. Something doesn't feel right.

Protection

Someone might come across this blog and think that it is just about my obsession with some guy because that is all I write about. But it is just all I write about here.

This is the place where I defuse all those thoughts and feelings about love and sexuality and how that compliments or interferes with my life - and, sure, maybe I am a little obsessed with that.

I have a great interest in love, specifically my connection to love and the humans I experience it with.

I'm intrigued by my motivators. I am intrigued by my decisions. My feelings.

Today, I feel like I am coming out of my obsession with the Greek. It's losing its hold just a little bit. The fantasy still exists, the lure of the fantasy beats as much as ever. The love still sits on the precipice of life being breathed into it.

BUT. He still resists that... I think.

I have my  scientist/anthropologist pants on now, studying humanity; it is not me pining for a young man that is ultimately just using me. Not that I haven't been that most of this relationship, it's just not who I am right now.

He's in my dreams so much more lately, almost every night compared to never. This morning, he was sitting in front of me, we were sitting across from each other and he said, "I'm thinking about you" and I nodded. Then, as if reading my mind or facial expression that I understood he was thinking about me sexually, he corrected me and said, "No, I'm thinking about you."

He was thinking about how close he felt to me.

That exists between us. It exists between the lines. It's lovely, and I love those moments most of all.

Last time we were together, 2 nights ago, we fucked like carnal humans ripping the flesh from one another. Thinking about it makes me swell with excitement. That kind of fucking feeds a part of me that is so happy to be alive to experience it. It's powerful and delicious.

It does need to be balanced though. He will need to allow himself to love me - like he did in my dream.

And if I truly want to give him what he wants, watching me have glorious orgasms (ugh), I will have to find my voice.

We're both going to have to let go of something we hold dear.

Mouth to Mouth

We resuscitated it. Ha ha. You probably saw that coming. Honestly, I wasn't so sure.

The last time we got together, it was short lived and kind of cold.

This time, it was warm. It felt like he surrendered himself a bit more and, maybe, so did I.

He said he wanted to touch me, kiss me - and that he did. There was tenderness mixed in with the fucking. It was one of those beautiful nights.

He slept over, he would roll over in the middle of the night and wrap his arms around me. We were both without walls.

There is one small wall remaining though.

He loves it when I have an orgasm. Of course he does. Only, he loves it so much it's his mission: fuck me until I orgasm multiple times. Which means knocking on that thick oak door that my voice is locked behind - for safe keeping or protection... .

I mean, I think I always knew that that was the case, but I was wholly okay with that. I've found tiny voices over the years but only in very small cases, cases where I've been willing to challenge myself after years of proof that I was safe to do so.

But, it's a voice that feels so utterly foreign to me - I think that's really the biggest issue. It's like a muscle that I've never used, a line I've never had to cross because no man I've ever been with has ever put my pleasure at the top of their priority. They weren't assholes for it, it's who they are. I probably subconsciously chose them for that.

But this man wants, needs me to speak up, to tell him what feels good and what doesn't.

Jesus, he has no idea what he's asking of me. He's asking a mute to speak, but not even just to speak... to speak up.

I guess, as a child, that was the ultimate betrayal, when he would not only engage me in humiliating acts, but demand I state how much I liked it, and in those moments, I betrayed myself.

I think it still feels like a shameful betrayal if I say what I like. That or, the person that would say those things is not an integrated part of me, so if she speaks, I am no longer there. If I am no longer there... I am dead.

"Where did you hide me"

That was that dream I had when I was about 11, I was shaking the asshole stepfather's mother, screaming with urgency in her face... "Where. did. you. hide. me?" I had to go back and find something that I left there -  I think that's what it was.

From a psychological  standpoint, in the years to come, I would assume that it was the wounded child that I had left there, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe, it was my voice that I left behind.

And now, I have invited someone into my life that is literally giving that locked up part of me mouth to mouth.

Ima let him.

I Killed It.

Pretty sure that's what I did. It's magnificent, really. Blindingly brilliant. The brightest light you could ever see.

I let him fuck me at lunch.

Is that what I did? I'm still not sure.

It wasn't love though, that I'm pretty sure of. Or, at the very least, I saw it for what it has been all this time, finally.

Maybe that's why I wanted to go, to make sure I killed it. Finished it.

Isn't that what I said to him? "Sometimes I just wish we would do this to death - just get it over with, end it once and for all."

I think that's what I did. I let him do something that would end it for me. I gave him liberty and he accepted - because, ultimately, he doesn't love me. Not like that.

Good to know (or finally get).

For what it's worth, it was sweet - when it was sweet.

Good night, love. Or whatever your name is :)