The things I would do for you

I’m doing a really nice job of beating myself up right now. He’s finished with his big project so he’s coming down to see me tomorrow. In preparation I google-image the shit out of him despite the fact I did it when we first met and have done it regularly since then. I haven’t seen him in almost three weeks and its been a fucking emotional rollercoaster. I always starts off feeling independent and strong, then dive into utter despair and loneliness, then refocus on my own work, then become resentful and make snide phonecalls because I’m angry I can’t see him.

So he is coming tomorrow and I google-image him and find something new: a discography of another one of his big loves. How many devastatingly beautiful blondes with billboard rankings does he have to have in his past in order to send me into a spiral of self-doubt? This is fucking intimidating.

All I have to my name is a set of research in a piddly esoteric academic field and a couple of D-cups and they have ALBUMS and MOVIES and flowing blond hair and singing ability and a pedestal set high and unreachable by anonymous poor grad students in southern california. He must be pretty miserable in his current situation or I give damn good blow jobs cause otherwise I just don’t understand it at all.

I wonder how this will affect tomorrow’s visit. Between that and the fact that none of my close friends approve of this situation and I can’t integrate him into my social circle, it doesn’t look promising. Of course, as soon as he brushes his hand across my breast or smells my hair it could all be forgotten. We’ll have to see.

From him, today, about the other blog:

Are you still working on the blog?  Confess!

Love,

*

2. You write that ‘he’ has a wife, and I gather from what you say about him that his wife is aware that he takes lovers. Does she know about you specifically, or just know that he has a lover? Is he polyamourous? Are you? If so, are you accustomed to being the ‘secondary’? If not, do you really feel OK about the fact that he has other partners or is it bothering you on a deeper level?

Oh, the uncomfortable subject gets addressed here. Yes, he has a wife. And from what I understand I am the first lover that he has had since he was married (over a decade). She knows about me of course, and wants to meet me, which is a frightening prospect. I don’t know how much detail she knows about me. She knows my name and where I live, she knows how we met. She doesn’t know what I look like. Beyond that, I’m not sure and I’m not going to ask. He says he is not polyamourous, and I don’t think I am. It was definitely not my intention to involve myself with someone who is married (although it wan’t a barrier, and love, wasn’t thinking about that either), but here I am and I’m willing to be a bit passive about it. For now. Does it bother me? Sometimes not at all, I can separate my relationship with him from his relationship with her. Sometimes all the time, I can be jealous and catty and unreasonable about it. That I keep to myself. But mostly I just chalk it up to my tendency to get involved with somehow unavailable or inappropriate men. That is what bothers me.

3. Who should you have broken up with (ref – April 24th “What I should Have Done”) – J or ‘Him’ or * or someone else? You say you are in love with ‘someone else’ – who is that?

I should have broken up with J. Although I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks, so maybe saying the words wasn’t necessary. I am in love with the one I met in
Berlin. Who I shouldn’t be with either. And might not be for much longer. How much more of this can I take?

Thanks to Red at Red Sneaker Diaries for posing the following questions to me for blog-a-thon. She kindly did this for me, and I’m willing to do the same for you. Official rules are posted here.

She sent me five questions, here is the first, with its response:

1. Your journal begins with excerpts of emails between you and “Him”. Is there only one ‘him’ that you’re talking about? How did you meet him? Who is J? How does J fit into the picture? Who is *? How does * fit into the picture?

There is only one “him.” We met in
Berlin in February. He was there for Berlinale and I was there doing research for a few months. He felt sorry for me, being an American girl in Berlin in the depths of winter and he offered to have coffee with me. That was the start of it all. Now, amazingly, we are both in the States and living driving-distance apart. Not close enough to see each other frequently, but close enough to see each other when it gets too hard not to.

J is one of the men I was dating before I left for Berlin back in December. When I returned we started to see each other again, but by that time I had realized that I was already falling for this other. Apparently that didn’t stop me from sleeping with him (J). * is “him,” the one I met in Berlin, the one who is married, the one I think I am in love with, the one who won’t hurt me. I think I might have to come up with some other way to refer to him in the future, if this seems confusing.

I really think I’m at the point where I do need a little training in this whole BDSM area. There is only so much I can learn on my own, and there are clearly limits to what he is willing to explore as a rather conservative and shy sort of lover. Don’t get me wrong, he’s completely attentive, worshipful even. Every moment I spend in the shower with him is like Mary Magdalene behavior. I’m bathed, I’m adored, I’m bent over the side of the sink. He has few limits when it comes to emotional and physical intimacy, my body is his, and he uses it completely. He is just not willing to hurt me, to subject me to any behavior that is not equitable, loving, balanced. I wonder if this is unfair of me, that I’m already looking for something outside of this quasi-relationship without fully exploring it within the relationship. But I have to say I am almost embarrassed to bring this rather dark side of me to the table, knowing what he thinks of me. It would hurt him to know I am seeking intimacy elsewhere (despite the fact that he is married, and while not currently sexually involved with his wife, certainly intimate in ways unavailable to me).

It would hurt him to know that I am writing this. He would leave me for sure if he knew about this blog, and worse, feel betrayed and disappointed in me. I am feeling terribly guilty about it all. He expresses time and time again that our sexual behavior is for us and us alone. It kills me to know that, but I feel like I need to explore this side of me in a safe place, away from my other blog and away from friends and lovers. I need something of my own, something private and rebellious maybe, the comfort of strangers? I’m still working these things out. Maybe I’m rebelling against a sense of interdependency. Maybe I’m creating a wedge between us so when it inevitably comes to an end (because it will, I doubt this will ever evolve into ever-after: the age difference, the marriage, our respective careers), I have control over its demise.

Sometimes I wish we were still in
Berlin. Things were so much simpler there and then. The first coffee, the subsequent encounters, the shared notion that we had to take full advantage of every moment because it could surely be our last. We both had work that pulled us away- me to the Netherlands, him to Latvia - but after that there was just the two of us. No assistants, no professors, no roommates or directors. Just us and the room and the restaurants and the city. I know its silly to feel nostalgic for an idealized past, but sometimes it’s all I think about. Even though I love him now, I miss when we didn’t have to think about the future, and just behaved.

Feeling very aggressive and bitchy today. Sat through an Economic Development Advisory Committee Meeting this afternoon and all I wanted to do was hit the woman next to me for just BEING TOO CLOSE. If my old German lover (actually, the young one) were here he would say, Kitty, you need some discipline. And I would smile and say, what the fuck do you mean by that, fuckface? And it would progress appropriately from there, leaving me smiling and sated and calm and sweet again.

Sometimes I wish this new lover would be a little less enlightened and a bit more aggressive himself. Sometimes I need something a little more base, something a little carnal, because sometimes the best solution is the most primal one. Semi-forced penetration, arm around waist pulling hips up, hand pushing down between the shoulderblades, face into floor/bed/table, thumb on anus, fingers probing cunt, clit, ass hot and red from well-placed slaps. Make me scream, motherfucker, make my breasts ache and my pussy sore so I can think of you lovingly as I sit through another night’s lecture.

I saw him again this weekend. It had been ten days, so he made it happen. Two nights alone with him, enough to be able to pretend, almost. The sun came through the plantation blinds twice and he was still there, lying next to me. We even managed to have breakfast together one day. That’s how luxurious it felt. Like we had time enough to eat.

What to write about? The way he bends me over in the shower, and begins to fuck me even though I’m not quite ready, but within ten seconds of him inside me I am. The way I just brush my fingers over his cock and it’s hard and stiff and ready. The way he slides his hand into my bra that sets my skin on fire and my nipples at attention. The way he pushes my hand down from his chest to his pants so I can feel his response to my kisses. Ah, something new:

New for us. He came back to the hotel midday. I had been to the market and brought him a beautiful, small chocolate cake. Somehow it ends up in the bathrom with us- no utensils, just fingers, and between the sharing and the licking and the cream and the breasts and the tender bits of cake I end up on the sink- linen skirt hitched up over my knees, his left hand pulling aside my panties, the other in my mouth, me holding on while I sneak looks in the mirror beside us. Could we have waited for the bed? Yes, but why? Monumentally hot to watch him fuck me like that, completely uninhibited, completely full of desire.

He knows I like it hard now. And from behind. He says he can’t keep up that pace. He asks me, why don’t you just tell me these things? Not everything needs to be spoken. Some things just emerge naturally. How was I to know that I would enjoy so much his finger in my ass, pressing down to feel his cock in my pussy from the inside? He does it and I respond, it gets added to the repetoire.

Sometimes I feel like such a novice with him. I’ve had my fair share of sex- not all good, some not spectacular at all, some fantastic, but a great bit of variety, and I’ve done most of what I would be willing to do. But with him I feel like I’m just beginning. Discovering something altogether new, as if we have just invented this new great thing. Or that he is some sage that has graced me with hidden secrets. I can’t quite put my finger on it. There is definitely something diferent happening this time, and I know it’s not just love.

From this moment on, I’m going to stop posting his email to me. The guilt is eating me up and I don’t want to risk whatever this is we have over my incessant desire to expose our correspondence to whomever might read this thing.

I’ve told my roommate that I have started another blog, and I’m sure he knows what I write about, because all of the sexual energy that was bouncing around the other one is gone, completely dissapated.

Too tired to write more, except that as soon as he starts to stop paying attention to me as much as he has I’m going to sink into a funk so deep and so black that I might as well be a disgruntled hausfrau. A state he might be very familiar with.