I Left T

I ended the romantic relationship.

I've been walking on sunshine for the last month with JB, but something is not right anymore. I don't know what it is. I think it's me. I think I miss TK, and I feel like I made a mistake.

I remind myself that I wasn't happy when we were together. I remind myself that the sex wasn't so great anymore, and I avoided it. I remember getting cross with him and the drudge of dragging him up again from his terrible moods.

But I think that was all worth it. I think. I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. He was a constant, and now he is not. I've made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

JB is so wonderful. He's kind, he's good looking, the sex is amazing. He's not T, but that's ok, I genuine love JB of his own accord and I'm grateful of his love in return. But fuck if this ain't half hard. I've never broken up with someone I still loved before.

My cousin is a neuroscientist and he said that the brain can take months, or even years to kill off the emotional pathways in our brain. He said it takes time to make new pathways, and develop new associations about who and what is familiar, and what represents love. I hope he's right, and this struggle is just part of that.

I’m a silly cunt sometimes

I’ve fallen for my housemate. I’m a total idiot, and should have known better. He’s called JB, he’s lovely, and had I met him in a different life, who knows? It could have been different.

The night I came to look at the house was so much fun. I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it, but I knew he was at home waiting for me, and in the quickly darkening evening I could see him sitting on the sofa  playing on an ipad and drinking red wine. All the signs were good that this was going to be somewhere I’d be happy living.

I can hear his voice so clearly, welcoming me. “Hello”. He was excited and nervous - we’d met once before at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and as we all left, JB and I danced to the train station. I found him on facebook, and found his art blog. He remembers me as his first following. We seemed to be quietly noteworthy in each others’ lives.

He showed me the house. A study (yay), with room for my sewing machine. filled with books. Heaven. A lobby, beautifully decorated to exactly my taste. A lovely bathroom and a new kitchen, just put in. He showed me the room, it was great. We went to the kitchen, and he gave me the key. It was that easy. He poured me some wine.

We chatted. We talked our way through three bottles of wine, and I was having a great time. We agreed on so many things, and agreed at how stupid those who didn’t agree with us were. I told him I was polyamorous. We watched Youtube clips and laughed together on the sofa. We let our bodies touch. I don’t really remember saying this (although definitely not out of the realm of possibility) but apparently I said “so is fucking part of the deal?”. Ugh

So we kissed, we really made out. He took me upstairs, I ripped his (and my own) clothes off. We touched, I sucked his cock. I remember a hazy and not very enjoyable 69 (those things scare me - too much chance for a nose up the bum) and then him not being able to keep it up. I remember waking up a lot, and feeling very thirsty. It was a little weird.

A few days later I came to show my four year old nephew the house. JB thanked me for being cool. I felt cool. I like fucking people and although it wasn’t my most successful drunken fuck, I had enjoyed myself. I moved in.

We started a weird friendship, a slight romance. We enjoyed each other so much, and began to fool around most weekends. I was fine - I was really ok with it all, and JB was so clear that a real relationship between us wasn’t really an option.

I ignored him. I wondered what it would be like if we were together. I thought if I pretended hard enough, he’d change his mind. He kept saying how excellent I was, and I thought that meant he wanted to be with me, and was coming around to the idea.

He wasn’t. I know that categorically, after starting to cry when we agreed we should probably stop the kissing, the fucking and the cuddling up to watch TV, I confessed I was upset because I loved him. Accidentally loved him. He was (is?) shocked, and as gently as possible told me that I would never make it into his heart.

I’m retreating now, trying to get some distance without being mean (although my lesser self wants him to be as hurt as I feel), but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I want him.

Delicious R Strikes Again

After our first meeting I decide to play things cool - pretty much because I'm feeling decidedly un-cool about the whole thing, and I don't want to be humiliated or rejected. I bloody like this man, and I want him, and his now-fiancee to like me as well. Agonising stuff. BE NORMAL.

I didn't hear anything from him the next day, but the day after I get a little email note saying that he had a lot of fun, and would like to meet again. The same time, next week. I'm trying to be normal, verging on distant, so he doesn't think I'm too keen. Actually what I mean is so he doesn't actually figure out how keen I really am. Keep it together woman!

I'm also totally fucking skint, and am supposed to head up to London the following week anyway. Save costs, be uber cool - let's not meet again for another two weeks. He seems genuinely disappointed! I don't know why I still find this so surprising. 

So we text a few times over the next two weeks, until the day of the meet, where we decide what to do in the evening. A pub in Sarf Lahndahn was the decision. I was excited, he didn't seem to be so much. I got there about half an hour early, and he was suddenly fifteen minutes late. I was pleased to be early because it meant I had time to prepare to not be a weirdo, and get some breath mints and some cash. Nothing like being prepared for every possible eventuality to calm the nerves. 

I went to a decidedly trendy bar around the corner from the agreed meeting place, and had myself a little gin and tonic, and sat there contemplating life whilst I waited. I think this was an infinitely wonderful idea, and I will try and replicate on every date where I may be a bit doolally from now on. Calm down. Smile at the bartenders. Listen to other people speaking normally. Breathe. 

He turned up, we embraced. We walked to the pub. He gave me his arm to lean on and got to a lovely little place with high ceiling and a great warm atmosphere. We got a table in the corner, nice and private. 

The boy barely got a word in before I pounced and thrust my lips onto his delicious, slightly beardy face. That's a tiny bit of an exaggeration, we did talk a lot beforehand. He touched my arm. We ate food, he sweetly spilled drinks all over himself. I got the impression he was a bit nervous, and then after fucking up once, he just got a bit goofy and kept doing silly things. It was so sweet. We kissed a little more, ate our delicious food, and talked. Talked talked talked. I talked about my parents, my sister, my liberal upbringing. I told him about the love affair I had with my best friend at 16, and how foolish I'd felt about it, and for how long I'd pretended it didn't happen. 

He told me how he loved his lady E. It was lovely to hear. He told me about his slightly difficult relationship with his mother, and how he wasn't sure he wanted her at his wedding. He told me how he wanted to take me home and make out, but he didn't want E to feel she wasn't welcome. He said they'd spoken about it during the week, and whilst E is intellectually ok with it, she wasn't too keen on the idea of coming home to see me on my knees with R's cock in my mouth. Fair play. They didn't make a decision though, R said, because they wanted to ask me what I wanted. How fucking cool is that? Someone who actually gave a shit about my feelings! I'm a bit hooked. I haven't met E yet, although I think I would like her. But I also really like R, and I want enough time to get to know him independently first, before jumping into bed with the pair of them. 

Then we headed over to another pub. Got a little cuddly in a darkened corner and chatted even more. His hand caressing up and down my thigh. The other hand reached up and touched my neck, the hair around my ears, so gently. It was so lovely that I had to pretend it wasn't happening, otherwise I would melt. 

For a moment I was slightly overwhelmed and just had to bury my face in his chest. He put his arm around me, but I pulled back again before too long, for fear of weirding him out. I am so afraid of doing that - why? Can't let myself get too attached to this one, lessons must be learnt!

We finished our drinks, and decided to head out to some dark seedy corner and do terrible things to each other. More delicious kissing. More touching. I slowly undid his belt, slipped my hand in. He groaned. He fumbled for my skirt, drew it up and touched me. Went into my tights, under my knickers and slipped his finger inside me. God even thinking about it now is SO hot. Kissing him, wanting his tongue, and letting him know. I'd search his tongue out with my own, and it was heaven. 

"I want you in my mouth", I whisper, and he nods. "Can I do it?" He nods again. 

I get down on my knees in a dark alleyway in London and unveil his cock. It's impressive. Long and thick, tapering to a manageable size at the end. It feels so good in my mouth. He lightly grips my head and guides me back and forth, taking it as deep as I can go. I use my hand to pump him into me, alternating between softly and harder. He tastes great. He says "is it alright to come?" and I nod yes. I want him to come in my warm mouth. He groans a little, and so I keep going. He tells me he is about to come and he fills my mouth with salty come. It tastes amazing. I swallow, but keep him inside me. I lick the head once more and it is so good. I feel so rude, but it's hot. 

He kisses me, not hesitating. He tells me I'm good at giving head. I tell him how nervous I get doing it. We kiss more. We chat a little more this time compared with last, we're relaxed and having fun.

He walks me back to the train. 

Meeting R

So I've been on the poly-friendly dating site OkCupid for a few months now. I get quite a bit of interest, but it's widely spread across the complete 'hay sexi wanna fuk?' douchebags and the very-nice-but-I'm-just-not-into-you. Well it seems to be, anyway.

But every now and then I have stumbled across someone who really made me get a bit squeaky with their excellence. R was one of them. Charming, funny, intelligent, Kiwi. I was pleased when he messaged back. He was out of town for a while, and I didn't push it. Eventually I got a message from him, and I was glad! Really glad. He invited me to a 99% party he and his partner were throwing, where your OkC 99% matches were invited. I couldn't make it, but it sounded like fun. Then I went home and it all seemed a bit like hard work. But I did like him.

We eventually met a couple of weeks ago at a bar in Soho. I was running late, trying to find a cash point and not run out of phone battery, when I saw him standing outside of the pub. He looked sweet. Tall, and be-cardiganed. He gave me a hug when he saw me and a little kiss on the cheek. Kind of blissful. We went into the pub and we ordered a drink, then faffed around looking for a seat, before heading upstairs. Conversation was easy, funny. I didn't feel that nervous.

I was almost 100% sure that he wasn't that into me though, I could instantly tell that he totally adores his partner, which was completely fine, but I've come to realise it's not much fun hanging out with someone who wishes you were someone else. It wasn't quite that bad though. He was really fun to be around. We moved on to another pub, got some food, had another drink. Sat a little closer. I remember noticing he didn't pull his leg away from me when we touched. I was happy, but it was that amount of nice where it could be going really well, or also just quite excellent friends amount of well. He obviously had to make the decision.

Then I felt his hand on my back, and the warmth spreading across me. My first thought was "holy shit, he actually likes me!!" The rest of the conversation has been totally forgotten, because the sheer surprise and excitement has wiped everything else out. I do remember him saying that right behind me, there was a couple totally making out, and had been for the last hour. "I feel awkward kissing in public, and I feel sorry for the people that have to watch" he said "Otherwise I'd totally kiss you now" to which I replied "I think you probably should. I think I would like that"

I remember his lips being soft, and large (in a good way). He looked away, shifty before saying "it's not very gentlemanly of me to suggest going out into an alleyway and making out". I laughed, and asked "Do you want to go out into an alleyway and make out?" The answer was yes, amazingly, and we got our coats and went into the cold.

He took my hand, and led me up the road. We spied an alcove, almost walked passed it before he dragged me in. Dragged me under him and he pushed me up against the wall and began to kiss me. God he was a delicious kisser. Pushing up against me, touching me with his lovely hands, and kissing me in just the right not-too-much-tongue way. J is a pretty good kisser, but every now and then he gets really carried away and likes to lick my teeth. Like lick and suck my teeth. It's faintly alarming. R didn't do that, it was just blissful.

I remember him feeling my breasts through my sweater, before snaking his hands up to my throat and pressing gently on it. Talk about driving me crazy! So amazing to be a choked, just a little. "It's so hot that you're into that" he said. It was all I could do to nod, before leaning my head back and letting myself be kissed all over again.

I had a train to catch, so after spending the best part of an hour attached to his face, we had to disconnect, and he walked me to the tube station. God I like him. He's so nice.

The Weekend of You: Evening

We made it inside. J pushed me up against a wall, the one with no pictures on. Kissed me hard. Kept kissing me while I fumbled with his belt buckle, then his shirt. He began to unbutton my dress, but I pushed him away, and pulled the flimsy blue fabric over my head. He smiled, surprised at my lingerie, and pushed me into the lounge.

I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.

You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.

I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.

We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.

The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.

We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.

1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.

4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.

The Weekend of You: Saturday

We arrived at J's house, a former worker's cottage of a nearby estate, and he led me through the garden to the back door of the house. We went inside, I de-coated and de-scarved, and perched on a chair whilst J made tea. The taxi ride to the house had been pleasant, but tentative, and I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were both completely nuts, sitting there and grinning like loons and teasing each other.

J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.

We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.

He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.

We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.

From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.

Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.

Saturday Away

Off to go and spend the weekend in Cambridge with J. I'm SO fucking excited. The thought of this mini break has seriously been the only thing getting me through the last two weeks at work.

Somehow J knows exactly what I like best - we're wandering around the colleges before having a cream tea, then reading from our favourite books to each other. Can you believe it? It's my favourite thing! I can only hope that it transfers over to the bedroom....imagine someone who knows your desires before you have them! We shall see...

I might even post some incognito photos over the weekend, so stay tuned xx

The terrible T's

It feels like it’s been months of feast and famine with T.

We’re fighting. We’re not. We’re fighting again. We’re so in love it hurts.

It’s confusing to me. It must be confusing for T. I love him, but goshdarnit if he isn’t the one person that can hurt me the most. The worst bit? He’s not even really trying to hurt me.

We seem to have our shit back together now, but it’s really fucking scary to really see for the first time how bad it can get. How bad it can get in such a short amount of time. With so little effort. I guess the downside of generally not fighting a great deal is that when we fight really badly, it’s such a fucking spiritual shock to me that I don’t quite know how to process it. I just get shouty, then cry-ey and equal parts don’t-leave-me and get-the-fuck-outta-here-boy.

Phew. My life: The Rollercoaster. A new fucking novel.

M2

On Friday night I really had the most blissful time. I met up with a friend, M2, who I’m sort of getting quite close to. I’d felt quite attracted to his lovely quiet beardy amazingness for a while, and then embarrassingly told him how I felt whilst unknowingly forcing him to sit in direct eye-line of a pair of my dirty knickers. That’s how cool I am.

Anyway, we had moved on from that, and he had actually said that he felt the same way, but he has a new girlfriend and it couldn’t go anywhere. That was fine, I mean, I know my relationship is open, but I’ve got to respect that others’ aren’t. With great power comes great responsibility etc. So on Friday we went out for a drink after work. Phew. 

I met him at his offices and we walked about 15 minutes to this completely out-of-the-way-only-locals-go-here-who-the-fuck-are-you-guys pub and talked about our childhoods, and our families and just generally caught up. It was bliss. He’s very good at listening, and also really good at holding back his own opinions. He will form a judgement, and wont tell you when you are most likely to be affected by it and then three weeks later, once you’ve come through it all, he’ll tell you his honest opinion. He just wants you to get there on your own. It’s sort of frustrating/refreshing. I appreciate it most of the time. 

We then headed back to the High Street to meet up with a friend of mine from work. M2 and I had gotten to that lovely 2-pints-in stage of intimacy and I didn’t really want to meet my friend, J. I looked at him and thought ‘I really want to kiss you’. But I didn’t do it (or say it, which is perhaps more remarkable). It was fine though, and we had a quiet drink with J and then 2 very loud drinks before J went home. M2 and I carried on and got a curry (delish) before heading back to his place to partake of it’s deliciousness. 

We ate on his sofa, quite drunk by this point, and then sat chatting. I don’t really remember what we talked about for the most part. He then pulled a cushion onto my lap and put his head there, and we talked about his story. I started to run my hands through his hair. He then asked mine, and I don’t really remember what I said, except for the time my Dad woke me up at about 6am one morning when I was 18, saying that my Mum has asked him to leave and he was going away for a while and didn’t know when he would be back. I told M2 how I hugged my Dad and then he left. M2 said how sad that was and I agreed. It felt so sad. He then took my hand and kissed it. 

I kept running my hand through his hair and he would take my hand and kiss it from time to time. I stroked his face and he kissed my hand again. I felt this enormous tenderness for him, and it felt so intimate just to be sitting there, with him falling asleep on my lap. He eventually fell deep into sleep and I dozed for an hour or two before extricating myself, briefly tidying up and then kissing him on the cheek and leaving. 

I don’t know how much of it he remembers, I hope as much as I do. But I don’t really need it to go any further than it did. It was just the unexpected tenderness I got back, you know? For the first time, I wasn’t even hoping for it and it came my way, from someone I truly respect and have gotten to know the old fashioned way. 

I really think he will be a great friend of mine. 

Good Friday

So Friday didn’t really go quite as I’d planned. I think the upshot is that I’ve kind of totally misjudged S, and yesterday that became apparent.

He’s actually just someone that is coping with a break-up that has left him a bit shattered. He is non-responsive sometimes, and will avoid confrontation at all costs, but his confidence is at an all time low. Poor sod.

He came over, and we chatted for a little while, before he pulled me over towards him and kissed me. We have really different kissing styles, and to be honest I felt his was pretty tongue-centric. It was ok, just took some getting used to. We got naked, and started fooling around, when he slipped a finger straight in my arse - that was a complete fucking shock! It was ok I guess, but just surprising as I’ve never known anyone that has gone in straight for the kill like that. I had mentioned that I liked it, but I guess I hadn’t really articulated that it didn’t feel that good just on it’s own, more as an addition to regular fucking. Oh well.

I sucked him off for a while - he really has the most tremendous cock I have ever seen. It’s fucking huge and whilst not scary looking, ever so slightly intimidating because of the sheer girth. Far out. Then he went inside me, and it was really really tight. It was hard to feel anything really, because it wasn’t moving around very (due to size!) and then he came after about 30 seconds. I rode him for a bit more and then wanted to change positions, where it then became apparent that he was going to need a bit of a breather.

We fooled around a bit more, and then he suddenly stopped and said ‘I’ve just lost all my confidence - I am really sorry’. I tried to soothe him and brought him into my arms and he started to cry. I felt such compassion for him, it was awful to see him feel so bad. I don’t know whether what we’re doing is good for us, or whether it’s actually hurting him. I’d like to think that physical pleasure would give him succour, and that the friendship would become stronger, so he could then rely on somebody else a bit more, but I don’t know if he can do that. All of a sudden I know that I can, and I know that my emotional state is actually not the problem anymore.

Poor darling, I do just want him to be ok.

S again

So S and I have reconnected. It’s weird but I feel like I can handle it better now, with the buffer of M between us. S seems less vital to me now, and I feel as though I can handle the base pull towards him a little better. I may well be fooling myself, but at the moment that’s what I am feeling and it seems to be working.

S is coming over and this afternoon we’re going to be lovers. I am so crapping myself. I can’t really believe it’s happening and feel frightened that the months of yearning for him will cumulate in nothing very special. I don’t even know. But it seems like it’s going to happy and I am rolling with it. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen until about an hour ago, and shamefully, I took my frustration at the uncertainty of it out on T. I shouldn’t have, and I have apologised for my behaviour, but in the name of openness and honest communication, I should probably tell T why I was acting that way.

I don’t know how this afternoon is going to go, to be honest, it could be great, and everything I hoped and dreamed, or it could be incredibly awkward! So I’ve broken my no-booze rule and am currently enjoying a beer, just to take the edge off. I think it’s working. I wasn’t this nervous with M - in fact I felt positively serene when I went to meet him! I think it’s because of the history between S and I, and the build up. Because for a while, I genuinely felt as though my world would fall down around me if I even looked at him once more. It’s funny that there are people who, through no fault of their own, play a role in your life as The One For Whom I Would Lose Everything.

I really hope I am past that feeling now. Things with T are good, and they type of good that’s just going to get better, and really with the way things went with N, the last thing I need is to feel overly emotional again. I just want some peace. So perhaps introducing new lovers into the scene isn’t the wisest thing in the world. We will see. I don’t know if I am using this new phase of my life to mask another, potentially more secret pain (so secret that even I am not sure what it is) or if I am actually just okay with the whole thing. I think that I am, but if I am not, then I have to trust that I have the skills to get through the hurt and confusion. That’s what this whole journey is about.