Paris, France

J took me to Paris last weekend. I had been looking forward to it for months. All over Christmas, almost all I could think about was going to Paris with J. It just seemed like the most romantic thing in the universe.

We left on the Friday of my first week back at work. From about 12pm that day I'd begun to feel terrible nervous and excited, almost nauseous, which is pretty unusual for me. On the train to London I felt so fucking anxious I could hardly stand it. Couldn't read. Couldn't do anything except sit there and fucking pine away, waiting to see him.

He had sent this text:

"You get 3 spanks for every minute late you are after 1730. I want to kiss you. Xxx"

When the train pulled in I felt shaky with desire. I called him, and he answered "Nine minutes late. That's 27 spankings." Once I'd heard his voice I felt ok, and as I wandered through the train station to meet him I felt positively serene. Then all of a sudden there he was. Real as fuck. It was all I could do to stand there in his embrace, and not fall to the ground and weep with relief.

As we travelled through England and then into the North of France, we talked, chatted about life, about his friend who had died, about my Christmas trip. We made it into Paris quite late, then couldn't get a taxi and took a fraught Metro journey to our hotel. He seemed distracted, but it was ok.

The view from the Hotel

We made it to the room, and we kissed. He took my clothes off, I took his off. He ate me for a long time, but for some reason did that thing that T used to do, which is not listen to me saying "don't stop" and he kept on changing his pace. Fingering me too hard, and too deep. I'm being spoilt now, but it was so GD annoying that I kept being distracted. When I finally came it wasn't great, and I barely felt it.

He hadn't fucked anyone in six weeks, so he fucked the absolute shit out of me. He came quickly, had tried to slow down, then suddenly stopped and looked so intensely into my face before shooting himself into me with an anguished cry.

The scene of the crime

The next day he taped my arms together and fucked me from behind as he pushed my face into the bed. The me flipped me over and pressed his glorious weight into me from on top. My arms hurt but I loved it. I loved it when he came in me. I wanted it to be for real.

Saturday night changed everything though. He'd been a little distant in the afternoon, and as I generally let him set the tone I let myself get totally thrown and began to doubt myself. It was really my fault then for the rest of the weekend, as I couldn't feel happy unless I thought that he was. So I wasn't very talkative, felt shy.

We spoke about his work over dinner and when I made a foolish mistake over something quite key he'd been explaining he gave me an exasperated look and a sigh. I almost burst into tears. I felt mortified, humiliated, stupid and playing out of my league. He asked if he'd upset me but it was all I could do to shake my head and deny how easily wounded I was.

Sunday was fun. We walked around the Musee D'Orsay before a walk through the Tuileries and a crepe on a Ferris wheel. Another exhibition had too long a line and he was disappointed. We then went to Champs Elysees and wandered through some shops. He likes to buy me things. We went into a store, and he bought me some delicious boots. I adore them:



We then went to an early supper at Terminus Nord. I had onion soup and lobster. He had soupe de poisson and steak. He was quiet, I was sad and frightened. He seemed cross and I didn't know why. I don't even know if he was actually cross or just distracted.

We went to catch the train and the snow had thrown the system into mayhem and there were hundreds of people queueing for the trains. We made it onto the last two seats of the earlier train (which nevertheless running 300 minutes late) but did spend a couple of hours waiting. He was so anxious that he kept marching off, trying to find a better place for us to sit. Always trying to be more efficient. Not telling me what is going off. Walking off when I was halfway through I sentence. I know he didn't hear me. He should have been listening. I want him to be the kind of lover that is listening.

I had a cry, and told him he'd upset me. He was totally shocked and oblivious and I thought I saw a flicker of him being sad that I was upset. I don't know if that's the case though.

On the ride back we chatted, sometimes it was intimate, some times it wasn't. We spoke about life, and about sex, and he said to me:

"if you follow me into the toilets I will come in your mouth"

So I did. I've NEVER done that before, but he fucked me from behind in the Eurostar toilets, and before coming he spun me around, sat me down, took off the condom and pressed his lovely cock into my mouth. He came with a sigh into my mouth for the first time, and it tasted wonderful. He was shocked that I'd done it, and frankly so was I.

We tried to find our way back home. He booked a hotel, I thought I was invited, but I wasn't. He got me off the train a stop early and left me to make my own way home. I was devastated. He had the fucking audacity to tell me he missed me and wished I was at the hotel with him. I sobbed the way home.

I need to stop letting him treat me like a fool.

Again And Again And Again

I've let myself go seriously cray-cray since the lovely date on Tuesday. CANNOT stop thinking about J, or more importantly, I DON'T WANT TO.

It's driving me slightly mad though! I can't concentrate at work, I'm constantly checking my phone, and mooning at every possible moment. It's tough.

I do feel really affectionate towards T, and being with him this week has been heavenly, although we haven't seen each other as much as we'd like. I told him how I was feeling about J, or at least tried to tell him, as I wasn't at my most articulate. He was lovely, and thankful that I brought him into my world, and showed him how I was feeling.

And I'm feeling weirdly cut up. I feel a bit desperate to see J again, and I think that if he's not as interested I'll be really hurt! I'm used to feeling a little more in control over this! He's flying out for work for a week, but then back next weekend. We briefly talked about me coming up to visit him the following weekend, but I'm not sure if he'll remember. I hope so!

This whole polyamory business is tricky! Even when it's going right!

Well Hello M

So out of the blue last week I got a text from M - he had his phone turned off for three weeks because of problems with his ex-girlfriend. It’s a completely bullshit excuse but I was glad to hear from him and I didn’t feel like calling him on it, so I let it slide.

He was heading back to town for a night and asked me if I wanted to get together. Luckily I’ve been on holiday this week and so I was able to spend part of Wednesday day with him, and I cleared it with T so I could stay the night at M’s place. I was so happy to be going - really excited to see him again. I was out shopping in the morning with T’s sister (she doesn’t know the, um, status of our relationship) and M rang so I had to do a coy thing and be dying on the inside from happiness but on the outside seem like I was just having a normal conversation.

I got home just after lunch and M got into town at half two. We decided to meet at four, so I had a frantic de-hairing session and a calming bath to get my proverbial shit together. The texts from M got more frequent and I suddenly got the impression that he was fucking excited to see me too. My heart sang, but kind of in that confused way where I am happy for the attention now, but confused as to why it’s so intense now when for the last month I’ve not heard anything? Heard so little that I believed that it was over between us. I hate to think that his proximity to pussy increases the likelihood of getting attention from him. I hate to think that.

He met me out the front of his house, wearing his lovely cuddly grey hoodie. Happiness at seeing the hoodie again, more grey and cuddly than I remembered it.

We went to his room and he put his hand around my neck and pulled me to him, kissing me hard and giving me the love shakes. We lay down on his bed, and he undressed me, kissing me, and he dove between my thighs and started tasting me. I covered my eyes and let him eat me - it’s hard for me to let go and not be scared about someone having their face really rather close to my cunt. It felt good, no actually it felt pretty great, and I felt the fucking cosmic pleasure of having M eating me out. M! He Of The Distant Nature was licking my cunt and putting his fingers inside me. It was great. I took over after a while because my desire to cum was pretty great. I couldn’t get it together though, and after cramp set it I stopped forcing it.

The heavenly thing was feeling the pressure of his body on mine again. To feel how he was different to T, and just to see his lovely face again, and hear his lovely accent. I had missed him, my body had missed him, and it felt joyful to be right there next to him, surrounding him with myself and being with him.

We talked more frankly than we had last time, and it was refreshing. The nature of our relationship lends itself to intensity I guess. I think that’s quite common. We went to a deli and bought antipasti bits and strawberries and ate them while watching The Meaning of Life. I lay between his legs and the love shakes came when his kissed the top of my head. Which he did quite a lot. I took a picture of him and I have looked at it a lot in the last few days. He’s smiling, and I remember seeing the smile come across his face as I lined up the shot. It’s a pose, but a lovely one and that’s the M I think of, when I remember him.

We slept by each other in the night, and I woke him up for a 4am fuck. He kept saying ‘this is the first time we’ve slept together’. I slept terribly - I tend to in unfamiliar beds - but it was kind of ok, because I was conscious of the loveliness of having him right there.

In the morning he wore his usual face but said a couple of times that he didn’t want to go. It was an insight - I suddenly felt that that is the way M is. Not really one for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. But maybe I am making excuses.

He’s gone again now, and the wrench is awful. I’m not actually sure if I will ever get better at the goodbyes. I don’t know if feeling this ghastly is worth it. I know that it’s not going to last forever and I know he plans to move far far away. The missing him is exquisite.

The end of M

I don’t know if I am being melodramatic (I wouldn’t put it past me) or if my intuitions are bang on, again. 

But I have this sense that M is gone. It’s been almost a month now, and the daily texts dropped to every few days, and then a week went by and I had heard nothing. It was kind of ok, until it wasn’t and I realised I missed him, and that it was ok to miss him. He was a new friend, and I fucking care about him, and it’s ok for me to tell him that. He should know that I care for him, and that I am thinking of him. So after playing the game of not-texting-him-until-he-texts-me, which always ends badly, I rang him. I made a deal with myself that if he didn’t pick up, it was over. 

But he answered. We chatted briefly, and it was nice. It was so nice to hear his voice. 

But intimacy breeds intimacy, and that fucker is addictive. I wanted to hear from him even more. So I texted him the next day when I cut all my hair off. The crash from that one hurt. It’s hurting right now. I don’t know why I feel so shitty about all of it. I feel a fool, because I feel as though he would contact me if he wanted to speak to me. He hasn’t so, that means he doesn’t want to. Or can’t - and it’s that ‘can’t’ which is keeping me dragging along. Maybe something is wrong, and he can’t talk to me about it. Or maybe it’s over, and I am just not seeing it. I’m not angry, just really sad about it. I thought we were going to be friends, and I could really do with some of them. 

I also think that a 32 year old man would have the guts to just tell someone they didn’t want to be with them, or didn’t want to hear from them. The worst bit is that maybe he just thinks it’s not that big a deal. That him not responding is not that big a deal, and that when he comes back it will all go back to the way it was. It might, if I’m honest. I really like him and liked being with him. But what I am finally understanding is that he just doesn’t feel the same way. He thinks this is the way he should behave, and that it’s ok. Which maybe it should be, but it doesn’t make me feel less shitty. 

I had to delete his number and all his texts just so that I couldn’t make even more of a fool of myself and contact him again. God, I haven’t even been a psycho bitch, I’ve just been fucking nice, and I still end up feeling like Glenn Close. Fucking hell. 

So if he contacts me, great, but if not, with great sadness, it appears to be the end of M.

Sunday, 8pm

M has been away for two days now and I’m finding it hard. Not because he’s away, I can deal with away, but because I haven’t heard from him in two days, and I can feel myself turning into psycho-missing-you-bitch-text-me-you-fucker.

I texted him yesterday morning, and when I didn’t hear back I left it to sit for a while. I’ve gone through the full gamut of emotions these last two days and the weirdness has been heightened by the fact that T and I have had a lovely, loving weekend together. T and I feel closer together than ever before, but there has seemed to be this grey part of me, in the back of my mind, waiting for a time when I’m alone to jump on me and make me miss M. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that way.

M and I have been lovers for a week. T and I have been lovers for three and a half years. I love T, I am in love with T but the brand spanking newness of being with M is just that. Brand spankingly new. I don’t need to be forced to admit that M and I barely know each other. We don’t necessarily have that much in common other than the fact that last Friday night we picked each other, and since then spent a week in his bed.

Part of me has enjoyed the sensation of missing him. I’ve felt his absence after getting used to the piss taking all week. The way he just talks and talks and talks and fills up the silences until he doesn’t need to. How he talks about nothing for 45 minutes and just when you start to lose interest he’ll mention something dark and dirty about himself, to make you wake up and realise there is a hell of a lot more going on in there than you ever realised. I enjoyed the absence of him because it made me remember that I like it when he was here. That this whole adventure that T and I decided to go on together wasn’t some big mistake, and that fun times and meaningfulness and kooky sex could happen and my world wouldn’t implode. But I swiftly stopped enjoying the sensation and now my brain is doing that thing where it plans out the worst scenario and convinces me that something incredibly unlikely is going to happen. Like he will suddenly realise that I am full of shit and the things that I told him I could offer him weren’t enough and he didn’t want to be with me anymore and didn’t care enough to tell me (even by cunting text) and he’s just going to ignore me or worse laugh at me for years to come with all his soldier friends.

I know that it’s not real, these absurd worries. Even more I know that he is thinking about me and that he’s probably playing the same game as me - don’t text and keep it cool - so he doesn’t get in too deep either.

He’ll be back in three weeks or so. I guess we’ll wait and see what happens when he gets back!