how am i? twisted. it’s the only word adequate enough to convey the how of how i am.
i hate seeing his name as it sends electric shocks through me that end with intense sexual arousal. it’s like an insane psychological conditioning that won’t go away, simply because i ignore it. i dread seeing it, knowing how i respond and react. i wish for it every day. it’s like my brain knows how to torture itself and my heart wants to keep getting bruised. he is the whip i flagellate myself with.
i wish it could simply just be about sex for me. to allow him the sexual gratification he wants on the schedule he wants with the no commitment he wants. because it is the best sex i have ever had. but it’s the best sex i ever had because when he touches me i feel it is so much more than sex for him. he fucks my soul not just my body. he screws my mind, not just my pussy.
i can see the shift in his eyes, from guarded to needing. i can see him become protective with me. he tries to stay distant and gets angry with himself and tries to punish me over it. i can see him shift as his touch becomes tender so that he pulls me to him, kisses my forehead, strokes my arm and back and his eyes are filled with regret and need. he can’t hide it and he tries. i am the demon whose bed he can’t deny himself.
i never ask him about it. i can clearly see him struggle with it when we are together. but i don’t want to know anyway. not really. i can’t hear what he’ll struggle to say. or worse i can’t hear what he leaves unsaid. his choice is to stay separate from me as much as he can. maybe that’s the only way he can tolerate being with me or having me in his head space. it’s exactly the same way for me. it’s far easier to pretend i don’t care and allow him access to pleasure my body, every few months when i can’t tolerate living without his memory of flesh against mine.
i’ve tried to let other men erase his touch by using my body, by pleasuring me and it’s not even comparable. doesn’t even come close. it’s gotten to the point where i feel it’s an absolute waste of time and energy to be with another man because the experience is simply inferior in every single way. adequate. the best another man can aspire to is mediocre.
i wonder why some people can have multiple partners. how their mind handles it. how people can have sex with a wide variety of people at the same time, overlapping partners, and find it sexually filling. it’s not for me. as harsh as it sounds, even the good sex i had, i viewed as tolerable. something i could pass on, if offered again, in favor of anything else. it’s not that i’ve become critical. i’ve become a connoisseur. i have finally discovered the absolute perfect mate to my body and he is someone i can not be with and so no other male specimen can imprint on me the way i require for complete sexual fulfillment.
that knowledge makes me sad. i feel like it’s ruined me for sex with other people. it makes me happy. without knowing it, i would never had known that level of sexual arousal and response was possible. he will be with me the rest of my life. it doesn’t matter if i don’t want him there. if i fought to forget him it would be a useless battle i would torture myself with. instead, i made the decision to allow myself to pine for him when my mind and body force me into tracing the pathways of his memories. his touch is as real as when it happened. my bodies response is as if he was beside me.
and when i ache for him; when my body hurts with the need his memories beat me with and in my sleep i cry out for him and to him, that’s when he contacts me. because he has dreamed of me as well. it happens so often, i know it’s not coincidence. maybe in our sleep we search for each other and we hear the other calling out. we try to ignore it as long as we can until the constant need, the ceaseless inundation of memories make it impossible to have peace in our daily life and it forces us to contact the other. if for no other reason, than to stop our minds from using sleep as the gateway to find each other again.
i will never regret him, even knowing how much not having him in my life makes things ‘less than’ for me.
i stopped believing in soul mates many many years ago, when i was still a child. i still believe that over a lifetime, you can find many people who fit and work for you in an emotional and physical way. what i know without a doubt is that this man was meant to be in my life. he is connected to me in the way few people are. he doesn’t have to be present for it to be there and how i feel about him will endure past this body. which is why part of me feels it is pointless to withhold my body from him as much as i have. maybe it’s the connection that will strengthen the thread of our lives beyond this one and into the next. maybe that’s why it’s so powerful. lots of maybe’s and assumptions. nothing real and tangible.
i don’t write about him or the situation often, as i don’t like thinking about it. when i do, i over analyze something that can’t be quantified. the physical need is torturous. the ache is real and distracting. it intensifies everything, the memories, the feelings, the need, as if it’s being examined under a microscope in the sunlight of high noon on desert plains and i feel like i am being burned with lust, desire an intense need to connect. which in turn, calls to him. making him dream of me, disrupting his sleep until he is forced to contact me to gain peace again.
the truth about how i am, how i feel and what i can live with when it comes to “him”, is completely twisted. it is so tangled, that it is also startlingly simple. my drive for him borders on biological. i need him like a flower needs pollination. i’ve always needed him. and that is not enough when you add all the other components of my life beside it. it’s simply, not enough. knowing that is the only thing that prevents me from despair. as much as i want him, wanting isn’t enough.