Hey you. Yes, you

I don't know if you still read my blog at all. You unfriended me pretty quickly, and since I got a shit ton of traffic from facebook in the days right before that, and most of the posts accessed referenced you in some way... I can only assume you came here, read what I wrote about you a couple years ago, and walked away.

I read through most of those posts, and I can't say as I blame you. They're both flattering and cruel. I feel bad, on some levels. I always tried so damn hard to be honest with you. I really, genuinely liked you. Like you. But there was always something there that blocked my honesty. I don't blame you for that, of course. It was my own weakness, my own stupid, bullshit issues. Regardless of the reasons, every time I tried to open up to you, to pull you into my real world, I froze up.

The result of that is the posts you must have read. Truth, yes. I'm not ashamed of them. There's nothing in here that I didn't mean, nothing I shouldn't have been able to say to your face. In reality, there's nothing in here that's actually that bad. I've always tried to acknowledge the reality of my attraction to you, your attraction to me. As much as I've understood it, anyways. I think that's another reason I've always had such a hard time being open with you. I don't understand you. I don't understand my reaction to you. I try to make us friends, try to explore those facets of ourselves that connect on that level. But it never works. I always end up thinking about your dick way too much. It's never been just sex for me, though. And I think that's another facet of the problem. I don't want to be in love. You are somebody I could love. So, I run away. I don't believe that you could love me the way I deserve to be loved, so I run away.

I'm sorry. I would never, ever want to hurt you. Half of me hopes you see this and understand. The other half of me really isn't sure what she wants, as per usual when it comes to you.
But all of me wants you to be happy, to be whole, and to be healthy. I do love you, for whatever that means.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fucking Monsanto... FUCKING HUMANS!!

Is it terrible that my reaction to this article is an eye roll and a "No f'ing shit, Sherlock"? Good lord. Especially this part: But farmers sprayed so much Roundup that weeds quickly evolved to survive it. “What we’re talking about here is Darwinian evolution in fast-forward,” Mike Owen, a weed scientist at Iowa State University, said. There's a strain of extremely hardy coca plant growing all over Latin America right now that is almost completely resistant to any sort of herbicide except the most toxic. It's a strain that created itself in under 10 years, which is an insanely short period of time for a plant to evolve. Why did it do so? Because of the "War on Drugs". We sprayed so much Roundup throughout it's natural habitat that the evolution of the plant was spurred into high speed. We created a plant that we don't have the resources to destroy in an effort to look like we were doing something decisive. Fucking brilliant. Now the same thing i...
Read more

Ah, sexual dysfunction, my old friend...

I have a feeling I'm going to be appalled at myself after I write this out, but right now I haven't been able to stop an evil, smug little smile from creeping onto my face all afternoon. So, last night, this guy B came over. I've been seeing him off and on for about 4 months now. He's got some quirks that I find annoying, but for the most part our sexual chemistry more than makes up for that. One of the most annoying quirks is his tendency to bite. Hard. I've had bruises with perfect teeth shaped imprints from him. Now, I don't actually mind biting, for the most part. I like the contrast of sensation, between arousal and pain. And this guy knows that, and has taken too free license with it in the past. I've talked to him about it, and told him to go easier, to not bite so hard. And he listened, for the most part.  But last night, he bit me really, really hard just after I'd had a REALLY intense orgasm. And that level of pain transfered all that intense f...
Read more
It's so much easier to feel beautiful when you're alone. I wonder about that, sometimes. Of all the beautiful sex I've had, the best has been alone. Not the best orgasms, of course. The orgasms I give myself always feel a little flat. I can't feed on my own need, my own fulfillment. I only feel content, full, after I've lost myself in a lovers fruition. But beautiful... that only seems to happen in my own eyes. When I'm alone, I see the spill of my own hair across a pillow as I turn my face to the side, and it's art. I feel my own skin, silk. I pull my breasts out of confines of my bra, and the expanse of flesh doesn't feel ample, it feels right. Their size doesn't matter to me, only what they make me feel, and every inch of surface is waiting for my fingertips and nails. My hard little nipples aren't too big or too small. They're simply perfect points of sensation. I can touch them soft or rough, it doesn't matter. I do only what I wan...
Read more