Heading home today wasn't easy for me. I thought about coming home to the cold emptiness versus coming home to the warmth of his body. it's been two months now but March was our anniversary. Not when we got together. It was our "move-in-iversary" of when I moved in with him. That night we didn't even have sex. We just watched movies all night, stayed up talking, and fell asleep holding each other. And that's all I want now - just to lay on him, naked body to naked body, and feel as if everything in the world is in order. But now all I see as I close my eyes is him with this other woman. She has no face, no age, or shape but she has my man and his first seed and that is pissing me off. I hate her by association. I am angry with him because he left me. We had agreed before that we wouldn't get married. Marriage to us was a dictation of society, a rule to be followed. The lies this man pulled over my head and i had the nerve to believe him. It's not that he didn't believe in marriage. He just didn't believe in marriage with ME. Who would?.!?. Barren bitch. So many times I've wondered how much that one finding fact in my life altered my reality forever. "Edit my own reality" the poet once said. Yeah, sure. You plan and God laughs. We had moved in together six months or so after we started dating. And I planned a world full of traveling between us. And the only place we ended up was Apart.
I stopped masturbating. Don't even know when that happened. I think it's been a week. One minute I'm playing solo, next, there were four-five people in my bed at the same time, then... I just didn't. Food doesn't taste the same. Music soothes and annoys me at the same time and I've reverted to just watching the television shows that I used to watch. Sometimes, of course, that means the television is just off. My publicist is threatening to take back the last advance she gave me. Didn't even know that was possible but everything I write now is just shit. So I write. I trash. I write. I trash. And then...I just sit and stare at the computer as if it were supposed to start writing for me. Next thing I know I'm crying, just laid out on the chair, limbs loose, feeling sorry for myself. The last time I had sex the guy was an overweight guy who was pretty good but as he was inside of me I couldn't touch him because his body didn't feel like my ex's. So I fucked him again. And I made myself touch him. I looked into his eyes as if he were the only man in the world and the rage in me excited him and it made him cum hard. What I didn't expect was his returning penis. The recovery rate was quicker than I could've imagined. I couldn't disappoint him. I was done. The anger in me had reverted to sorrow, but I had to respect my company. The man even walked with his own lube. Hiding my face, I let him take control from behind. To his credit, he raised my body in the air and he reminded me with his thrusts that I was in the room with him and respect was due... and it was well given.
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