affection, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, intimacy, life, love, relations, sex

Power of Physical Attraction

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I never liked the way he looked, he talked, he acted. His smiles were fake, his demeanor was offensive. I simply tolerated his condescending attitude and lack of compassion since the physical aspect was awesome.

Don’t you like anything about me at all?  –  I felt irritation in his voice when he confronted me with this question and did not respond. Sex with him was magical, he was hot and cold, strong and weak, passionate and negligently cruel all at the same time. Outside the bedroom there was no connection, no mutual interests, nothing. He seemed to hate everything about me. I was too skinny, too hysterical, too talkative, too worldly, too emotional.

Why are you with me? – I was really curious what kept him near me; he had no answer.

I made the decision to stop the relationship and texted him “bye now” and immediately received “You are trash, you do not deserve me”. He seemed to be pissed, I was tired and ready to go to bed.

My withdrawal started a week after. The desire to be close grew from strong to mind-blowing. The pain was very real and very physical. Our relations were purely sexual. I allowed him to crawl into my body, to germinate, to root. Breaking the connection felt worse than extracting wisdom teeth without anesthesia.

Three weeks after he gave me a call and asked to meet.

I entered a cheap Asian diner and saw him immediately; cold eyes, expensive suit, and pragmatic mercilessness. Our eyes met, the wave of pain and desire literally blinded me for a moment.

He gestured to sit down and moved to me his bowl of rice. – You are too thin. You gotta eat.

I smiled reaching out for chopsticks. I felt hungry and slightly dizzy. – How are you?  

I am good, luv. I worry about you.

 – Ok, – the rice was yummy

I can’t be with you.

 – Ok

I can’t. You know who I am, right? – He held a senior executive position in an oil and gas company, worked almost 24 hours a day and drove a luxury vehicle.

Yes, I know who you are

Honey, my friends, family, my business partners, everyone will make fun of me if we are together.

Can you order more rice, please? – I had not eaten for days, after we broke up depression hit me really hard.

Please, look in the mirror. You are drab and mousy. Did you see women I dated before?

 – Yes, – I finally looked up, tired of talking to the rice bowl and the dirty table.  

 – They are classy, well-maintained. It would take time and money to turn you into someone I could officially take out to dinner. Boob job, Botox, professional stylist, hear-dresser, everything.  It makes sense to find someone ready-made than to invest in you. You do not know how to behave, you are too short, and you are so … so anorexic.

 – I want more rice

 – I want you

– I know, buy me more rice – I was hungry and happy to see him again

–  Yes, yes, sure, – he hurried to the self-serve kiosk to place another order. Athletic, perfectly-ironed, smelling like money, almost an alien in that crappy place. He returned with a platter of veggies and water.  – I really hate this place, hon.

 – Why did you choose it?

 – Close to my office, plus none of my work team or friends come here

 – Why did you want to meet?

 – To tell you it is over

– It was over 3 weeks ago, – I was calm and curious. I knew my pain would hit me later. Days felt ok; neediness and cravings usually returned in the evening. – Bye

We met the next day, and the next day, and the next day. I loved his place, top-grade, water view, Zen style. It was absurd and stupid. We had nothing in common, we were entire strangers. I knew I needed to block his phone number and move on, but I could not. Sex was the only thing that seemed to connect us, but that connection was too tight, too strong, too painful to break. I finally gave up thinking and started laughing every time he texted the usual “how was your day luv? I will be waiting for you in that crappy diner”.

affection, anxiety, broken heart, dating, relations, feelings, depression, feelings, happiness, health, intimacy, life, love, reality, sugar

Dealing with the Broken Heart. My Story of Recovery.

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It is over. I will never see him again. I went through the night hiding under the blanket, shaking with cold, struck with emptiness. The morning started just fine. 20 boy push-ups and lots of water kept my mind away for a little while.

Jim called asking if he can stop by. I confirmed and went into the kitchen to fix an apple pie. Slicing apples and blending egg whites with flour and honey got me busy. I was functioning, I felt almost normal.

Jim brought roses, I cut each stem and placed the flowers into a vase.

Now what?  – he was cold and practical. He kept trying to get me back and hated wasting his time and money with no certainty.

I do not know.

Tell me what you want, and I will do it for you.

You can’t fix my pain, I gotta go through this by myself.

 – Nice cake.

 – You can take it home.

 – Be my mistress.

 – No.

 – You are using me all the time, it is mean and rude.

 – I do not care.

I am ready to give you what you want, just tell me.

 – I want freedom from pain.

He left with the pie, I went shopping. The pain subsided as I was focusing on a birthday present for my girlfriend. The pain almost disappeared when I stopped by to give her a hug and a potted flower. Her house smelled like joy and pizza. There were many people and many presents. I drank water and conversed politely. As we went out to watch the sunset over the water, I started panicking, I knew I would have to leave soon and be by myself again facing the pain through the night.  – “Are you sure you gonna be ok?” – my girlfriend looked concerned as I kept zipping and unzipping pockets in my handbag trying to find the car key. She wanted to help, and she could not, no one could. It was my pain, my cross, my burden.

I watched TV that night and fell asleep. The muscles were sore from too many pushups, the body felt empty.

The text from Jim woke me up – “You live in a crappy area, I can move you into a safer neighborhood, get over your breakup and come back”.

I smiled and stretched in bed. I wished I would get away and stay away from the area where everything reminded me of the past where I was happy and miserable. But I knew the pain would follow me no matter where I go. I knew I gotta deal with my emotions rather than running away from them.

I took one day at a time. The ties that connected me with him kept breaking causing pain sharp, and fierce, and nearly unbearable. My body was withdrawing going through convulsions as days went by.

The realization came later as I was focusing on the needle point excited and entirely involved in cross stitching. The realization that pain has nothing to do with love and feelings. The pain came from the hurt pride, from the failing attempts to control the life of another person, from the merciless possessiveness and the urge to dominate and sponge the person for attention, affection, and endless romance and intimacy.

I put the embroidery aside and closed the eyes. The love was there, it felt wonderful. I pictured him with another woman and smiled. I wanted him happy, he gave me the most wonderful time in my life. He deserved happiness and joy. I went outside and turned my face to the evening chilliness. The ego broke into million teeny-tiny pieces, I was vanishing with the drowning in the water sun. I let go of myself, my wants, my desires, my needs. There was no sense in carrying the burden of my pride and self-esteem any longer. The freedom was there. It has always been there. I have always been free. Everything felt simple and natural. I felt relieved and light; as light as a feather returning to my needle point.

 

.

 

 

 

affection, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, kinky, life, love, sugar, Victor

Swinger’s Love

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Victor was wonderful. Easy, positive, and inspiring. And hot, probably way too hot. He kept performing surgical procedures and operations in a local hospital. Jim kept grumping that he should be fired for being irresponsible, unethical, and lazy. I kept shrugging my shoulders thanking God for being a girl, no whose-dick-is-bigger games, no rat-racing for status and power.

All I wanted was chocolate for lunch and potted roses, carefully wrapped and sent anonymously.

Victor was open-minded. He loved women and horses. He was positive and caring. He was into pantiless nights in swinger clubs, partner swapping, and marathon running. From threesome and foursome to orgies, from guys to girls, from sub to dom, he switched sex roles and positions briefly and gracefully leaving each partner with the “WOW” impression. He was sincere, kind, and honest, everyone loved him, I was not the exception.

You are on my mind, Vixen all the time, – he was looking deeply into my eyes. I returned his gaze unable to hide a smile, he made me happy every time we had lunch together, – I keep thinking about you making love to two other guys while I am watching. The thought of it makes me hard. I would love to watch you swamped.

 – We are just friends, Victor, – I took a deep breath, I was curious.

It does not matter. I can find perfect guys for you, just let me know your preferences,  – His open-mindedness was amazing.

 – What about jealousy?

 – What about it?

 – Would you not feel jealous watching the woman you love being shared?

– Not at all, Vixen. You know I love you, right? – I quietly nodded. I loved talking to him, it was always fun and crazy. – I wanna share my love with others, – I was still quiet, I had nothing to say to this, – Plus, it is hot.

Victor was right about jealousy, I loved Greg, I never felt jealous, sharing him with others, I was happy when he was happy. I never claimed him as my possession to pay the bills or to mow my yard. I could love more than one person. Greg never got that, being married and changing mistresses, he demanded entire submission and monogamous obedience. I played by the rules solely because being a sub was fun, I loved fun, it made me feel good.

You know my dear, – I tried to put as much love as I could into “my dear”, – Greg would never appreciate this.

 – You do not have to tell him,  – Victor was a people’s magnet. Victor loved people; he shared them, he shared himself emotionally and sexually. Some were happy, most got hurt and revengeful – both guys and girls, they desperately tried to chain his heart, his mind, and his penis; when it did not work, they went to court. He never disputed a single case; he was always on time with child support, paid alimony, and covered moral damage. He was a nice guy, with a small ego and a big penis.

It was almost midnight when I received a call. – Can you give me a ride home, hon?  – his voice was dull, flat, and low.

Of course, my dear. Where are you?

 – Emergency, please pick me up, – each word was produced with extreme tension.

– Are you ok? – he hung up, I put the coat over my PJs and grabbed the car keys. It took me less than 5 minutes to get to the hospital. I saw him through the glass entrance door, tall, tired, pale, and emaciated with white gauze bandage around the head. I ran up to him with a hug. Dark circles under the eyes, bluish veins on both arms, he did not look good. – What happened?

 – Brain concussion, I will be fine, Vixen.

 – Why?

My girlfriend got mad and hit me with an iron.

 – Why?

– She found out about swinging.

 – Actually, it is battery, and she should be held accountable.

 – I do not need police in my personal life, honey. I love her, and she is gone.

He broke into tears as I was driving home. I had no idea what to say, how to calm him down. He spent that weekend in my place, cleaning the kitchen tiles and cooking uneatable breakfasts.

He left early on Monday morning. The smell of fried plantains and dried blood was still there, I aired the rooms prior going to work.

Two weeks after he asked me for lunch. He was back to normal, hot, horny, and loveable.  – I am invited to a private sex party, very upscale, wanna come?

 – How is your head?

 – You are so sweet, my love. You are the woman I need. Wanna go? We will find a perfect match for you, guys or girls, anything you like. It is a decent place, you will love it.

 – Where is your girlfriend?

 – She packed up and left that night.

 – Are you still in pain?

 – Of course, Vixen, my heart is broken.

 – How is your head?

 – Better than my heart.        

 He was awesome, I was laughing. We never made it to that party; he on call, and I had a headache. I loved him, he loved the whole world, he was unique, crazy, and generous. I was happy guys like him exist on Earth.

affection, feelings, intimacy, life, love, sex, sugar

Reflecting on Love

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I love f*cking you, – I put the emphasis on love and f*cking, I held his gaze, feeling all dizzy and happy at the same time.

I love f*cking you,  –  He had to present at a medical conference in North Carolina. He was bored and freezing and wanted me there. A miserably economy flight, a rental vehicle, and yellowed bed sheets in a cheap hotel.  I was shipped like a package. He was greedy, I was in love, I had fun, I did not care.

I love f*cking you, – early cold morning, watching mountains through a dirty window of a local coffee shop, clutching a hot mug with frozen fingers. He was finishing breakfast, busy and focused on the stock charts in his iPhone.

  – The room is booked till the end of this week. You can stay here if you like, – rainy day and foggy mountains, too cold for hiking, too wet for horseback riding. He had to leave for the airport, the cab was waiting. International flight, cancer conference in Zurich, wife and kids in California.  – This is for groceries, gas, and shopping. Buy something warm, I do not want you sick, – I smiled as he was taking cash out of his wallet. I was about to return to the room and get some sleep on the bedlinen that still had his smell.

 – Good luck with your pathology report. Switzerland is nice, you will like it, Greg.

I love f*cking you.  – Every time he left, I never knew if he will ever be back. I learned to live here-and-now; this prevented me from redundant illusions and sufferings, this kept me going, this saved me from thinking too much.

 – Bye Vixen, – he signed the bill after carefully studying it. He never tipped. He had no regard for people in general, and for servers in particular, – We have chemistry, I want to see you next week. Have a safe flight back home.

– Bye Greg. I love f*cking you.

– That does not sound romantic, but I love you anyways, – A quick kiss and a tight hug. He left. I kept smiling.

For the first time in eight long years I heard his I love you. I was neither surprised nor shocked leaving the coffee shop. I was not ready to hope or expect anything from him. I had no desire to create any illusions, all I wanted was to return to the hotel and get some sleep.        

affection, anxiety, bi-polar, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, feelings, happiness, intimacy, life, love, mind, obsession, personalities, psycho, relations, sex, sugar

In Love with Bipolar

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I loved him manic. I loved his eyes with feverish glimmer, his excessive sensuality, his maniacal desire to be around and hug, and kiss, and snuggle.

“Remember Vixen, it’s not him, it is just his manic episode”, – my inner voice was coldly rational, mercilessly commonsensical.

 – I love you Vixen, – his fingers running through my hair, smile on my face, eyes closed, butterflies in the stomach.

Everything about him felt too much: too sweet, too warm, too gentle, too caring, too awesome.

His prolonged gazing into my eyes felt powerfully penetrating. I was in love with his manic sensuality.

 – Do you want a hug my dear? – I kept nodding YES, YES, YES, feelings shivers down my spine and warmth between the legs.

“It is just his manic episode,” – I wish my gut feeling were wrong, but I knew the intuition did not fail, I knew I was right, I knew it was not entirely him, I knew there will be the end, the flipside is coming.

Making love to him felt overly emotional. He was very passionate, loudly orgasming, tears in the eyes, his body covering mine.

 – We are the perfect match, Vixen. I love you.

He held me in his arms all night, waking me up with thousand hugs and kisses.

He taught me to laugh and cry when expressing myself in intimacy.

– You are the princess, this is how you should be always treated.   

Wake up, it is just the manic episode”, – I was shaking my heard trying to get rid of the inner voice, I was in heaven, I did not want to know any further.

 – Please stay, do not leave, take a day off, I need you here, – I saw sadness in his eyes as I started packing my suitcase. The weekend was coming to the end, I had errands to run prior the start of the new week, – please stay, you can drive to work from here, I really want you.

 – I gotta go my dear, I need some paperwork to finish…

  – Please stay

  – I can’t, – he kept me up 3 nights, I felt exhausted, I needed to go back home and get some sleep.

 – You can, just stay, just be here, – his physical warmth was sincere and seductive, I gave in.

The Monday morning started with a headache, redness in the eyes, and immense fatigue. I was taking a shower trying to wake up when I heard him opening the curtain. – Can I take a shower with my princess?

 I could not do it, I was in a hurry, he was fresh and excessively passionate. Staying up all these days and nights did not get him tired.  – I will take you to Italy and Spain, just tell me when, and I will book the flights.

 – I am sorry, I gotta get ready for work

 – Croatia maybe?

 – Please, – losing the job was not something I could afford.

 – Maybe England, what does my princess want?

I had to leave, he had a flight of ideas. “It is the manic episode, just a manic episode”, – he was holding me close under the running water, he was insatiably affectionate, I was exhausted and cranky.

 – Vixen, please, do NOT leave.

 – I gotta go.

His texting and calling were excessive for the next couple of hours, waning gradually by the afternoon. I felt physically and mentally broke throughout the day; I really did not care that he did not call or text “Good night, honey” in the evening, I was tired and sleepy.

Quiet Tuesday, quiet Wednesday, quiet Thursday, quiet Friday, no show – no call.

It was the manic episode, he is back to his depressed self, you won’t hear from him for a while”, – my inner voice was right.  He disappeared entirely, I slowly returned to my normal routine.  The first couple of weeks were tough. Surviving the mental withdrawal from the happy romance fairy-tale was painful and self-destructive.

He is bi-polar, unstable, alcohol-induced, and benzos-driven, he will be up and down all the time”. – I knew that, I accepted that, I had to move on.

2 months later he called me back, wanting to meet, submerging me in love, passion, and flights of ideas.

 – I love you Vixen, – he was gentle and generous, loving and giving.

 – My dear…, – I paused trying to find the appropriate word, almost knocked out by his charm and excessive sexuality, – I love you… I love you so much in your manic episode.