Yesterday was a haze. I’m in the midst of completing some post-separation classes on education, and I can honestly say I’ve been in and out of sleep for more than half of it.
Life is continuing on as normal, only I’m already seeing some strange withdrawal signs. Tumblr is my one-stop-shop for #HashtagActivism, Slash Fanart, amateur writing blogs, and my personal favorite, porn. Twinks, massive cocks, apple-bottom… bottoms, check, check, and triple check. But, this conflicts with my recent goals. I found myself scrolling through, clicking on this and that, a few entitled-activist cartoons telling me how evil white/straight people are, a couple of Free! fanarts and of course the obligatory fanfiction RP’s in reblogs, and what comes up but some rather steamy porn. Now, throughout the day I kept getting the weird whim of excusing myself from class to go and rub one out in the latrine, just to be done with it, but luckily I stayed the course. Even now, faced with stimuli and absolutely no barrier to sweet, sweet, temporary release, I held myself. It wasn’t like I was biting at the chain or twitching to whip it out and get it over with, but I kept feeling like it was something I needed to do, in the way that you need to at some point take out the trash, or do laundry, or sweep the damn floor. It wasn’t something immediately pressing, immediately demanding, immediately crucial, but it was something that needed to be done eventually and in a timely manner.
I was in luck, though, because yesterday I was hit by a heavy, heavy bout of lethargy, and I passed out for a long time instead of what was supposed to be a quick 1 hour nap before chow and then gym. Needless to say, I missed chow and gym and was a tad upset. The urge was gone though.
I’ve been having a lot of thoughts recently about one of my ex’s, the one mentioned in my first little introductory post, the one that was less than faithful. Long, painful story short, he was a wreck, I was trying to make it work, and it just didn’t. Aborted engagement, me moving to California (Met him while stationed in Oklahoma) and us staying somewhat in touch has kept him in my peripheral, if not wholly in my focus. Recently, though, we got closer and he actually planned to come and see me in California, stay with me and some family in San Diego, re-examine our relationship (I mean this in the social way) and see where we sit over time.
Prior to this, though, I had been having a lot of thoughts about him. Primarily sexual ones. Not fantasies, but memories. When I was out and on my own for the first time, I met him through an online dating site, and our first time around was short and… well pathetic, on my part. I was a source of cash, too young to drink, too naive to see what was going on. Our sexual relationship amounted to a peck on the lips and maybe a handjob. maybe. The many, many other times we got back together over the next two years was like a graded ascent into an actual sexual relationship. Handjobs turned to oral, oral turned to what basically was us dry-humping eachother in the nude till we both came, and finally, after a long while, the glorious, deep, intimate day we had sex. And by we I mean I finally penetrated him. Before I had been the only penatratee, the compliant, mousey member of the relationship who did whatever whenever to make the other happy. Like I said, pathetic.
It sounds petty, the sense of my finally ‘topping’ being a turning point, but you have to understand that until this point, sexual contact between us was usually under a haze of alcohol or pot or a spur of the moment lust that we both tried to satisfy. The first time I was with him, it was sober, alone together, and… great. He was nervous, almost, as we started, and we kept going, him wrapping me in his arms and making sounds that really, I can only describe as cute. He came without much effort on my part and I came eventually (On him, he liked it apparently) and from then on our relationship was pretty genuine and caring, mutually, for a few months. Then it turned back into a train wreck and the cycles continued unabated.
An update on him is that he is actually clean and stable now, in a relationship, and trying his best to make it work. Can’t fault him for it, though he pretty much dropped all talk of visiting me and trying again as soon as he got into this relationship. And it’s the second time with a guy that had hit him once before. But, I digress, passive aggressively. I guess there will always be a part of me that loves him, wants him to be with me, to take care of him and make him happy, make up for all the self-hatred and destructiveness that had preceded me and that I was involved with. But i realize that a lot of it is nostalgia, the rose-tinted filter that magnifies our intimate, good moments and ignores the chaos and pain that was far, far more common.
Same goes for the sexual memories.
Whatever, I’m just trying to get by.
See y’all next time on raunchy roundup.