I was complaining as I phoned up C. I was having a headache, I was antsy, I wanted to get out of the office, and I was hoping that I could have one more last chance to connect with B but I knew instinctively it was the end. Something happened, between the time I was returning from France and B heading to Chicago, something happened, and nothing remained the same. It was really the end. B had finally moved on, and he no longer wanted to see me. His half-hearted cancellation, and his lack of response showed that he no longer wanted me the same way I wanted him. I had been back for some time, and he did not want to see me. He claimed that he wanted me but he didn't, and I knew everything was heading to the end, and it was the end that I had been waiting for, but it didn't make it any easier. C wanted to see me. I didn't want to see C. I wanted to go and work out and go home and sleep. C wanted to see me and then have dinner. I was exhausted, starving and I was running late. I liked to work out and shower after. C was definitely getting anxious, "Let's just hang out. I want to see you." He said. So I went over there at 7:20. Friday was usually our date night. I saw him more than I had ever seen anyone else. C liked weekly visit and C enjoyed my companionship. I encouraged C to see other women. He dated other women, and it helped me to justify why I couldn't be just with C, my heart belonged to B, yet I probably saw B six times in total last year.
C treated me like a kid. He called me "Monkey." "Cutie Pie." "Baby." "Darling." "My precious." Seriously. I didn't know why C felt that way about me. Why couldn't he call me "beautiful?" Cute was a term used for kids. I was not a kid. But that was for C to decide. I had a kid's voice. I used to sing. I can't help it when I have a kid's voice, even at this age. C kissed my arms, my legs and hugs me and kisses me on my lips. He was so happy to see me. He was making me dinner and he wanted to feed me. After dinner we sat on the couch and talked. He took photos of me. He liked my outfits, or in-fits, as in the case may be. Outfits that were for sluts. Cupless bras. He loved that. He loved my large dangling breasts. He liked my small shapely legs and frames. He liked to kiss me all over, and he loved my CFM shoes. I always wore nice high heels.
I told C that I didn't want to have sex. So C took photos and cuddled me. We watched documentary and surfed public television stations. We caught up even though we talked all the time on the phone. C liked to talk about his science stuff.
I wanted to sleep and I hurt my shin getting up. He was nearly in tears watching me in pain. I gave him my big brown eyes, teared up and he just wanted to do anything in his power to stop my suffering. He cared about me, more than he let on. I couldn't handle that. I didn't want to be loved.
In bed. He knew what I liked. I couldn't be happier sexually with C. It was the best sex that I've had in a while, more importantly, he's the only one who consistently got me off. I don't know why. Maybe because he had ginormous 8 inch cock.
I fell asleep in his arms.
Woke up in the middle of the night and called for his name. "Baby, what time is it?"
"It's only 4:30." He told me and then put his arms around me, and flipped me over so that we were in classic spooning position. At 10 AM we woke up finally. He fucked me silly. I was not in the mood, but then he was spanking me and I was wet as a puddle. I was a perverse person. He needed to tie me up. That's what he'd be willing to do. That's it. I tried to tell him to tie me up. He's not into it. He's good at just plain fucking. Long duration fucking. He's somewhat like B in bed. But without the weird bondage and discipline stuff. I kind of needed that. I liked it when B does certain things to me. I would not feel comfortable doing it with anyone else anyway. Only B. But B was not my friend. He wouldn't be a friend. He came in and out of my life, and occasionally we'd fuck, whenever he saw. I wished that I could be his friend, but I doubt that would ever happen. I wish he could find someone to fuck me when he couldn't fuck me any more, but I doubt that he would want me to be fucked by others.
Bummer.
C fed me dinner and then breakfast. French toast was on the menu this morning: savory, yummy and delicious. He knew how to make food. I was loitering, putting on make up, admiring myself in the phone camera, and being a girl talking about nothing. Then it was time to eat. He even cut them up into small pieces for me. Short of feeding them directly into my mouth, he was doing everything for me. He'd turn on the shower, which had the same exact shower head as B's bathroom, he'd then wait for the temperature was just alright, then he called me into the shower, got me a fresh towel and off he went. I could hear him walking back and forth upstairs making coffee. When I was all cleaned up and wandered to the living room, wrapped in a towel, hair wet, and I'd whine, "Where is my coffee?" He'd bring me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. We read the news together. He then soaked the bread in eggs and milk while I put on my face. I thanked him for making me breakfast, and dinner last night. He gave me a hug and kissed me, called me a "cutie pie" again. He did such things for me because he appreciated my companionship. He did not need to do anything for anyone. He knew when to say no. He said no often to me.
That's what's so strange about men. They will do things for those who they care about, all the time, and then they turn into assholes and fucking disappear when they are tired of you. All you could remember was the good days and you are dumbfounded when they stop trying.
That's why women need to know when to say goodbye. Exit left stage, soundlessly, no more asking why, no more wondering why, just know that your time is up and it's time to leave the dance floor. Find a new partner, get rid of the old, don't linger, don't wonder why. It's not as simple or as complicated as you think. It's really just that he no longer wants you.
The only way to get rid of B was to go cold turkey. An exorcism was to be performed; with B, I felt like a heroin addict, often withdrawal, with the occasional high.
I ought to listen to myself. B no longer wanted me. It's crazy, one moment he said yes he couldn't wait to see me and one moment he was complete silent. I had gotten tired of waiting. I moved on, if not emotionally, physically. I was spoiled rotten by this man, C. We were good together. So I kept on telling myself.
He told me that he was interviewed last week. For two hours. The clip would be on the news in a week. "What, why are you just telling me?" I asked.
"I hate being interviewed." He's a local celebrity. He hated being interviewed. He hated to be the center of attention. He liked white women. He preferred them to be blondes, actually, and with nice body. He had a lot of guy friends, geeky guy friends. He was the well rounded one who was very very smart and good looking so he thought others were dorky looking. They may have gone to Ivy Leagues but they sucked at their looks. I found myself often get tangled up with really smart men who thought hey were hot and smart. And they liked women, different kind of women.
I didn't know how I got into this mix. I was not his usual type. He did not often date my race at all. B did not date my race much either. Both men liked white women. What the fuck?!
Next week we would have officially met each other for a year. But C did not ask me out until 8 months later.
He detained me in the morning, showing me his work, and simply wanted me to be with him. So I was with him until 2 PM. I was supposed to me seeing him for an evening. Yet half of the weekend was gone. I stayed to eat breakfast and talk to him. I was not sure why he has been prolonging my visit. I feared that I had become his weekend girlfriend. The main one. I was torn about that. I was always afraid of commitment, especially commitment I could no longer give.
I did not know anything any more. But I did know that it's a good idea to simplify my life, and to say a final goodbye to B, because while I loved B, he did not love me back, and he would always be hot and cold, and it had run its final course, and it's time to move on.
There was a crash of two trains inside a tunnel in the news today. C and I read the news and we said, that was terrible. I was thinking to myself, that if I had to crash and burn it might as well be with B. I told C that I used to date five people at the same time. I then simplified. I thought dating one would be better. It was all relative. I couldn't possibly know what's what. I knew nothing.
If I were in a train crash, it might as well be with B. But he left without ever bleeding, he hopped on another train, without even saying goodbye, he was gone. I remained in the rubble, shaking and in shock, waiting for something, for someone, waiting for his return. Though I was not physically injured. A year and some months, I waited. Then C arrived on scene, scooped me up and took me away. When the grief finally subsided, I realized that I had survived the crash by escaping it unscathed, I should consider myself lucky.
I must tell myself that. I must bury the past, and move on. As there was no other way. We all must move on.
C treated me like a kid. He called me "Monkey." "Cutie Pie." "Baby." "Darling." "My precious." Seriously. I didn't know why C felt that way about me. Why couldn't he call me "beautiful?" Cute was a term used for kids. I was not a kid. But that was for C to decide. I had a kid's voice. I used to sing. I can't help it when I have a kid's voice, even at this age. C kissed my arms, my legs and hugs me and kisses me on my lips. He was so happy to see me. He was making me dinner and he wanted to feed me. After dinner we sat on the couch and talked. He took photos of me. He liked my outfits, or in-fits, as in the case may be. Outfits that were for sluts. Cupless bras. He loved that. He loved my large dangling breasts. He liked my small shapely legs and frames. He liked to kiss me all over, and he loved my CFM shoes. I always wore nice high heels.
I told C that I didn't want to have sex. So C took photos and cuddled me. We watched documentary and surfed public television stations. We caught up even though we talked all the time on the phone. C liked to talk about his science stuff.
I wanted to sleep and I hurt my shin getting up. He was nearly in tears watching me in pain. I gave him my big brown eyes, teared up and he just wanted to do anything in his power to stop my suffering. He cared about me, more than he let on. I couldn't handle that. I didn't want to be loved.
In bed. He knew what I liked. I couldn't be happier sexually with C. It was the best sex that I've had in a while, more importantly, he's the only one who consistently got me off. I don't know why. Maybe because he had ginormous 8 inch cock.
I fell asleep in his arms.
Woke up in the middle of the night and called for his name. "Baby, what time is it?"
"It's only 4:30." He told me and then put his arms around me, and flipped me over so that we were in classic spooning position. At 10 AM we woke up finally. He fucked me silly. I was not in the mood, but then he was spanking me and I was wet as a puddle. I was a perverse person. He needed to tie me up. That's what he'd be willing to do. That's it. I tried to tell him to tie me up. He's not into it. He's good at just plain fucking. Long duration fucking. He's somewhat like B in bed. But without the weird bondage and discipline stuff. I kind of needed that. I liked it when B does certain things to me. I would not feel comfortable doing it with anyone else anyway. Only B. But B was not my friend. He wouldn't be a friend. He came in and out of my life, and occasionally we'd fuck, whenever he saw. I wished that I could be his friend, but I doubt that would ever happen. I wish he could find someone to fuck me when he couldn't fuck me any more, but I doubt that he would want me to be fucked by others.
Bummer.
C fed me dinner and then breakfast. French toast was on the menu this morning: savory, yummy and delicious. He knew how to make food. I was loitering, putting on make up, admiring myself in the phone camera, and being a girl talking about nothing. Then it was time to eat. He even cut them up into small pieces for me. Short of feeding them directly into my mouth, he was doing everything for me. He'd turn on the shower, which had the same exact shower head as B's bathroom, he'd then wait for the temperature was just alright, then he called me into the shower, got me a fresh towel and off he went. I could hear him walking back and forth upstairs making coffee. When I was all cleaned up and wandered to the living room, wrapped in a towel, hair wet, and I'd whine, "Where is my coffee?" He'd bring me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. We read the news together. He then soaked the bread in eggs and milk while I put on my face. I thanked him for making me breakfast, and dinner last night. He gave me a hug and kissed me, called me a "cutie pie" again. He did such things for me because he appreciated my companionship. He did not need to do anything for anyone. He knew when to say no. He said no often to me.
That's what's so strange about men. They will do things for those who they care about, all the time, and then they turn into assholes and fucking disappear when they are tired of you. All you could remember was the good days and you are dumbfounded when they stop trying.
That's why women need to know when to say goodbye. Exit left stage, soundlessly, no more asking why, no more wondering why, just know that your time is up and it's time to leave the dance floor. Find a new partner, get rid of the old, don't linger, don't wonder why. It's not as simple or as complicated as you think. It's really just that he no longer wants you.
The only way to get rid of B was to go cold turkey. An exorcism was to be performed; with B, I felt like a heroin addict, often withdrawal, with the occasional high.
I ought to listen to myself. B no longer wanted me. It's crazy, one moment he said yes he couldn't wait to see me and one moment he was complete silent. I had gotten tired of waiting. I moved on, if not emotionally, physically. I was spoiled rotten by this man, C. We were good together. So I kept on telling myself.
He told me that he was interviewed last week. For two hours. The clip would be on the news in a week. "What, why are you just telling me?" I asked.
"I hate being interviewed." He's a local celebrity. He hated being interviewed. He hated to be the center of attention. He liked white women. He preferred them to be blondes, actually, and with nice body. He had a lot of guy friends, geeky guy friends. He was the well rounded one who was very very smart and good looking so he thought others were dorky looking. They may have gone to Ivy Leagues but they sucked at their looks. I found myself often get tangled up with really smart men who thought hey were hot and smart. And they liked women, different kind of women.
I didn't know how I got into this mix. I was not his usual type. He did not often date my race at all. B did not date my race much either. Both men liked white women. What the fuck?!
Next week we would have officially met each other for a year. But C did not ask me out until 8 months later.
He detained me in the morning, showing me his work, and simply wanted me to be with him. So I was with him until 2 PM. I was supposed to me seeing him for an evening. Yet half of the weekend was gone. I stayed to eat breakfast and talk to him. I was not sure why he has been prolonging my visit. I feared that I had become his weekend girlfriend. The main one. I was torn about that. I was always afraid of commitment, especially commitment I could no longer give.
I did not know anything any more. But I did know that it's a good idea to simplify my life, and to say a final goodbye to B, because while I loved B, he did not love me back, and he would always be hot and cold, and it had run its final course, and it's time to move on.
There was a crash of two trains inside a tunnel in the news today. C and I read the news and we said, that was terrible. I was thinking to myself, that if I had to crash and burn it might as well be with B. I told C that I used to date five people at the same time. I then simplified. I thought dating one would be better. It was all relative. I couldn't possibly know what's what. I knew nothing.
If I were in a train crash, it might as well be with B. But he left without ever bleeding, he hopped on another train, without even saying goodbye, he was gone. I remained in the rubble, shaking and in shock, waiting for something, for someone, waiting for his return. Though I was not physically injured. A year and some months, I waited. Then C arrived on scene, scooped me up and took me away. When the grief finally subsided, I realized that I had survived the crash by escaping it unscathed, I should consider myself lucky.
I must tell myself that. I must bury the past, and move on. As there was no other way. We all must move on.
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