Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind

I suffer from the eternal sunshine of spotless mind. That much I have learned - while swimming under the stars and starring into the darkness of endless rice paddy, and counting every last one of the fireflies. That's Ubud, Bali for you.

Across the globe, sixteen hours apart, my mind wanders to no one but you. It has always been you. It started on my trip to Germany, October 2011. On the plane, I caught Woody Ellen's movie - Midnight in Paris, there was a scene about Salvador Dali, he was my favorite painter of all time, and I saw a painting of his at the SFMOMA, you were there with me that night. You explained it to me, it was called "Unsatisfied Desires", I was satisfied, that night, with you, by you. Shortly after my arrival in Germany, I was sitting in a Swedish sauna room of a hotel, it was snowing outside, just below the Neuschwainstein castle, and I thought of you. I remembered that you had told me that you were part German.  I had just started seeing you, then, I thought, which part of Germany were you from? That was a new beginning, a new romance, and of course I would remember you, of course I would think of you. I rationalized.

 I thought of you ever since then. Sometimes when you were away, sometimes when I was away. I thought of you when I was in France, in Sweden, in India, back to Germany again, in Thailand, in Hong Kong, in Czech Republic, in Bali. I thought of you when you were in Switzerland, in Norway, in St. Thomas, in Boston, in Chicago, in New York.

Could two people be in love, and never live together or be together? Could two people be always crossing path, be traveling, but never travel together? Could two people work a few blocks away, socialize in the same city, but never see each other?

Could we fast forward in time, and still feel the same way about the other person, fifteen years down the road?

What if it is not just I, but you also, that suffer from the eternal sunshine of spotless mind?  What if there is something in our dynamics that prevents us from moving forward, so that we are always stuck in the same place as we first started, and there we go round and round, feeling exactly the same way abut each other as if it was the first time we met?

In the evenings, when the world is filled with the sound of critters, when the wind blows through the rice field, when the world is dark, borrowing the dim lit porch, when I am the only person who is still awake, in the darkest night, my thoughts are filled with you.

I'm in an island, surrounded by the Indian Ocean. I love the Indian Ocean the most. I love it more than the Pacific or the Atlantic, I love how remote it is, I love that my continents - Europe, Asia and America, where I have set up homes, do not touch Indian Ocean. I love how I can vanish, in this island that is so far away from my homes, yet my thoughts are filled with you, and only you.

If this is not love, then I don't know what love is.

I like swimming in the infinity pool surrounded by the banana tress, papaya trees and flowering plumeria trees. I like how the passion fruit vines is draped with green passion fruit, and I like how the sound of the nature overwhelms yet calms me at the same time. In the pool, I would look up into the sky, and it's filled with stars. Inside the living room, I open the floor to floor French door and let the breeze from the farm land to come in. There I am, sitting on a beanie bag, write about this, about how I feel about you, sixteen hours ahead of you, at the other end of the earth. Here, I can finally feel at ease to write.

I have never loved another like I have loved you. Yet I have always wanted so little from you. I am almost afraid of progress. I worry that it would ruin this, whatever this is, it always feels like a brand new beginning with you.

What if I cannot and will not feel anything different than this? What if by failing to make any progress, to advance this relationship to the next stage like a normal, traditional relationship should, we have inadvertently created a loophole in the universe of relationships and we are forever stuck at the beginning? The permanent butterfly-in-your-stomach stage lingers on for the rest of our relationship, for the rest of our lives. Here we are, two and half years later, still feel the same way towards each other as we did when we first met. We have finally been able to defy logic and the inevitability of the dreary ending. Most relationship grows routine, grows mundane, grows tiring, but not ours. We will always live separately, yet blissfully in love with one another.

I used to wonder if I'd ever see you again whenever we part. I used to feel devastated when I did not hear from you for an extended period of time. I used to cry when I feel that you did not want me any more.

One day I realize that no matter what, as long as you choose to be in my life, I'd always love you like it was the first day we met. I would be okay with loving you and not being with you most of the time. I would also be okay if you decide to not love me any more and disappear from my life. Because it would be like as if I have never met you.

That was how I know, I must suffer from eternal sunshine of spotless mind. This is the way I will love you, now and until the end. 

In Ten Years

He removed my hair clip, and my long hair was let loose: it was getting too long for me, it's now to my shoulder. Some think I should have it cut shorter: “Short hair means power, you are a powerful woman.” Those who thought of me simply as a business woman would tell me. Men who liked me, who thought that I could be their object of affection, preferred it long, however: it was more feminine. He wanted me to keep it as it was. Against naked skin, my long, straight, sun kissed hair made men feel like they were hugging a real woman. But he’s not just any man. He’s my long term boyfriend. He's either on the verge of becoming the real deal, or falling off a cliff and never to be sighted again. Like any respectful French woman, which I always thought that I was, I had been engaged in a multi-year affair with him: over two, less than three. I could see this going on for a while. I had no intention to let him go, and every time I tested this subject on him, he did not want to end it either. 

In bed, he said that he liked to stay in hotels. In ten years he’d want to move into a hotel permanently. He hated laundry with a passion. He hated permanence. He already lived in a very transient world. He would never marry, never own a home, never make a meal. He was the opposite of me. I liked commitment. I feared change. I owned four homes: two in the U.S., one in Europe, and one in Asia. Yet he was my kindred spirit. I had always loved him. 

He had the means. He could make living in a hotel happen. It’s not that expensive, at $200 a day, a month was just $6000, that’s less than some mortgage, less than mine anyway. I knew someone who had done it. That someone made it big in building and selling technology companies. His name was P. P and I were close for a while, I never slept with P. In retrospect, I thought the intent was there. P was used to dating pretty but not smart women. I was what he called a “smart and pretty woman". He only knew two other women like me. One day, P told me about this, over a lunch at Town Hall. He bought me lunch that day, even though I didn't want him to pay, just to make a point, I didn't want to be thought of as one of his bimbo girlfriends. P had three, one lived with him, two he dated, seriously.

Over a decade ago, before P lived in a hotel, when I was just married, P asked me out on a date. That night I was sitting in a French restaurant and talking to P, I was looking out the window, worried about being seen by someone I might know, even though the dinner was just a dinner and he was just a friend, I felt guilty. As I was looking out, I saw him, my lover, walking by. He had not seen me, but I saw him, his profile. He was walking by with a male friend of his. He had not seen me with P, and that was the last known memory I had of him, and that was the last and only date I had with P. I did not see this man who became my lover until we reacquainted again a few years ago. 

In ten years, this man who was lying next to me, would be just like P, living in a hotel. P moved into Ritz Carlton five years ago. When P sold his last company, he had a $200 million pay day. He called me just when I was coming back from France. P wanted to know where A was, A was an old boyfriend of mine, who also made it big in the Internet world way back in the 90s, when he was just out of MIT Sloan.  A moved to Seattle when the payout came through. He claimed that he spent years trying to figure out where I was, whom I had married to, as I changed my last name. A found me eventually in 2011. P was moving there and he knew that he'd get along with A. Any ex of mine would be of some level of quality. P proclaimed. A indeed became a close friend to P. I made the connection for the two of them. I was always a relationship builder. I introduced people to people.  I introduced pretty much everyone to everyone, borrowing this man, this man who was holding me in bed. I would have, but he never gave me an opportunity to be introduced, and I suspected he preferred remaining in the shadows, just like he preferred me to be in his shadows. No one in his world had ever heard of me. He hid me and he made no mention of me to anyone. I was not important enough to be seen in his world. I was an affair buried deep into his skin, I was a woman who he could say nothing at all, but I would still know what to do when I saw him. Words of meet and greet were brief, and within 5 minutes, he would have removed the belt, and unzipped his pants. I would be in whatever position, sucking on his cock. We had that in sync. I wanted to service him, and he wanted to be serviced.

Speaking of "in ten years", I wanted to know what his biggest fear would be. Because I knew MY answer already. I feared that he'd still love me, he'd still not let me go, and I'd still love him back, and I'd have trouble letting him go. Everything should end. That was the law of nature. It was unnatural for me to still desire him as much as I did the first time we met. It was unexpected for him to still feel attracted to me. An unanticipated consequence therefore arose in our interactions: he was becoming more communicative, he was suggesting that he should go out with me, attend events, and even, maybe this time, meet my friends. His effort in being more communicative, and more forward thinking, made this fairy tale like secret affair, less gloom and doom, and more fun and refreshing.

I knew our worlds - my current, and his past, possibly current, as well, were colliding slightly. I noticed some people's names from when I was more attuned to his world, through his facebook connections, back when he was in my network, back before I defriended him, were starting to pop into my circles. I told him nothing thus far, and I tried to ignore. I knew it was only just a matter of time that some of his old friends, his current friends even, would be seen somewhere by me, and my friends. It was inevitable, the world was shrinking in front of our eyes. I needed to be prepared.

I feared that we would be like what we were like sixteen odd years ago: I met him because he was a friend to a close girlfriend of mine's ex, his best friend and I worked for the same consulting firm and staffed on the same project. It would be too much. I feared that we might actually belong together as he said. I feared that I would feel exactly the same about him as I did today.

In ten years, he'd move into a hotel, his clothes dry cleaned and linen laundered daily; in ten years, my children would have grown and I would be living in a state of constant disarray. And my fear finally came true: I still held his affection, and in return, I loved him, even more. 

When all else fails

I no longer sleep with anyone, but B. That being said, B is often away and I like to be with others. I'm a social being. I like friends. Male and female friends.

B is often away and not available even if he's in town. I don't know why, I often just think it's because he's got a girlfriend or live in partner besides his kid that he needs to limit interaction with me to minimum.

I've been through this, so many up and downs, it's been too many times now. I don't have the energy to get super upset or sad any more. I know that I must chart my own territory, be in control of my own fate, and do not let B affect me the way it used to.

Went out for dinner with N. N is a good friend. We've known each other for sometime. He and I bonded over crap. Well, he was unlucky in love and I was always feeling sorry for my state of being (vis-a-via B). I went to him when I got really upset with B and was hoping to break up with B. He taught me what to do but then I did not listen. He said, "Just wait for another six months, you will come crying about B again." I did for a while but then we got back together. Then I went to him when he was super upset with his girlfriends. We talk all the time.

I was eating and wrinkling my nose when N tilted my head and touched my chin gently and told me to stop making faces. It was unexpected, like he was my big brother and wanted to make me look more attractive. But that was not some platonic moment, that was a moment of deep caring and affection, borderlined romantic. So I shook it off and stared at the street curb side.

N gave me a bit of load down of his life. He always told me everything, about his exercise routine, his dating life (or lack of), or his work. He seems to have a lot of friends but no one that close. He asked me what is my ideal mate, I said, "Educated in the east coast, smart, liberal, libertarian even, knows a lot about NPR programs, likes to read, socially aware, tall, dark and handsome or medium framed and blond, bonus for wearing glasses. Extra bonus for being left handed." I just described nearly every single one of guy friends. And all of my serious ex boyfriends. And N. Great.

He and I parted ways. I'd return and we'd resume our weekly going out scheme. He'll be out chasing skirt, I'll be sitting on a bar stool, chatting up with men. We make a great going out couple. I get more attention than he but he's way better looking than me.

-------

A thought I was arriving earlier. I saw him about 45 minutes later than expected. He had finished building a couch and was enjoying it. We had dinner. We talked about our plans of going out. He did not want to make commitment but I know how he thinks. He likes being with me but only so much.

He did not want me to have a real boyfriend. He did not think that I should date.

Then out of blue he invited to go abroad on a trip with him. He was thinking about going to Korea and wanted me to go with him. I thought that he had developed a crush on a girl there before he met me. So inviting me to go with him was a bit unexpected. It was a bit strange actually because I did not expect that. Going on a trip with A seemed a bit intimate. I would share a room with him. I would be sleeping with him. Spending day and nights with him. Platonically.

I was shocked. No one had ever asked me to travel with them before.

He was always subdued and even manic depressive when he was with me but when he was saying goodbye he turned into this happy energetic charming self which I did not get to see much these days. He hug me a couple of times and said, "you are a really good friend".

I couldn't go there with A. I was always just hovering in a weird way.

He was too. We had failed to come to a really good solid place, but we've always been platonic. He's bi.

When everything else fails, A was a friend and always will be.

And when everything fails I would still have N and A. Both were good male friends, both decided to stick it around until we sort out our respective dynamics.

cloth optional retreat

In a moment of not thinking, I'd asked two men to go with me to a clothes optional retreat up north. I've been there a few times. With women or men, always naked never had any sexual intrigues. But two men?!

One straight one bi. Straight man does not want to have a threesome with me and another man. Only with another woman. Straight man is very close to me, though no sexual relationship ever happened between us. I had a tendency to separate the two. I can't have sex and be a real friend to someone. I have to let one die down before becoming someone's true friend.

As a friend I'm loyal, incredibly caring, loving, and I give a lot. As a lover I'm mysterious, sensitive and incredibly fragile. To some people I'm a total bitch, to others I'm the most agreeable person. My girlfriends get so confused. They don't know how I could create two completely separate personas and live in them as if I have always been two separate people. Opposite people.

For the bi man, I'm the biggest bitch. I go through my emotions. I yell I cry and I laugh like there is no tomorrow. He knows my moods and let me. Sometimes I'm pissed at him and other times I cry with joy and tell him I love him until death do us part.

For the straight man, he adores me. I can be a bitch too but he's so kind, loving, and is always there for me. He was very cautious at first but now we are inseparable, like brother and sister.

I would have Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year dinner with him. He will tell me all of his dating stories.

I would give him mine as well.  We know each other very well. We are supportive of each other.

For both of them, they all love and adore me. They know my stories. They do not pass judgment though they think I'm out of my mind for having fallen for B. They think I can do so much better. They want to help me to find a man to replace B with.

Well, they got that in common. Both were born and raised in the northeast. Both were educated in the east coast. Both moved here. Both are super protective of me. Both talk to me on texts and fb a lot.

But I don't fuck them. I don't and can't. They are my real friends. Unlike B, who exits and enters my life as if he never left or never existed. It's a weird dynamic.

I have not booked lodging. I guess we will see!

Overly sensitive or stranger than fiction

I think I have a gay boyfriend. Gay, for sure. Boyfriend, depends. Boyfriend should be someone you have sex with, regularly, not someone you just see on occasion and not even have sex with.

But I have this boy, who is a friend, who is gay, who talks to me every day. We see each other every few days, but we chat, one fashion or another, all the time.

Mostly about work, but sometimes about other mundane things. When I'm in a bad mood, he knows, when I'm in a good mood, I try to share it with him.

He calls at the end of the night to check in with me. He tells me what's going on in his life. He treats me like I'm his best friend here, and we talk about many things and on very rare occasions, we try to get together and talk about life.

Tonight, I was tired and sent him a text that said, "Don't call me, I'm too tired." But he did not read it on FB so he called me. I talked to him briefly and then he said while calling out my name, "I'm in my boxer shorts. I am going to bed. Let's go to bed." I nearly thought that we were going to bed together, but obviously he called to say that we should go to bed.

I know that he loves me. He told me so. I know that I love him. In a non sexual way.

And even though we don't see each other much, we use enough communication methods to stay in touch that it felt that we were seeing each other.

And I said, "OK, let's go to bed."

And that's how we often end the night. Go to bed, together, separately. 

The way it used to be

Had met up with someone for a quick bite. Someone whom I used to see. He had, at a very young age, achieved the final frontier, he was promoted to the top position. But he's eying a position at Burning Man. He may get it. Then he would be home free. A born burner, he's been going there for over a decade. He lives off that shit, he was in D.C. last week and he met some people who took him to a burner's club. He was that devoted.

We used to see each other. He was one of the people I saw. We had incredibly good chemistry. I think positively the best. We saw each other often enough, just not end of August early September because I'd go on holiday and he'd be going to Burning Man.

He was creative but corporate. He was interesting and sophisticated. He and I had a very good arrangement. He was married, younger by a lot, and he was interested in a relationship free relationship.

We got along fabulously. He was giving. He was into all the kinky stuff and he was fascinated with anal sex with me. I did not let it happen, but for months he tried.

I always knew that it would be difficult to end that relationship. I had a weakness for blue eyes blond hair men, especially if they were Swedish. He was that.

But when it did end it came naturally because it ran its course.

I often wondered if I did not pull the plug would he? I thought the answer would be no. It was a perfect arrangement. He came to see me at my other place. We had the house to ourselves. We did drugs, had fun, smoked, drank, shoot the breeze and talked about work.

In the sexual relationship we formed it became clear to me very quickly that he loved sex, he would try to find opportunity to have sex with me, all the time. But our passion would one day fade, and I had to end it because I was in love with someone else, and I was sensing that I didn't want this to be a sexual relationship any more.

In his world, where life was not complicated and my existence as a lover meant that we were able to play on occasion, was also rather non complicated. What was complicated was the fact that I could not tell him anything about anyone else. Including the man I was in love with. As far as he knew, we had a good thing, he was my only outlet and I was content.

I often questioned my decision - not because I didn't want to see him any more, but because I had no real good reason terminate it other than I was in love with someone else.

I learned that he was to move soon - either to New York or London. With his wife. He'd be traveling to these places and then relocate.

I always knew this was going to end. I knew because I had pictured it.

Ever since I met him, I imagined that he'd take a job somewhere far and away, and he'd occasionally come back here, and we'd still meet up for a drink, and one day he'd move back and we'd resume like no time had passed.

Perhaps that was what I was good at, I liked these arrangements, to meet someone and then to leave them before they were bored, and forever and ever they'd stay in my life, as friends. 

Suppose, he did also love me

He tied me up. Use the same ropes he first tied me up with, he bound my feet. My hands. So that I was unable to move, I was on my stomach, curved, just so, bound, just the way he liked.

He ordered me to lie there, not moving, not lifting my head, not making a sound. "Lie there, be quiet. Don't move." My long hair spread, on my face. in my mouth. I had no way to move them out of my way, so I let them drape all over me.

Earlier, he lifted me up, I was sitting on him, his face buried in me. I was riding on his face in that new dress. With my garter belt and stockings, I was otherwise exposed under the dress. So he took advantage of it. I was so afraid of being on top of him, with my legs straddling him. I touched his hair, curly, soft like I remembered, and I was on top of him, in a face sitting position, like it was right out of one of my favorite porn scenes. Then he took out the white rope - the mood decidedly changed, as we entered a different setting.

In a split second, he was in command. I tried to concentrate. He was all of sudden on top of me, his private parts squeezed onto my face, as he put pressure on me I could feel nothing but his private parts on my face. He put his balls on my mouth so that I could suck on them. So I did.  He took his time before feeding his cock to me, and when he did they were jammed so deep I had to fight the urge to not to gag, and I was able to do so successfully. I had to ask him to remove my hair from my face. I was then placed on my stomach, legs and hands tightly bound, he started to take out the paddle so that he could spank me. He bought the paddle for me, for us, on my last birthday. That got me wetter than wet, he knew that about me. The moment he spanked me was the moment I was turned on, like a faucet I was turned on only by spanking. It was really that simple. I was wired to serve him. I was wired to be a sub. I was that someone who took pleasure in providing pleasure, someone who was turned on by some level of pain. He pinched me really hard. My nipples were on fire. Then he bit me. It hurt and I loved the pain sending through my spine. He was thrilled by my reaction because at that point he was making very animal like noise. He was louder than normal, he was very free in expressing himself, which surprised me and excited me. I liked how he was becoming less reserved.  I kept my end of bargain. I was silent and motionless. He then fucked me from behind, side ways actually and then he made those noises as if I was not there, I was simply his flexidoll, and he was comfortable in his way of expressing himself in bed. He could do as he pleased with me, and I would be without any reaction at all. I was his toy and he used me as he pleased.

Then he lifted me up and brought me to the bathroom, in the bath tub, we began to engage in our brand of fun. I liked how warm, soft and incredibly soothing it was to bathe in his liquid, and I liked how it brought pleasure onto him as well. I was a mess. My hair sticky and my garter belt and stockings soaked as well. My make up smeared. He pushed me against the stall wall and there he entered me again. I caught him watching himself fucking me - the mirror reflected a man fucking me. I looked curved and smooth, he looked urgent and masculine.

Then we showered. He bathed and before I knew he had stepped out of the shower and got under the cover, I came to join him. My hair wet and make up removed. He was tired and drifting to sleep. I started to massage his back, his neck, and his shoulders. I had always wanted to do that to him. He had never wanted me to touch his body when we laid next to each other before. But this time he told me that he liked it. So I massaged his back as he did not resist it, and I did that for a while, thinking how lucky it was for me to finally give him a massage. How our relationship took a different turn. How at that precise moment, I knew what I did not know before. He loved me. It was real. I loved him. No doubt about it. But neither one of us was ready for a change.

I was afraid of change would mean that I might never feel that level of intensity again. I was afraid of making him seeing me more would make him wanting me less. I was afraid of seeing him more would make me love him less. I wanted the distance to feel my longing for him was real. It was as if I couldn't believe how much I wanted him, so the only way to feel that way, was for him to exit my life for a while, for me to request to be seen, and be denied by him, over and over again,  before he was finally convinced and was agreeing to see me. Then I would realize how much he still cared about me and loved me.

I knew instinctively I would do anything and everything he'd ever told me to do, but rationally I was worried my love for him would grow mundane and unimaginative should we see each other more frequently. 

Early in the morning, presents were exchanged. He showed me the book I made for him, which was sent to him earlier that night. Two and half years worth of writing from four different blogs, this blog that you were reading being one of the four. He thanked me for leaving some of the unflattering things out from the book. He asked if I was looking for a publisher. How could I? My life was a complicated, secret ridden, unbelievably colorful one, started out when I was barely a kid, there were many noteworthy stories to write about me, but this, this level of love declaration spanning over two and half years was not worth seeking a publisher for. I couldn't dare. It would be too personal, too raw, and frankly, not terribly interesting to others. In those two and half years, He knew that I was upset. I was sad. I was angry with varying degrees of disappointment and despair, but I did not want to show all that to him. So I chose the stories carefully to be included in this book. I wanted him to be reassured that my love was real, and in that reassurance process, I was convinced myself that I was able to persevere, and my life would go on as if I had not been broken into pieces, by him, by his acts, and by the mere fact of unknown future ahead.

But what if it was he who was broken? What if I was able to break a man who thought he had every wall built, shelter arranged, and escape hatches installed, in the event of an emotional outbreak? What if it was he who thought that he'd experienced it all, and nothing excited him any longer, yet it was I who made him feel alive again? What if I was able to finally affect and ignite him? What if I was meant to come into his life, to give his too-stale-too-predictable-too-easily-broken relationship history a jolt, a reinterpretation, so that he could feel that a man like him, a man who was terribly afraid of commitment and unable to retain and keep a relationship because of his cheating heart, could have a chance to eternal happiness? 

I was born a French woman. I loved romance more than monogamy, while I could do away from having multiple partners, I could not do away from having one boring lover. If my lover should have a wondering eye, if my lover found happiness in receiving racy photos of his ex lovers, if my lover could engage in a threesome with me and a woman we brought back, I would be completely thrilled. If you loved someone, set him free. 

But suppose, what if he, too, felt, for the first time in a long time, that he was genuinely loved and deeply cared for?

Suppose, he did also love me, what then? Where did this leave me? 

A and B, A or B, Not A Not B

A messaged me. Pissing me off. I told him to stop calling me "babe", it is weird. I told him that I maintain friendship with my ex'es but when they started calling me "babe" it's implying that I'm in a relationship with them, which I'm not, and it's the wrong message to send to me. I'd stop responding to him if he did that again. He said that I made a good point. He went on to ask how I was doing. I know that he missed me. I did not care so much about him. The last few times he was up here I ignored him. He was heading to France and he messaged me then. I didn't care but I liked the attention.

I sorted of blamed him for everything. He started it all with me. He was the last person I slept with before I went and got myself married. He was someone I met at a party, a pub crawl, he was blue blood and had an air of arrogance. I ignored him while other women threw themselves at him. He had money, prestige and the good looks. I hated men who thought they had everything. I also hated the fact that he was flaunting it. But for some strange reason A liked me. Soon our relationship took a different turn when I sensed that he was into the game of chase rather than the game of wanting someone to be his companion. I liked him enough to let it go on for a while, but I didn't like him enough to feel that he was worth my affection.

It was a bit of blow to his ego, someone who grew up with a silver spoon, who went to the most prestigious prep school, then onto Stanford, and when that was done, then went to get his MIT sloan degree before starting his own company and made millions. He should have gotten away with a lot more than he ever did, but I didn't care for him, he was awkward and geeky, he was charming but in a very limited way. By the time he asked me to move in I had already moved in with someone else. The story ended there until years later when he found me again.

Story did not end well there, as we both were in a weird state of reliving our 20s and 30s. But we've been trying to repair our friendship since then. I had trouble saying no. For every man who came into my life, I tend to have trouble saying no. My decision of moving on usually snuck on me, one moment I was in love the next moment I felt that he had betrayed me and I was moving on. Rarely I took a long interest in a man without finding some fatal flaw, but at the same time I did not foster hostility. I simply, moved on. I moved on from A. The first time, and then the second time.

A wanted a friendship with sexual component to it. He did not want a relationship. I told him that I'm in a relationship. With B. The man after him, this time, and the same man, who was before him back 16 years ago. I can't have a friendship that contained a sexual component. A wanted me and he tried to convince me that I wanted him too.

The truth is - I like sex. I like men. I had no problem having sex with different men. When I was younger I did that, when I was older I did that too, until recently it worked well. Sex without emotional attachment, in and of itself, was no hard, what was hard was when the man you were supposed to have a casual relationship with, asked you for your heart. It seemed easy at first. When I met B, I told him about A, and about how I just wanted to have sex, and then A wanted more and got obsessive. B took notes. He knew that I was available sexually. I had fun. It was when B told me "I love you" that it got me freaked out. For a year I tried to talk myself out of it, I tried to break it off with him, I tried to figure out if I loved him, until, one day I realized that I did love him back. All sort of inner crisis took place. It would have been so easy, if everyone just stuck to their bargain and treated it as a fun adventure. But someone, someone always had to get emotions involved. Then it was too late. Once B asked me to give him my heart, more than my body, to him. I didn't understand. How and why? Then recently I felt that it was because he felt that way about me.

I knew that B loved me. I also knew, that he wished no change in our status. There was no advancement, there was no progression, and there was really no real shared vision of a future. That saddened me but did not surprise me, and further more, it made me realize that perhaps if we did end our journey together, now, or soon, I would be at peace. I had given everything that I could to B. I would have changed my world for him. I had done everything that I could, and he wanted none of that. If I had given him everything, my heart, my love, my physical being, and there was no real desire to seek that, then what was there left for me to do?

I was finally relieved of that notion of a progress. And in some strange ways I no longer felt that I owed anything to B. And more importantly I owed nothing to myself. I've explored everything I needed to explore in terms of relationships that I'd form with B, and I think I've reached the end with B. It would remain fun, but it would not me wonder if we would have a future together. It was not in the deck of cards. B made it clear.

But, I knew A more than A knew himself. I knew A wanted me because he is with someone for sometime now, she nagged him and wanted to know where he was at and who he was all the time. She made the same mistake majority of women make when entering a relationship, she became possessive and jealous.

Both characteristics maybe charming for a while, because she cared, men would rationalize, but in the end it was detrimental to a romantic relationship. Because it became taxing, and being jealous is never an attractive thing.

A complained to me how it killed the romance.

A wanted to see me, create fun memories. A wanted me - that was flattering. But at the same time, boring. I found the entire process boring and tedious.  A stuck in the past, he was rejected, not once but twice, once in 99 and once in 11, both times I had others in mind and I didn't care for him. If A was smart, he would have left it alone, but he was not, and he wanted to continue the pursuit.

This is what happens with men. They often get stuck in the past. They see not with their aging eyes and body but the eyes and body of a young man. They want to fulfill their youthful fantasies yet they are now burdened with family, career, children. They want what they could not have the first time around, they try to fix the mistakes they made the first time with their ex. They do not learn.

I need men. I need the exchange of bodily fluid, I need the intimacy, the process of wooing, the process of falling. I like when they provide me with some level of intrigue, or blind adoration. I wither when they cease to exist in my life. I work hard in maintaining some level of control in these encounters. I withdraw when I feel that there is less than abnormal amount of affection. I didn't want to feel lukewarm about anyone, anything.

Yet, in sort of odd but self fulfilling process, I have no men to speak of, but B, the distant, occasional B.

"I love you"

EB had to undergo surgery. I had promised, a while back, that I'd take him. So I did. I took him to see his doctor and I dropped him off. Then I took my kids to school and then I came back to wait for him. Shortly after he was out of the surgery. He had both sides of his wisdom teeth pulled. He was talking funny and feeling dizzy. We went to CVS to get prescription drugs. Antibiotics, steroids and painkiller. He was acting very out of it. He wanted to talk, and he kept on talking non sense because he had gauze pad in his mouth. I was taking care of business so I was all very serious and very stern. He was worried that I was getting upset. I told him that I was not. I just had a lot on my mind. Things to do, business to take care and work to be complete. Plus I was sick myself. I've come down with something nasty and I was trying to hold on.

He then texted me. "I love you so much. Thank you for doing this. I owe you." I looked up and there he was, helpless and feeling grateful. I said, "It's your drugs talking." He mumbled, "No, it's me."

EB knows me. He knows that I'm always late. So he will tell me to pick him up 15 minutes before his actual time of pick up. He knows exactly what to say and not to say. He regards me as his best friend in the bay area. I was indeed late. He was upset with me but then he told me that he gave himself extra 15 minutes. I wanted to punch him.

I have learned to take things easy and not be so stressed out about things.

I have also learned that in life there are certain things that are more important than my immediate desire. EB is a curious case as he's no physically involved with me. I'm not even sure what we have but we talk nearly every day in one form or another, I take care of him as if he's my third child. He knows that I am very sensitive to the declaration of love. He knew that I don't like to hear it unless he meant it. It was his very first time since we first met that he said the word love again. He knows that it carries a lot of weight on my book. I knew he did not just say in random. I knew that he meant it.

But what does it really mean though? I need different types of fulfillment. I need men in different aspect of my life. EB is just EB. He's someone I do things with, I take care and he's someone who would be faithful to me in his ways. But he's gay. And that's where everything ends. And that's where everything starts.

Returning

Nearly two and half years ago, we stayed there, at hotel Palomar, on 4th and Market. It was a very early stage of our relationship. I had no expectation of it, I remembered walking from Embarcadero, I was late from my therapy, he greeted me in his business suit and we started the evening with a lot of rope, and that evening he took photos of me like that was how it was going to be, me spread eagle. The next morning he was looking at them on his computer, and I was thinking about how this man was kinky and crazy, yet I liked it, because I was not a "normal" woman. I liked kinks and craziness.

In that precise moment I also realized that I was going for a ride, a ride I had no idea where I'd end up.

Where have I gone and where have I ended up? I took a stock and had a look back. Via a book I had pulled together stories of the past, I realized perhaps I loved him because he made me feel good.

He told me a story, about his prior relationship. He was with a woman, for some time. she broke up with him. He thought that he loved her. When they got back together, he realized that his feeling was no longer true. Was it because he was rejected, that he loved her, or was it because he truly loved her but he later changed his mind? He could no longer trust his own feelings. Since then he was unable to commit, each year he averaged dating 3 women, until he had a child, with a woman he dated, and then he had to put a stop to dating. He chose time more carefully, when he had so little spare time, and he chose me. "You are special to me." He told me while fucked me in the shower. My make up was smeared and I was drenched in his liquid. We took shower together after.

He told me that in his out of town relationships, some could also escalate, like when they wanted to move to San Francisco to be with him, and how he had to end them in a way. Women liked him. I could tell.

He told me that he had to end a relationship with a girl because he let her use his computer, and she found picture of other women in sheer underwear and wigs. He was cheating even though he never met up with the ex girlfriend who sent the suggestive photos. He liked and encouraged the photos. He knew that in essence he was cheating, so he did not pursue the relationship and repair the damage.

I put myself in that woman's shoes, I thought, what if I knew that he was doing that with other women, what then? I then realized that it would not bother me at all. I was always strange that way. I rarely felt the jealousy, I needed to only to know, that he loved me.

He asked me if anything needed to change. If I wanted anything to change. I told him that after what he had told me, perhaps I needed no change. Perhaps I was content with the way things were, because what if what I felt was just an illusion?

The only thing that was true was that my happiness was hinged on him wanting me. His desire of me made me feel loved. I desired him because he desired me. It's the classic sub vs. dom stuff. It took me a while to figure out, but the dynamic was clear to me. He likes to be in control. I liked him controlling me.

Earlier in the evening, he pounded me and then told me to be quiet, to lie just the side way so that he could fuck me. He made those noises when he fucked me, as if I was a rag doll as he stuck his penis inside of me, like I was the flex doll, it was a video clip he sent me, a live woman was made into a doll where a man used her like no one's business. He then pressed hard on me with this body parts exposed to my face, squeezed down hard as I could barely breathe, then he pinched my nipples so hard that it hurt, I must remain quiet. I must be so still so that he could do what he wanted with me.

And while I was in pain, I loved it. I realized deep down that was what bounded us, it was his desire to dominate me and treat me like an experiment, like he was trying to duplicate what he saw on porn, that made me excited. I was no longer a person, I was an object to him, that made him feel strong and manly, and that made me feel weak and feminine.

We spoke some more though after sex he wanted to sleep. I washed the rope, and hang them to dry. He left his clothes on the floor, I picked them up. I massaged his back, his shoulders, and he was falling asleep. He appeared far and away and I slept in my quarter. I told him that I liked that he traveled a lot for work, that he was not around much, and that he was left handed like me and he was emotionally distant. I couldn't figure out why for so long but I managed to understand in the end.

I did not and could not deal with heavy emotional discussions. I liked men who were emotionally distant like my father. I liked when they were often away, I liked my space, my girlfriends, my thoughts in my own head when they had left me.

I pushed men away when they tried to become too close to me too fast. I wanted that distance, he gave me the space I needed to breathe.

He said that sleeping with me, being with me, made him happy. I felt the same way. Sleeping with him made me happy too. Being with him made me whole. I thought that I was super attracted to his looks, then I realized it was not his face that attracted me the most, it was the way he smelled. The way he carried himself, the way he used me in bed. It all boiled to down to that. The way he regarded me. I was his toy. I did exactly what he wanted, and I liked it.

He desired my body. I wanted to be his.

The world made sense when I felt that I belonged somewhere. It was just like the movie Secretary. I needed him to rescue me so that I could be used in a way he wanted to use me. I needed someone who treated me like a machine, to give sexual pleasure, but that person must adore and love me, even though he may treat me like a subject.
In the end we did have the talk that I was thinking to have. I did not expect him to change or make me leave my family. I did not expect him to give more than what he's given me, today. But I did feel that he changed his ways. He told met hat he no longer saw others. "In the summer we tried to see other people but that did not work." He'd say. I tried. I knew he tried. But it did not work. Somehow when you loved someone so much so, you just couldn't continue having sexual relations with others. It won't work.

At the middle of the night he finally told me that I could go down on him. So I did, and he was hard again and he fucked me until he came. He made louder noise than when we were at his place. He was always so quiet at his place. Here in a hotel room he made normal amount of noise.

I liked that he enjoyed sex with me. I liked that he desired me. I liked that he told me what to do to make him come. I liked pleasing him. I fantasized living with him. He was away a lot. When he got back, he just used me for sex. I liked that image. I wanted to be  used by him.

Early in the morning, we exchanged gifts. I bought him wine. And I made a book. He got me things. A T-shirt that says "Indoorsy". A wallet and a bag. Only he would do that. He's the only person who bought me jewelry and purses. He's the only one who would do something like that, something small yet impactful. Only a boyfriend would do that. Not husband but a thoughtful boyfriend. He told me that he liked the book. The book that I compiled  - combing through four live blogs to get the stories that were most representative of my feelings of him.

He was not that concerned that I was married. He knew that was just a pure fact of mine. He was not interested in me leaving my family, or my marriage. He was not interested in making any changes. Perhaps when we did not have children we could make a change. He suggested. I think that would be at least 12 - 15 years away.

I was worried that he'd suggest a change, a life event change where I'd be leaving my life behind to start anew with him.

I was worried because it would be too much of a change. I knew virtually nothing about him. I knew that he would like to see me more, but I also knew that he may not be able to see me more. I knew that this was going to be my last chance to love, and I was worried that it would end too prematurely.

Where do we go from here? I did not think he knew the answer, I had no answer myself.

But I knew one thing I did not know before. I knew that I was brought back into his life to knew how I was at the core of my being. I was to provide pleasure to him. I wanted to please him, and that was the most profound discovery. If he no longer needed me, if I could no longer please him, I would be sad for a little bit, but I would move on, because he no longer needed me. But for as long as I'm needed, as long as I could provide pleasure to him, I would be around and I would be waiting for him. Because my role was defined and that's how I obtain pleasure.

So that was what I learned that evening at the hotel.

I could find solace in learning that about me, at last.

He left the hotel before I was up around 7:20. He was gone. He showered, he sang in the shower. He put on his clothes, took all of the stuff away, including the ropes, and he kissed me goodbye and he left. He found the do not disturb sign to hang outside of the hotel room, he went to check out.

I slept for a little longer and then I started my day also.

He left his watch at the desk. I picked it up. I needed to return to him but then work got busy.

I thought about the ways he could have existed in my life.

I never thought he'd exist as if he was new, every time I saw him, he seemed new.

I wanted to see him more.

I wanted some sort of future.

I just did not know what that future looked like. But he was going to be in it. I knew that for sure.

Activity Partner

EB is back. My girlfriends all call him EB. Stands for Errand Boy. His real name is something ordinary and unimaginative - He's half Irish and half German. More Irish than German looking to me, but everyone thinks he looks more German.

Picked him up. dropped him off at his new apartment. He was happy to move to Emeryville. It's cooler and his roommates are all gamers or work at Kink.

We have come to a good place I think. I was unable to develop anything beyond a friendship. Whether he's gay, bi or straight, forming anything more than just friendship nearly destroyed our relationship. I am terrified of any emotions. I run the other way the moment I feel some sort of feelings. I failed to run away from B. I tried several times, though he's never changed his tone, and never lost temper. He was always the same, lusting over me, loving me in his absent ways. I couldn't deal with that level of consistency in an inconsistent way. I like it when it was more or less a surface level feeling. I hate feeling in general. I don't like confrontations. I don't like being challenged. I don't like to be told what to do, unless it's with B in bed. I tend to over analyze and rationalize everything. I'm too quick to shut down everything.

To get to the heart of matters is a difficult thing and I have failed this far is to stop my feelings for B. But I think he's very calculating and very strategic. He does not overwhelm me. He gives me space. When I pull away, instead of acting panic like every man before or after him did, he remains silent. He waits for my return. And I often do. I can't stop my feelings for him because it does not often work in the same way that I do with others. With others, like EB, I am able to immediately stop and switch back to that cool, detached, non emotional, non romantic persona that I have perfected over the years.

We never did become physical, he had to work on his feelings for me, he needed to regulate it to a point that I could accept him again. I did not want to become physically or emotionally involved with him. I adore him. I think of him as my third, grown, gay child, but I couldn't possibly become romantically involved.

The one evening when I threatened to leave for good, he brought me close and started to well up in his eyes, and he kissed me on my lips. I got annoyed. It was uncalled for. I felt used and violated and even offended. How could he develop any sort of romantic intrigue with me? He was supposed to be gay or bi, and I could be as old as his mother. But that moment passed. He stopped crying. He thanked me for everything, including for coming into his life and with that we parted our ways. Fast forward a few weeks later. We've resumed our friendship. I adore him to this date. I communicate with him often. I love doing things with him and exploring the world with him. He cares about me. He is the only person who asked me about my holidays, my highlight of the vacation and what I liked the least or the most.

He felt terribly protective of me. He did not want me to be hurt by B. He wanted to make sure that I was going to be alright when B cancelled on me just before the holidays. He also did not want me to be sexually involved with B - that part I did not listen because I am not having sex with anyone else any longer, since July, to be exact, after I realized that being with more than one person was a taxing on me, it was a violation to myself, a betrayal of my own soul. I could only, and would only, sleep with B and B only. Even though, I would have preferred to have more than one partners, AND, I believe that he does have his share of women around.

EB makes an excellent activity partner. He is funny and attentive, he is animated and caring. He does things with me and he makes sure that I have companion where I go out. He is not a push over though. He only does things with me on occasion so that I do not get bored or irritated by him.

If it is important to me, EB would do it, if doing it meant that he is available. I have to make that known to him. On the other hand, I stop inviting EB to everything. I start to work with my other friends to go to events that I like to go. I have a few men that I do things with. Not physically involved of course, but activity partners. I enjoy going out. I sometime go out every night.

I begin to realize that perhaps in life we needed not a lover but activity partners.

Love scares me. I could only love when I could find the utmost trust in the other, and I fear with love it comes with losses. I am unable to reach a level of emotional intimacy with B. He's never shared anything with me. He shuts down. He does not communicate. He does not even bother to tell me where he is or answer my emails half of the time. He does not answer calls. He offers nothing of his life to me. He is simply a very closed off person. I love him still blindly. The truth is - I fear what I learn. What if he really truly does not care about me? What if he cannot and will not love me back? Or worse, what if he views this as a game and does not want to be with me when he's tired of this game? I think about these a lot because in a real relationship, I would not have tolerated this far, but in a fantasy world where everything is just a game, it works. Somehow. I like it just fine that he disappears all the time. But I am learning much about him. I learned that perhaps he thinks very little of me. His affection for me is only driven by his lust. His lust wanders from one person to another. I am, in the end, not his only one.

With an activity partner there are no obligations.

I have concluded in the end, with EB, that I can't do emotions. I suck at them. I could do activities, and in time, perhaps we could find some rhythm, but for the time being, I had to shut down the emotional self. I can't love because I fear.

EB wanted to cry, and he did cry before he went on holidays. I did not want to know what he thought of me, I did not want to know if he felt something more for me. It was one of those things. Sometimes are best left unsaid.

I could only function well, by pretending that the brief moment of his infatuation has passed, and that he no longer wants me in that primal way. Late in the evenings I could be honest with myself, and I remember him screaming at the other end of telephone, "I know there is no future. You are married." I told him, "And I'm seventeen years older than you." He replied, "I don't care about that. " I was cool about that, "But I do." And that was the end of our first conflict. For men they see a married woman; for women, they see difference of ages and circumstance.

For the right person I would leave my past behind. I've been living behind a mask for over a decade (thus Sleep No More NYC appealed to me). When I see B, I feel that I'm taking the bare soul, the vulnerable me out on a play date with B. Yet the rest of the time, the soul is hidden away, collecting dust and accumulating rust. One day I may grow tired of it, and one day I may no longer want a repeat performance of the same play date at the same play yard. One day I may want something new. I may want progression. I may want a real future. And that's when the mirage may begin to vanish.

But EB would still be there, he'd be the only one who'd come to the nursing home. He'd tell me this beginning. This very beginning and how an unlikely friendship was formed. How he and I found our own path where we'd be in each others lives. How I fought hard not to feel, and thought that no way in hell I'd feel again. And yet, eventually, I did.

When I am a 99 year old lady with little memory left, EB will come and visit me. He'd hold my boney hands and tell me that once upon a time, I was sexy, attractive, and I had broken so many hearts. 

I'd laugh, and say, "Were those hearts worth it?"

EB would say, "Yes, I'm one of the hearts. And I'm still here."

I'd all of sudden remember my 2010s, and how I loved B so much so, and then it ended like everything else, it ran its course, just like life.  

Mother and Son

My little boy, who would not be caught dead being called "little", was in a mood for an adventure. I asked him what he would like to do. He said, "Mom, I want to see big waves in the ocean." So we dressed for the ocean, and I took the convertible, set the car seat on heat mode and blasted the hot air into the car, and off we went on an adventure. I knew where to go, it had to be Ocean Beach. I knew what he would want to do for dinner. He'd want sushi. Boy loved sushi and ocean. Boy was just like every boyfriend I had in my 20s who loved the beach and sushi, but this was truly my boy, I did not have to impress him, he was already impressed. I was his mother. I knew just about everything, to him, right now, anyway.

My children had natural high happiness odometer. It was always part nature part nurture, no matter how I felt, I never let myself affecting my children. It would be cruel and selfish to inflict sadness, despair or pain onto your children. I gave them a happy presence whenever I was with them. I learned from my parents' mistakes.

Off we went. It was a beautiful day at the beach. Gorgeous sandy beach with roses all around us. I took his hand and we walked to the ocean, the waves were high and the sun light was strong. There were adults and children, dogs and sea birds. We were spotted by a few, so they asked if they could take photos of us, and they did. And I got to keep a few. We walked for a long ways, and then we walked back. He picked sand dollars, dead crab shells, dead jellyfish, sea glass and other things that little boy found fascinating. He laughed at my mispronunciations and he cracked jokes. This was a happy little six year old. He took careful measures of the depth of sea water. He was an avid swimmer, but he did not want waves to come too high. He was a cautious, calculating boy who took care of himself well and his belonging. Using his crocs he put his collections in while holding them. I then put car keys and phone in my boots, as we both walked on the sandy beach barefoot, we laughed at ourselves and we screamed with joy when we stumbled onto something neat, be it a piece of seashell or long string of rope. He later told grandpa we found treasures one could not be found in other sites. He made up stories and told me as if they were reality, perhaps they were reality of his.

When the sun was setting we walked barefoot, nearly frozen toed, to our car. There we cleaned up and drove to Japantown for sushi. Boy loved sushi as much as he loved the ocean.

He said, "mom, I'm glad that we did not fly kite, there was no wind." Boy's perfect vision involved driving the car with the top down, flying kite, walking on the beach and sushi after. He had just described a date I once had with a man I loved, when I was in my twenties. It stirred a side of me that only I could understand, but boy already left that train of thought for me to chew on, and he was already onto something else.  "I want California roll and tobiko sushi." He requested. I sometimes made decisions for him, but ever since my children were little, before they could talk, I asked them for their opinions on things to do, events to attend, or just in general, nothing in particular. I was not exactly the type A person when it came to those I loved. I made concessions. I let them make decisions. I did not care whose idea it was, I liked to give them options.

Boy did not ever abuse that power. Boy would make suggestions but also looked for directions from his mother. At the restaurant we ordered things swiftly. Boy had forgotten to eat lunch. He blamed on the adults who failed to inform him about lunch. "You can't blame me. We left the house in the middle of the afternoon, way pass lunch time." I told him. Boy was not complaining that much even though he was hungry. He was hungry but he wanted what he wanted to eat. Sushi, then burgers. Those were his food.

We listened to Sirus radio on the way back, kids station and we laughed at the silly lyrics while we drove home after a nice break from the routine.

At home my boy enjoyed his alone bath time. He sang and he told his grandpa about his day with his mother. He was a good kid with a happy disposition. He was not always like that. He was always very sick and he was often in the hospital. I thought I'd lose him when he was just a baby.

I didn't have time to be heart broken when my mission was to save his life. When everything ended I did not know what to think. I had to fill a void. When I had nothing to worry I started to worry about myself. A sexless marriage, a passionless future, an emotional black hole that left empty when I last felt anything at all in my 20s, the life not led.

I only had a few years left with the boy before he'd be into his own things and stop hanging out with this parent. It already happened with his older sister.

That's perhaps one of the reasons I needed something, someone else to care about. I needed to feel needed, wanted and loved.

That's what we women wanted at the end of the day. It's love that mattered.

Not a New Year resolution

No man wants a woman who nags constantly or projects negatively or take things too personally or who is too irrational. Every man wants women to just let them be, no negative and / or narcissistic energy. Men, as they get older, they want to just be left be. Men run away from woman who makes things too difficult.

Women like to be loved. At the end of the day women want to feel they are important, and they are worth something for someone.

I have learned to stop pushing my agenda for the sake of pushing my agenda. I have learned that for me the most important thing is to follow my heart. If my heart feels a certain way I must allow it to grow. To mature.

I have been through several stages of my emotional peaks and valleys with a person who I love, who I do not see often enough. I truly feel that he loves me back, in his limited capacity way. I don't know what the future holds. 

At Ocean Beach, I saw some red roses. It was quite unexpected. I thought it was remarkable and symbolic. On January 1, 2014, instead of worrying about my love not returned by the man I will love until the end of the day, I saw the most impressive sunset, and while I was not with him, I thought perhaps it was okay to have a future unknown. We must learn to be happy,  we must learn to live in the present.

Is it enough to know that he loved me? Perhaps not, but I can't change anything that he's not willing to change. I will still feel sad and I will still cry, but I will not stop living. 

If there was anything to be learned in the last three New Years, that is that love is a powerful thing. Love will find a way.

It always does.