Rake The Coals To Stoke The Fire

Or: It Burns Us, It Does!

Mr. S offered (apropos of nothing) to show me a Valentine's Day note he received from one of his other harem members. In a coup of personal brilliance, I allowed him to send the damn thing on.

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?

It was *exactly* what I needed, reading about his emotional intimacy with another person. After a year and a half, I've still only got Pretty Eyes. I'm still Not Really A Girlfriend. She? She has "adoration", "fulfillment", "laughter and sharing", and (natch) "amazing sex".

It doesn't take a psych degree to see that I have my own baggage train of issues if I am sticking with a guy who isn't into me. In his defense, he did bring me a spiffy hand-made LED light-up V-Day card. However, I could have crawled under a rock and died when he casually asked me when the last time I received anything on V-Day was. I said, "It's been a while," and he asked "How long?" Ten years. I was 19 and a sophomore in college when Number One bought me two roses a week early because he "didn't believe in holidays." Ten fucking years. Ten years of fucking. And not one partner has thought to show me any generosity, on that day or any other.

I have always felt that it is better to be alone than in a bad relationship. But how do you call a relationship bad when it's the best you've ever had? For all his faults and failings (and there are many), no one in my life has been kinder to me than Mr. S. And yet ...

I don't think good things are supposed to feel like this.

And I Don't Love You, Either

*sigh*

I was just beginning to get comfortable with some unfortunate warm-and-fuzzy feelings towards Mr. S, when of course he through a wrench in the works.

I have seen a fair amount of him recently, and it's been nice. He has been more affectionate of late, and the sex is fun despite being uneven. I never did say anything to him about the not-really-a-girlfriend thing and it has faded nicely away; he even introduced me to someone as his girlfriend.

I knew the rules when we started this: fuck buddies, friends with benefits, no strings, no drama.

The tricky bastards, they let you tie the rope you're hanged with.

And then came spring and camping season. Some chick from "too far away for a quickie" caught Mr. S's eye at a camp-out. *sigh* I have no claim on him, I know. I have no say in who he fucks. Nowhere, though, did I agree to have to like it. I find myself turning into Cool Girl again, as he regales me with the details of their intimacy and how she's sexually high-maintenance (can't touch her here, or there, or can't do this, or do that . . . I am baffled as to what he enjoys about that) and how many times he got her off. Of course, I can't say anything about how knowing all this turns me into a Psycho Hose Beast on the inside -- that would be too High Drama because . . . wait for it . . . I knew the rules when I got into this.

The last time he even *tried* to get me off more than once in a night was months ago. Why don't I rate that kind of effort?

I want to be enough for someone. Am I really so horrible that that's too much to ask?

Rag Doll

Jealousy. Is it possible to be jealous of an idea?

I am a man-sized woman. As tall as a man, as strong as a man, as hungry as a man, as heavy as a man. An Amazon for the romantic, Shrek's cousin to the rest. And yet I want to be treated "like a woman". Whatever that means. I am jealous of this woman. I am jealous that her belly can be covered by a man's hand.

When a man is larger than a woman, he is both potential threat and potential protector. I am so very tired of "average" sized men: men who are no more than overgrown women, men whom I can push around, men who cannot push me. Men who make me feel more like a body than a woman. Men who make me feel nothing at all.

I want a man strong enough to enforce his will. A man who can pick me up, hold me down, toss me around like a rag doll. A man whose strength confines me, and in that confinement protects me.

The Writing On The Wall . . . Is {blank}

I had a long IM conversation tonight with Mr. S. I am both gratified and displeased at this.

As our bellydance classes have started again, Mrs. S took it upon herself to invite the two of them over to dinner at my house this past week. Yes, I had a choice to allow it to happen. Not allowing it, though, would have sent a too-clear signal to her about my true feelings. She is dense, but not too dense to miss that.

So they came, we cooked, we ate, it was a mostly pleasant evening. They were both all over me physically, which I didn't exactly appreciate: Mrs. S because of how I feel about her, and Mr. S because he and I have not had a real conversation since the Doorstep Incident.

So tonight Mr. S logs on because that's what he does when Mrs. S is not around to tell him what to do. It turns out the reason for his freedom is her off catting around. (It was my understanding that one of their Never-Broken Rules was "never leave one partner home alone" ... but I guess that only applies to Mr. S and myself *grumble*). I am pleased to have had one of our old style conversations: long and meandering, easy and without drama. He is simply comfortable to talk to, and I have missed that.

I am less pleased about it in other ways. 1) We still haven't talked about the fact he ditched me for over a month. As I am tired of fielding accusations from this pair of being high-maintenance and demanding, I am reluctant to bring it up. It hurt. It still hurts. I am not done processing it, so we shall see. 2) A good chunk of the conversation was spent plotting how to get him into some other girl's pants. What am I? Chopped liver? He did eventually flirt a bit with me, but only right before realizing the late hour and logging off.

Point number two is a leitmotif in my interactions with men, one that dismays me and I don't know how to escape. Meet Guy, like Guy, (sometimes fuck Guy), Guy starts to like Other Girl, be so cool and non-possessive as to give advice how to get Other Girl, Guy and Other Girl live happily ever after.

It would seem things start to break down at the non-possessive part, but possessiveness -- despite being my natural inclination -- does not work for me in practice. It doesn't seem to work for many women, I think. It only seems to work for the women I am competing against. *sigh*