Living With Alcoholism

I am no stranger to alcoholism. Most of my maternal Aunts and Uncles were alcoholics. My only American cousin is recovering. So is my ex-brother-in-law. I probably know a bunch of secret alcoholics too. There is one alcoholic with whom I have to spend a lot of time.

My new boyfriend.

Just to be clear, he does not drink anymore. He went to rehab about seven years ago and hasn’t fallen off the wagon. He’s not a “book carrying” alcoholic. He doesn’t preach. He doesn’t go to meetings. He simply doesn’t drink. He smokes and gets “impaired”, just not with alcohol. I’m proud of him. He saw that alcohol was ruining his life and relationships and did something about it.

Selfishly, I must admit, sometimes it sucks. He doesn’t care if I drink. In fact, he has an excellent knowledge about wines and cocktails and doesn’t give a shit if I drink a bottle or two on a Saturday night. It’s awfully kind of him. What does suck is that it almost puts a very thin invisible wall between us. It separates some of our interests.

Bars are out. I love bars. Dark, empty bars with good jukeboxes. I love a beautiful wood bar with a footrest and a hook to hang your bag. I love to knock back a couple of beers in an environment other than my kitchen. But alas, no bars for him. I mean, why would he even want to go to a bar? Sometimes I almost catch myself saying “Wanna meet at ______?” only to realize what I am about to ask. So no bars for us.

Parties are a huge deal. I get invited to a party, tell him and then the questions roll out. “Is it a big drinking crowd?” “Is it going to be rowdy?” “How long do these parties last?” After the inquisition usually come the assumptions. “I’m really not into large crowds with blaring music and drunk people blabbing all night.” Sigh. Dude, I’m almost 40. My friends aren’t a bunch of heathens, in fact, I’m probably the wildest of any of them. And weddings. I love weddings. So much fun! He recently received a “Save the Date” for a wedding of a guy he bar tends for (I know, funny, an alcoholic bartender) and he agonized over it. I mean, he just wouldn’t stop. “I don’t think I want to go.” So don’t go. It’s really not my scene to be around 400 drunk people swinging towels around on the dance floor. I’ve never been to a wedding like that.  “Maybe I should just send money.” IT’S A SAVE THE DATE!!!!!! STOP IT!!!

Finally, there is the fear. The fear that he may start drinking again. He’s had sips of my wine and I don’t see a problem with that, but the last thing I want is for him to fall off the wagon and his family blame me. I think I’m also scared of what he acts like when he’s drunk. I’ve know him for a long time, but I didn’t know him during his dark days of drinking. I don’t want to know that man.

I love him. I accept him for who he is and what he’s been through and who he has become. I know I can go to a bar with my friends and most of the people in my circle are already married or divorced. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s like wanting to visit a beautiful vineyard with the love of your life and knowing that can’t happen.

I’ll give up the vineyards.

 

 

 

Significant Others

It’s gotten to the point that my (still Godammned, please divorce me) husband and I have been separated for so long, that we’ve both gone and snatched ourselves a significant other.

I’m not so sure about how “Emily” feels about her new beau refusing to divorce me, but I do know that it drives my man bonkers. He wants to move on with me. That’s not a 100% reality until the divorce papers are signed.

I was upset when the ex started bringing Emily around. It started out as an emergency and then it became such a regularity that my daughter actually asked if she could spend some alone time with Daddy. I admit, I was super jealous. I wanted to know what she looked like, what she did, was she prettier than Mommy? Nicer than Mommy? Crazier than Mommy? Leave it to a six year old to assuage her Mommy’s fears. It turns out, that Emily is kind of boring. Kind of plain and kind of the opposite of Mommy. My girl told me that I would always be her Mom and no one else. That was the point that I looked at myself and my fears and laughed. How insecure was I to think someone else could replace me? Then I began to think how useful Emily could be. For instance: I hate playing Barbies. Emily, being super eager to please, will play Barbies for hours with my girl. No harm, no foul. Another instance: I’m not quite sure what Emily does for a living, but she always seems available. Free childcare!! What?! Excellent. So Emily, I don’t know you, never met you, but as long as you’re good to my girl, I’ll accept you.

My boyfriend is a bit of a different story. He works long, hard hours. He doesn’t want to overwhelm my girl. He’s only met her three times, but he came over on Christmas Eve day and we had the best time. He has a tremendous amount of energy and he’s great with kids having a gaggle of nieces and nephews. He can do things with my girl that I can’t. He can lift her up and spin her around. He can run around outside with her and he’s strong enough to help her smash rocks with a hammer in search of geodes. He doesn’t play Barbies, but he piques her intellectual interests. He has a great knowledge of botany, farming, animals–things a Brooklyn boy doesn’t usually interest himself in. I would never dream of using him for childcare, but I love that he’s scarce enough that my girl gets super excited when I tell her we’re going to hang out with him. It’s wonderful.

So, this Mama learned a great lesson. The best her Dad and I can do for our girl is to remain civil to one another and find mates that will be good to our one and only. I don’t know how long his relationship will last, and I still fear that he’s going to bring a string of women in and out of our daughter’s life, but that’s on him.

Now if only he would sign the Goddamned divorce papers!!!

Sorry Boys. Suzy Went and Got Herself a Man.

Sometimes, people come into your life, depart and you remember them fondly. Sometimes you think about past relationships and feel anger. In the case of my “new” boyfriend, it was a mixture of fondness, anger, and wonder.

Where did he go?

Why didn’t he ever try to contact me?

Why did he treat me so badly at the end?

Does he still think about me?

It was hot. I was pissed off and angry at being dumped by my lover of two years and eight months. Blindsided. Furious. Pained. I was walking in a very crowded Herald Square, 34th Street and 6th Avenue to be exact, when I heard his voice.

“Hey, I know you!”

I whipped around, recognizing the voice immediately and scanned the crowd. There he was. Twenty years later. We spoke for about two minutes. He was working, I had an appointment. We embraced and I said “I never thought I would see you again.” He looked me up and down, touched my colorful arms full of tattoos  and said “I like…” His partner was resting against a subway entrance and becoming impatient. We spoke a few jumbled words and made plans to try and find a way to get in touch with each other. I’m “friends” with his brother and sister on Facebook, so I told him I would contact one of them. I didn’t have to. He called his sister right away and said “You have to get her number for me.”

Several hours later, I logged onto Facebook and there was the message from his sister. She wrote that he had contacted her and wanted my phone number. I gave it to her and then the communication began to flow.

He wanted to get together that night. I didn’t really care. I was in the midst of a broken heart and had just started online dating. I did know that I wanted to see hims and that we would have fun, platonic or not.

We learned a lot about each other that night. He apologized for his asshole behavior twenty years prior. We spoke about the scandal, started catching up, never quite finishing a story. I was drinking a bottle of wine and smoking my cigs. He was doing his own thing and we were having a great time. I got up to use the bathroom and as I was about to turn around to shut the door, there he was. Our faces inches away. He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes.

And twenty years later we kissed again.

The night flew by, we ended up in bed and it was almost as if no time had passed at all.

The next morning we had coffee in his backyard and I left. I was confused. I really liked him. I couldn’t help it! He was my first great love! However, I was ready to start going boy crazy again. He seemed to be eager to start right where we left off and it was something I pushed to the back of my mind.

We started hanging out more frequently and it was only a couple of weeks before he told me he loved me. I was reluctant to reciprocate that sentiment. I didn’t know if I loved him in that way. I was hurt and I was holding back.

It’s been three months and yes, I have reciprocated those sentiments to him. I mean it too. It’s so strange. We had this intense love affair in 1993 and 1994 and we’re in the middle of another intense love affair in 2015, but it’s different. There’s a level of comfort from knowing him and where he’s from and his family and finally catching up on his past, but it’s more than that. He’s a wonderful man. A kind, generous, romantic lover and someone I can imagine spending the rest of my life with.

I’m still not divorced (so ridiculous, I mean, really…) and I know that bugs him never being engaged or married himself, but I introduced him to my girl this weekend and it was perfect.

I feel like it’s perfect.

There is much more to the story than I want to bore you with in this post, but I had to let everybody know that Suzy has a boyfriend! And she’s happy.

To read a bit more about our past together, check out

The Departed: Part I

The Departed: Part II

Great Loves #1

xoxo,

Suzy Queue

 

 

Mikey. From Brooklyn.

Do you remember my last post? The one in which I apologized profusely to some stranger guy for “hurting” him? Well, scratch that. I didn’t hurt anybody. He’s Mikey from Brooklyn and he doesn’t give a fuck. I have to start from the beginning.

In an attempt to start healing my broken heart, (which I’m still not ready to write about), I created an profile on OK Cupid. It was great! I received so many messages, tons of compliments and so much attention. Mike’s message stood out to me because he’s a native Brooklynite (very rare these days), has lots of tattoos and seemed like a laid back, fun person. I liked him right away. We started texting back and forth and he wanted to hang out right away, but I was a little taken aback by his aggressive approach. I also listened to too many people. My shrink said stay away. My friends were “iffy.’ He seemed like his interest was mostly sexual and I don’t know why, but at that short moment in time, I didn’t feel comfortable with that.

Silly me, that is just what I needed!! A no-strings, no commitment, sexual relationship. A fuck buddy!

Anyway, I acted all crazy and told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit and to please stop contacting me. He was definitely confused–he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Honestly, he didn’t do anything wrong.

Friday rolls around and I spend an agonizing day with my girl. I just quit smoking, I had serious PMS. I was in physical pain and my heart was still freshly wounded. Big Daddy was having a barbecue that night, and I had been excited to go for weeks! I even switched a day with the ex to go, but by the time he picked up my girl, I was exhausted and in tremendous period and lower back pain (I’ve gotta get that lower back checked out). I told Big Daddy I couldn’t make it after all and I collapsed into bed, praying for the pain to go away. I checked the weekend forecast. Hot and sunny. I knew one thing. I did not want to spend the weekend alone.

I scrolled through my phone and I found Mikey’s number. I sent him a text message.

“Hey! I’m sorry for the way I acted relier this week. I’m never like that.

I understand if you don’t respond to me, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

He responded immediately. He told me not to worry about it and that he was sorry if he had sent off some vibe that turned me off. We decided to meet up the next day either at the pool or the beach. I told him I would give him a “make up” kiss. Relief. I wouldn’t be spending the weekend alone.

The next morning we spoke on the phone. The fancy pool was having a party for Veuve Clicquot and it would be a scene. He suggested the beach, I agreed and he told me he would pick me up around 11 AM. He was right on time and pulled up in his 1978 Mercedes Benz. Classic. Mint Condition. He was standing beside the car and when we were thisclose we shared a quick hug. He’s barely 5’6. I say 5’5″ because I’m 5’4″ and I was at eye level with him. It didn’t seem to matter, though. I was instantly attracted to him. What Mikey lacks in height, he makes up for in swagger. In fact, he might have the most swag of any guy I’ve ever known. I hopped into the passenger seat, we decided to hit the Rockaways and away we went.

I spoke for most of the ride to the beach. It made sense since he was driving and had to pay attention to the road and navigator. He was super easy to talk to. I told him just about everything he needed to know about me as a potential love interest right away so that there wouldn’t be any secrets. He was cool with everything. When we arrived at the beach, he told me to wait on the boardwalk while he parked his car at his parents house not too far away. I called my friend T-Money, who is a Rockaway girl, to let someone know where I was and who I was with. He sent me a text to find a spot to settle in and I found a great big open spot among the masses of beach goers right by the water. It was lovely.

He met me, settled in and wanted to jump right into the water. So in we went. It was fun. The water was warm and the waves were big. He grabbed my legs here and there to check out the tattoos I have on my feet. We talked while bobbing up and down in the water. I was wearing a strapless bikini, so I was a little scared of it falling off amongst the waves, but it was all good. Since it was “my time”, by breasts were enormous for my otherwise tiny figure. Mikey liked that. He said so.

Back on the sand, we basked in the late summer sun and he reminded me of the promised “make-up kiss.” I liked Mikey, so I didn’t mind. He’s a good kisser. It was fun. He sort of poked around my body checking out this and that–the tattoo I have above my lady parts was slightly sticking out, and he touched it before he asked to see it. When I showed it to him, Mikey liked it. We made out some more and he told me to stop because he couldn’t hide his excitement in his swim shorts. I couldn’t help but grab a feel. It was good.

Our next trip into the water was different. This time we went in to cool off from our make out session and to make out some more in the water. I wrapped my legs around him and we kissed and kissed and kissed. I ran my tongue along his salty neck and heard him grunt slightly. I whispered “Do you like that?” in his ear and he whispered back “Yes.” He felt up my entire body beneath the ocean and his hands felt so good. We stayed in the water for what seemed like most of the afternoon and finally made our way back to our little spot. We hung out and dried off in the sun, talked about getting something to eat and relaxed, happy that we were us at that moment in time.

We decided to leave. We grabbed some food and a beer and then took the mile and a half walk home to his parent’s house where he had left his car. I didn’t even put on my clothes until we hit a commercial strip. The conversation turned to sex and that’s when I really started to get to know him. He asked me questions about rough sex, threesomes, favorite positions. It turns out that he had the best threesome of his life TWO WEEKS AGO. I tried to quench the pangs of jealousy I felt. I told myself “It’s too soon for that shit, Suzy!” and went on to ask him about his oral abilities, foreplay, and other sexual generalities.

On the car ride home he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand up my shorts. He knew it was “my time” so he kept his distance from the good stuff, but still, that shit turned me on. He was rock hard and I took him into my hand and started caressing it lightly. Suzy and Mikey liked it.

We went back to his pace and jumped into the shower. We started kissing. Hard. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around against the shower wall. He rubbed himself against my ass and thighs. He used his fingers to tease me and asked me how I liked it. He told me talk to him and I did. We were filthy in that shower.

Showered and slightly refreshed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wanted to cry. My nose and chin were slightly sunburned. The dark circles that my sunglasses his so well were prominent in the bathroom light. My sweaty, salty, unwashed wet hair was a mess of tangles around my face. I stared into that mirror and slowly, all of the day’s pleasures were wiped away. I was still me. I was still broken ol’ me.

He was getting group text messages from his friends because one of his buddies was in from San Francisco and wanted to go out. He was tired and said he would rather stay in. He asked me if I thought it was fucked up if he blew of this visitor. I told him yes and so he said “Ok, I’ll call you an Uber and take another shower then go meet them for a quick dinner.” When my reaction was “Huh?” He reminded me that I was the one who told him to go out. He was right. I did tell him to go out. He paid for the cab  in advance and I was back home in twenty minutes. I was so tired, I didn’t even shower. I figured the rinse I had at his house was good enough. I threw on some pajamas and went straight to bed.

The next morning I felt weird. I knew he had to travel for business early in the week and I figured he was busy. The day was hot and filled with heavy thunderstorms. The perfect excuse to stay inside. At around 9 O’clock, I sent him a text message “Safe travels this week! Kisses!” He responded with a thank you and I wrote back “See you around. Have a good night!” He wished me a good night too and that was that.

I couldn’t find a place to write about all of the little things I learned about Mikey that day–like his love of luxurious things, his throng of female “friends”, his ardent desire to remain uncommitted (I stressed that too.) and his immaculate nature in both his home and appearance, but they all added up to something very scary.

I like Mikey.

And I’m never calling him again.

I Didn’t Mean to Hurt You Just Because I’m Hurting

I’m sorry. We never got a chance to meet and we probably never will because I led you on and your (crazy) excitement to meet in person scared me away and made me realize…

…I’m just not ready for this…

It’s really not an issue of sex. I’ll have sex.

It’s the little things. (Which aren’t so little.)

My apartment is a mess. Will you think I’m a slob? I can’t have you visit my apartment!

I’m a Mom. My schedule is crazy. I have somebody very important to take care of. You will always come in second place. (If you place at all.)

I’m sick. When I tell you I have “meetings” in The City, it’s my Oncologist or my shrink or my GI or my GYN. Can you handle my illness?

The Scandal. I stayed up all night thinking of fake last names to give you so that when you google me (and you seem like the type who would do that) you wouldn’t see what I don’t want you to see.

And the big things. (The Red Flags)

You were so damn aggressive. Why couldn’t you take a step back? Instead of suggesting we spend our first date at a swanky pool and then go back to your place, why not just a drink or a cup of coffee.

Were you really passing through my neighborhood today? You didn’t tell me that you would be passing through yesterday, so why the sudden errands in my neighborhood? That’s creepy.

I could tell how controlling you are after our first phone call. No, I don’t want to FaceTime with you whilst wearing my threadbare Yankees T-Shirt, my old glasses, no makeup and greasy hair. In fact, I’ve never even used FaceTime.

 I don’t want you to call a cab for me to take up to your neighborhood leaving me with no way to “escape.” I’ve been on my own for a long time. If I want to meet you, I’ll drive.

And the superficial thing.

I’m 5’4″. You’re 5’6″. I will never be able to wear my nice shoes if we went out or met up.

And the selfish things.

I needed to feel someone found me attractive. I needed some attention. I wanted someone to call me hot. I wanted to know that there are men out there who want to take me out. Men who can be seen with me.

I know I confused you and made you feel like shit. I am so sorry for that. I’m just not ready. I am just not ready.

And I’m sorry if I hurt you just because I’m hurting.

Good Friends and Beach Therapy

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

I was heartbroken and sad this week  (post to come, but I just can’t write about it yet)  and I didn’t want to do much except lay around on my couch or in my bed and feel sad and empty.That lasted for a day and a night until my friend “Big Daddy” stepped in and commanded me to get the fuck out of bed and meet him and my buddies “Mama Lu” and “Chick Pea” at the beach.

I always keep a beach bag packed in my car, so getting ready to head to the beach solo is a fairly easy operation. I just throw on a suit, pack my essentials in a little ziplock bag and bring a bottle of water. I know my friends come fully prepared with food and drink.

I got into my hot car, feeling empty and blue, hit some traffic, thought about my bed and finally got to the beach.  My friends were missing from their easily recognizable “station.” They were in the water and I set up my little spot and lotioned up until Chick Pea came strolling back from her dip.

Chick Pea doesn’t now about the relationship I was involved in as it was clandestine and she and I are not as close as we used to be. It was nice to be around someone who didn’t know about what I had gone through 24 hours earlier and just shoot the breeze. Chick Pea is adorably hot. She’s 5 feet tall, an Italian-Puerto Rican beauty who resembles Jessica Alba, though I find her to be prettier. We chatted for a while and caught up on shit until Big Daddy and Mama Lu came strolling back from their swim. Immediately, Mama Lu gave me a big kiss and Big Daddy offered me food and drink. I couldn’t eat much due to some stomach problems I have, but I love an Icy Coke and he gave me one.

It was a beautiful day! I was only about ten miles from my house, maybe even less, but what a difference I felt laying around on my oversized beach towel than in my oversized bed. The sun felt so good on my face and body and when i finally couldn’t stand the heat any longer, I hopped into the ocean with Big Daddy, floated on my back, talked with only our heads above water and that’s how I began to feel–like my head was just above the water. I wasn’t sinking anymore.

I stayed pretty late and I felt the despair starting to come back as I drove home to what would be my lonely apartment, but I had begun to heal. I have a long way to go as he was an essential part of my life for a long time and as the summer comes to a lazy close, I realize I may not have much beach therapy left, but what I do have are my friends. My irreplaceable, funny, kind and generous friends who have stood by me through all of my madness. I suppose every group of friends needs one madwoman.

I am thrilled to be theirs.

Great Loves: #1

If I ever see him again, I will probably burst into tears. I will sob and point an accusatory finger at him and through my deep weeping breaths say “You did this to me! It is all your fault!”

Once I collect myself, I will look into his speckled green eyes and ask him how he is. He will tell me he has a girlfriend and I will get jealous. Like every other great love I’ve lost, he will say ” You did it first. You got married.” He will ask me “What happened?” and I will know he’s speaking of the scandal. We will talk and laugh and we will feel that feeling that only comes with your first love.

I want to tell him how much he hurt me. How he didn’t only break my heart, he broke me. He held the key to my jail cell and allowed me to be free. The freedom we shared was bad. I want him to know that every time he fucked me, he fucked me up. Every line he cut left a permanent mark.

I want to ask why he used me at the end? I want to know if the “good girl” was better than me. I’ll say “She’s married now, you know, and she still carries a foolish grudge against me. She knows you loved me in a way she could never be loved.”

I’ll tell him that when he left, when he ran away, I was nothing. I filled that gaping hole with drugs and sex and self destruction.

I am still self destructive and I blame you.

Oh my God, I loved you so much.

I love you so much.

I want to see him and I don’t. What he is now is a mystery. No social media to stalk. He’s a ghost. A ghost from my past who scares me.

I like it when he scares me.

I think I scare him too and for as long as we live, he will never want to see me again. Because there will be fire and pain and the love you can only feel with your first love.

Pondering the 23 Year Old Question: Brandon or Dylan?

Brenda Walsh had it easy. Being Brandon’s twin sister on the popular 1990s teen soap opera Beverly Hills 90210 never put her in the position of having to choose between these two heartthrobs. (Oh, how they still make my heart …

Being Single is Fun. Being a Single Mom is…

My Dad died when I was ten, so technically, I grew up with a single Mom. I know the struggles she went through trying to make ends meet, taking care of her five kids all the while dealing with her escalating Multiple Sclerosis. The major differences between my single Motherhood and my Mother’s is that she had a slew of kids ranging from six to sixteen years old and a sister who lived downstairs with us. That alone was a lot of help for her. My older brother and sister were given a tremendous responsibility and times were different then. We could walk to school by ourselves and play outside with our friends with no adult supervision–she had some alone time–not to mention a washer, dryer and dishwasher. (Oh, my kingdom for a washer and dryer!) She owned our home–my Dad made sure the note was paid off before he passed away, so we would always have a roof over our head. My Mom struggled, but I’m quite different from my Mom. She never dated another man after my father died. I, on the other hand, had to deal with a phone call home from my seventh grade math teacher advising my Irish-Catholic mother that I was doing poorly in math because my mind was wandering. She told her I was “boy crazy.”

I still am!

That is one of the greatest aspects of being single again. I can date, I can flirt, I can have as much sex as I want with whomever I want. As much fun as that is, it’s not always so easy because, well, I’m a single Mom.

I spend most of my days at various doctor appointments and almost every afternoon and night taking care of my daughter. I love my daughter. I don’t know what I would do without her. Before any man, ever, she is the love of my life, but damn, that little girl makes dating so difficult. Shit, she makes taking a long shower pretty damn difficult!

Whenever I meet a prospective date, the conversation usually goes something like this:

Prospective Date: So, I would like to see you, maybe a couple of drinks or dinner?

Me: Yeah, great, that sounds good.

PD: How about Friday?

Me: Sorry, Fridays are out, I have my daughter. And Saturday and Sunday are out too, because it’s my custody weekend.

PD: I understand, what’s your schedule like?

Me: Well, I’m free on Wednesday and Thursday nights and every other weekend. I can usually meet up for a cup of coffee on Friday mornings.

PD: Well, Friday mornings are out for me, I work, but we’ll talk, we’ll figure something out. Text me when you know you’ll be free.

I know, I know…it’s so simple…Get a babysitter!!! Not so simple. Babysitters are expensive and the trustworthy babysitters are hard to find in this part of Brooklyn–some of them have waiting lists! Then you’ve got to to the interview, introduce the potential babysitter to your kid, have them spend a couple of hours together to make sure they mesh and the biggest problem with a date night babysitter is…no sex. I’ve got to go home. For a first or second date a babysitter is fine, but there will come a time that sex will become an item on the dating menu and unless it’s my weekend “off”, I can’t stay over–or even stay out too late at a man’s house and I certainly can’t have him stay at mine. Besides, I don’t want to come home to my daughter looking like I just got fucked. I actually have limitations.

I have some family and friends that can help me out for a couple of hours when I have to go to a doctor’s appointment, but they have social lives too, and it’s really difficult to get a trusted friend or family member to change their own social calander to accommodate mine. As far as school vacations are concerned, oh man, forget it. Cancel that week. I’m on lockdown.

One more important difference between being simply single and a single Mom is my apartment. Any man I choose to date has and will know immediately that I have a daughter, but I truly believe that unless said “man” has children of his own, seeing that Mr. Bubble on the ledge of the bathtub is a reality check. The children’s book I forgot to put back on my daughter’s bookshelf after reading her a story in my bed. The random Lego that is so painful when stepped on with bare feet on the way to use the restroom. Being simply single means you have an “adult” apartment, and for the most part mine is, but it is undeniably shared with my little girl…books, Lego, My Little Pony and all.

During the past thirteen or fourteen months since I’ve been separated, I have had some excellent adventures with men. Admittedly, they are fewer and farther between than I would like. I have also bonded with my daughter in a way that I could never imagine happening had my STILL husband and I had not separated. I just wish it wasn’t so difficult to have both. I suppose you can’t have it all, and I would choose my child over any man, any day…but..well, I’m boy crazy!

And I always will be.

The Sexter

I’m not quite sure when it happened, but I’ve become involved with a serial sexter. I am fully aware that he is bat shit crazy. We don’t see each other and we don’t speak on  the phone; we just sext. Truthfully, HE sexts and I just kind of respond with “oh yeah?” “really?” “That sounds nice.”

He’s filthy.

I met him at a party back in December. He was seeing a friend of mine but we were drunk and exchanged numbers. The next morning I realized that it’s always hoes before bros and I regretted exchanging contact information with him. I heard from him a few days later and made it pretty clear that I wasn’t interested in dating my friend’s current love interest. He was fine with that. A few weeks later, he texted me again. He and my friend had broken up and he wanted to hang out. Since my winter has been so busy, cold and generally horrible, it was really hard to make plans with him. Then the sexts began.

They started out as fairly benign sexually laced text messages. A message about how he loved the short skirt I was wearing the night of the party, another one about how he liked me as soon as he met me, how he followed me when I went to the bathroom and waited outside, planning to kiss me in a semi-private area of the party. I thought it was kind of sweet, but there was something about him that just reeked of a douchebag. I mean, really? Really? You were going to kiss me at a party that your then love interest was hosting? That shit is unacceptable. I told him that I was very flattered, but I never would have kissed him at that party.

Then he became more, for lack of a better word, intimate. I was wearing fishnet stockings that night and apparently, he noticed. He started texting about my stockings. How he wanted to rip them open, pull my panties to the side and slide his cock inside of my pussy. I’m not paraphrasing here. I remember being stunned. What?!? He started asking me questions about my panties and stockings and telling me how much he loved short skirts. I don’t think he’s a breast man. He never once mentioned my own breasts or a bra. Just panties and stocking and skirts. My responses were fairly bland. “I have lots of different panties.” “I like stockings too.” “I love wearing skirts and dresses, but it’s been so cold.”  He ALWAYS texts “I want your legs wrapped around me.” That’s one of his staples.

Over time, I began to realize that this guy is a sexual addict with a fetish I had never heard of before. NMCF or CFNM (I can’t remember the order.) He started sexting me one night about my public sexual history. I didn’t give much information. I think my response was “Oh wow, I  don’t remember, it’s been so long.” After my response, I realized that he didn’t give a shit about MY public sexual experiences, he wanted to tell me about HIS. A girl started jerking him off in a bar. Everybody was staring. They left. They walked around lower Manhattan until they found a townhouse that was under renovation. They sneaked into the basement, he pulled up her skirt and they fucked. To end their escapade, he left the “cum filled condom on the door latch for the construction workers to find in the morning.” So romantic.  This is when I found out about his NMCF/CFNM fetish. Naked Male Clothed Female (or vice-versa). Now, I’m no nun. I’ve always enjoyed sex and have had a few interesting sexual relationships of my own, but I had never heard of that fetish before and that’s when I realized–this guy has been around. And around. And around.

He’s sexted me at 6:20 AM to tell me how hard his cock is. My response “You woke me up.” He didn’t care. He woke me up again early one morning to tell me how he wanted to slide his cock up and down my thigh and rub it all over my silky panties. Apparently, he doesn’t like lace panties–too itchy. Makes sense.

I know that these sexts are just a distraction for me. I don’t plan on ever seeing him in person and honestly, he scares me a little. I could block his number, but I don’t want to. I want to see what happens next. His messages make me gasp and giggle. I know it’s terrible because he does have a sincere addiction and issues with women, but it’s entertaining. I never contact him. Never. I don’t have to. He’ll sext for days in a row, I won’t hear from him for a week and then “my cock is so hard for you baby, I’ve got my hand wrapped around it right now” pops up on my phone. As disturbing as it is, meaning he actually disturbs me when I’m trying to sleep or watch a show on TV as well as the fact that he’s clearly disturbed about women, I’m going to wait it out. He’ll eventually find someone else to sext and I’ll be history. But for now, the warped attention is fun.

And for the record, no sexts today.