A stress release double header: My summer sausages.

8am

I still don’t have hot water. I’ve showered at the gym multiple times and it’s getting tired. At least its just me in the house this week. I’m frustrated with the whole water heater situation but I can’t imagine a more boring post than the ins and outs of gas line sizes and mold and faulty installations.

I haven’t seen Lewis since the day we failed to have the BBC party. A couple of days ago he asked what I was doing tonight, and we made plans to meet. 

I have a girlfriend visiting for drinks and food while the next (and hopefully final) contractor comes to look at my hot water heater. But since he usually works late, I figured I could see him afterwards. 

Yesterday night, in the heart of my phone-throwing-anger with Tony, I got the following text from Lewis:

“I may bring with me a bonus stunt cock!”

And when I said “Oh? Who?”, he sent me a picture of an incredibly handsome dark-skinned man. Like, seriously handsome.

I immediately screen captured it and texted it to Hy. She (and the man she was with at the time) agreed with my assessment. Handsome.

I told Lewis there was going to be a lot of handsomeness in my bedroom. The new gentleman in question is a friend of his visiting from out of town. I think he comes here a lot and I hope it works out.

I’ve been praying for my period to wait just one more day to come. So far so good. 

::

8pm

I had dinner with my friend. Dinner consisted of a nice Rose, cheese, sausages, some smoked meat, dried fruit, and some fresh vegetables. Crackers. It was the most I could handle, but it worked well.

My friend noticed “Lewis” written on my calendar tonight, and she commented on his coming over later. In my excitement about having a second handsome man in my bedroom, I told her about him and said “oh, you’ve got to see his picture!”

I should have known better. 

This friend, who knew both Andrew and Tony, blurted out “you’re meeting Todd?”

There was an awkward pause. We established not only did she know him, but she knows him well. They went to high school together. And funnier still, he commented on her timeline today on Facebook. I had read it but didn’t pay attention to his profile picture, which was the same one Lewis had sent.

He was married. She’s not sure if he still is, as she quickly checked his profile and could find no pictures anymore of his significant other. I don’t particularly care, but it’s an additional awkwardness I could live without.

She and I caught up on relationships and such, and she made sure to leave with enough time clearance since she didn’t want him to feel awkward running into her. Not because she is weird or judgey, she just didn’t want to ruin what we had planned. 

I have great friends. 

So now I’m sitting, staring at leftover cheese, finishing the bottle of Rose, and waiting for the two dudes to show up.

::

12:15am

He was as gorgeous in person as his pictures. Having two tall, stunningly hard-bodied gentleman in my house had me all a-twitter. There was banter, joking, intellectual conversation, a shared love of meats, cheese, and amazing gin.

I am such a lucky girl.

I was on the receiving end of many, many compliments. I’m used to Lewis telling me how awesome my pussy is, but otherwise he’s not particularly effusive with words. Interestingly when referring to my pussy, he always says “she”… as in, “she’s awesome”. When he made a similar comment tonight, I retorted “she and I are one and the same”, and Todd chimed in similarly.

I liked that.

At one point in my bedroom, Lewis fingered me to orgasm after orgasm while Todd held my legs and – I think – had his mouth on my big toe. Todd commented “god, she’s so sexy.”

In my kitchen, with Lewis fucking me from behind and Todd sitting on a high kitchen stool while I sucked his cock, he held my hair with one hand, caressed my face with the other, and told me over and over how beautiful I was. 

It made me want to please him even more; he was rewarded with two blow jobs bringing him to orgasm not once but twice; I swallowed and didn’t spill a drop. They were impressed and said so.

The two of them worked very well together. Lewis and I don’t have the best kissing chemistry, but I could kiss Todd for hours. Lewis and I fucked more, but Todd had his hands all over me. He would hold my hips to help my movement, and smack me on the ass. He held my hair off my face. He cupped my face in his hands. He whispered in my ear at key moments. He fed me ice cubes with his hands, and water from his mouth. 

And when I was cumming and I moved his hand to around my throat, he gripped it perfectly and watched me intently. 

I feel like a powerful goddess. 

Laying in my bed with them on either side of me, a hand on each cock. Watching them move around my living room naked. Toasting two smart, hot men with perfect gin, straight up. Having them compliment my domestic prowess. Offering them summer sausage (which neither had before) then realizing later it was the last day of summer and I was benefitting from their summer sausages, which became a recurring joke. Watching my sports team win, when we took a break.

It was simply perfect. 

I just sent Hy a text that says “Tony who?”

Anger is an iceberg.

I’m rarely really angry. When it happens, I get ice cold from head to toe. And when that happens, it’s pretty pure anger. I’m glad it’s rare; it’s a terrible feeling. 

I rarely yell. My anger is cold, not hot. My ex was a volcano – his anger simmered under the surface until it blew over, he would yell or say horrible nasty cruel things, and then it would be over.

Even more rare for me is irrational anger – not a surprise to most of you I suppose. I usually can think away any strong emotion. It’s also one of the things I’ve been working on: actually feeling what I feel, instead of talking it away.

Last night I experienced something even more rare – the overwhelming urge to throw my phone across the room. I wanted to smash something. I was not cold; I was firey hot. I made statements in anger – mostly irrational and ill-thought out. Made to elicit a response. Hoping the other party would say “no, Ann, don’t say that, it’s not true.”

Like most immature, petulant comments, I did not get the response I hoped for.

And it made me even madder.

The ability to feel anger is better than feeling nothing. Nothing means you don’t care. Nothing means you are dead inside. Nothing means you aren’t invested enough in the other person.

I’m still steaming – literally – the day after. Perhaps I could take that cold shower and not feel it.

This anger is not really about anger. When I get cold, then yes, it is pure. But this? What you see and experience is anger but it’s all about what’s under the surface. Hurt, denial, frustration, sadness, etcetera. That’s what this is about.

I am not measured in my responses. I want to yell and say things I mean at some level but know I would regret. I am not an emotional foot stomping type. I am not petty. I don’t burn bridges.

But that’s where I am today. I don’t like the feeling. I don’t know what resolution there is because it’s a choice between anger and heart ache.

The latter I can handle; I’ve been here before. 

Who got me to this place? 

Tony. 

Who else?

And not to worry, my phone is intact. But not much else is.

I’m broken.

I sprained my ankle last weekend. Unfortunately there’s no dramatic story to account for the injury; unless you consider speed + not paying attention + 3″ heels dramatic.

I’ve been limping since and only today am I able to walk normally, albeit still with pain.

I scraped both knees and the top of my foot, and there is a spot on my knee where any pressure results in a stabbing sharp pain. Let’s just say the one time I got on my knees for a man, pain got in the way of my pleasure.

I burnt myself in two places during a marathon cooking session this weekend.

I am premenstrual.

Work has been a massive cluster fuck. And not the good kind. I like to solve problems, which is good because it’s my job to do so, but sometimes it wears thin. 

I had another fight with my ex husband Will at the beginning of the week. Just as we seemed to be able to at least get a denouement on the first topic, he told me I obviously considered our son to be an inconvenience, and he thought it sad he wasn’t a priority in my life.

This from a man who left the country for work once and was willing to do it again. He had the gall the next morning to ask me via text why I was angry with him.

That stress sticks with me as much as I try to move past it. Headaches came as a result.

I have no hot water. My boiler was acting up. Then it decided to leak large volumes of water. So we had no water, period. I got that addressed at the end of the week but I still have no hot water. 

My favourite sports team is not doing well. 

Tony did some shit that’s nothing new but still pissed me off – mostly because it just made me sad. I’m continuing to pull back.

I had a great weekend with the kid and it helped reset my state of mind. I kept my phone away and we had fun with friends and I signed off my weekend with wine and cheese with a friend struggling with deciding whether to separate from her husband of many years.

It’s the start of a new week and can only get better. I still don’t have hot water but at least I’m going to the gym today and can shower there.

I have a few pre-clearance dates this week; short meetings for a drink to gauge whether there is chemistry. One I cancelled because he was already too mushy and lovey-dovey – having not met or even spoken on the phone I took this as a yellow flag. I wasn’t feeling it and didn’t want to waste my time. I feel rather blasé about them all; I honestly don’t care if they cancel.

Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised and perhaps I will close down my profile again by the end of this week.

Either way, I’m not sure I care, and I don’t even know whether to be happy or sad about that. 

The beauty of an honest f*ck buddy.

If you don’t know the history of Jake, you may want to read his back story (and as a sidebar, if any of you know how to get the results of a Tag search to come up oldest to newest, please let me know!).

He and I are both seeking similar things – an exclusive, very sexual, intellectual relationship. One where perhaps the occasional additional pleasure will be sought out with others, but always together.

While relationship may be too strong a word to describe what Jake and I have, it’s one of the most honest and open I’ve ever had.

He’s never tried to hide from me that he’s dating others, nor has he been too open with information I don’t want. He’s told me the nature of his interactions without being specific. For example, when we were both on POF, he said he was sometimes on there late on night when he was bored (honest!) or when he gets a message. He knows I could see when he was online or last online, so instead of leaving me wondering he told me head on. Continue reading

When habits form.

Out for dinner with some recently married family members, I passed on my advice of making sex and intimacy between couples a habit. The whole 5 of 7 rule (or whatever amount) which can help ensure the little every day annoyances likely to occur, don’t end up a barrier between a sexual relationship.

We talked about the research on forming habits. Studies show it takes two months for something to become a habit.

I got to thinking, naturally. Continue reading

Who needs a man?

My toilets have been acting up.

Many months ago, the one in Liam’s bathroom started to sigh when it flushed. Literally sounded like a high pitched human sigh. But it still worked so we just laughed about it, but I occasionally gave it a backwards glance when leaving to make sure there were no ghosts in the room.

Then there was drama of my toilet overflowing – which resulted in not only water damage to the living room ceiling below, but to my smoke detector, which decided to go insane when filled with water. It cycled through every sound it could make. My nanny was too panicked and too short to reach to turn it off. The net result was a freaked out nanny and a child scared to flush a toilet 🙄.

Then the main floor toilet started acting up. It got really loud every time it flushed, perhaps in protest of the treatment of its kin. Continue reading

Things I no longer do, and other thoughts.

I got to thinking recently about personal progress. You know, life development, personal growth, progression, all that stuff. One thing about keeping a journal or writing a blog is it’s documented for us to see – if we can actually see the patterns and behaviors and identify how they’ve changed.

It actually makes me wonder whether people who aren’t self-aware keep journals. Is it possible to document your activities and behaviors and feelings and not truly see yourself? Curious.

Anyway.  Continue reading

We made our own BBC party.

Lewis and I hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks – mostly due to my vacation schedule. Unless I’m willing to see someone when I have Liam, I’m on a two week cycle. And sex with Lewis is rather, ahem, vigorous.

I wrote my last post while waiting for him to come over. It was a mostly typical Lewis encounter that night. We have a drink, talk about work (this time there wasn’t much talking), we go upstairs, undress, but of foreplay, he pounds away forever, we talk more, he goes home.

In some ways it was a bit different.

I greeted him at the door naked except for lace panties, with his drink in my hand. Hence why the shop talk was cut short.  Continue reading

What I think about when waiting for a lover.

On my stereo: Little Fluffy Clouds by The Orb. A trippy song I used to listen to in college. Next is Cat Power’s version of Dark End of the Street. It’s an odd mix on my phone tonight.

I’m waiting for Lewis. He was supposed to be here now but texted to say he’d be a half an hour late; his work event keeping him longer than he thought.

Sitting at my kitchen island, I’m drinking Chardonnay while unsuccessfully trying to decimate the fruit fly population. The little fuckers must have an hour long incubation period.

It’s late but the work emails are still trickling in; they never stop. Continue reading

Something feels different.

While I’ve gone through different cycles in dating the past three years – the ebb and flow of excitement and frustration – there’s something inside of me that’s changed.
It’s not just because my dance card is relatively full with casual sex opportunities – while Drew has fallen off the card, there’s still Lewis, and Jake, and presumably Clark although I haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. There’s a guy pursuing me again who I saw twice a couple of years ago and things just faded away. There’s another guy who will likely amount to nothing but who popped up again recently.

I’ve been in that situation before, and still felt a yearning to seek a more meaningful relationship, so it’s not that. Continue reading