Breakups always suck, but the amount of suckage is relative. I don’t feel like that’s a particularly profound statement but it’s what I’ve got for you right now.
As my breakup with Tony goes, it’s a doozy.
It’s not so much that I doubt the decision we made (and yes, it was we; I knew deep down what was likely to happen when I drew my line in the sand). I’m at peace with the decision and I am relieved to not have that awful feeling of mistrust and unsatisfied yearning of my heart.
What makes me sad is the loss of him as part of my day-to-day life. What has me sobbing is the losing one of the strongest connections I’ve ever had with a man.
What has my eyes red and my face blotchy is the loss of potential. The loss of that intellectual connection and ease of being together that honestly, even with my statistically significant sample size, has only come along twice in my life. My ex-husband Will was the first.
I know I can have stellar sex again. That’s not really the issue. But that kind of sex, in combination with the rest? Positively magical.
“What-if’s” are dangerous things. I know this. I hate wondering, in the midst of sobs, whether there was some other option which could have worked.
If I was a betting woman, my bet would be this: Tony is going to do nothing. He’s going to slide back into the less-stressful place of his books, his football, his daily morning visits with his son, and work. He won’t date, but if someone comes along maybe he’ll entertain a flirtation. He won’t talk to his wife about moving forward unless she forces the issue.
I will become a bittersweet memory in his life. A relationship with lots of potential but a woman who made his life complicated.
Which of course, makes me cry.
The irony is he needs me more than I need him. My life is full with family, friends, colleagues, activities. I made shit happen. He was not my best friend, yet I became his. But he likes the quiet and the status quo and can’t see a path forward.
Anyway. Only time will determine whether Chapter 2 was our final chapter.
Everyone in my life encourages self-care in times like this. The moment I texted my closest friends about the breakup on Friday afternoon I had three phone calls and more offers to chat. My friends are awesome. My Mom invited me to a movie Sunday evening. It was all good.
Friday night I hung out at home. Tony left around 6pm, I sat at my kitchen island or on my couch and talked on the phone, texted, wrote some notes about our conversation. I think I watched a movie but don’t recall. I cried, but not a lot.
I was already in the progress of filling up my social calendar for this coming week and the rest of January, so I continued on that path. I texted Jason to tell him what happened; he’d been up to speed on the whole dinner fiasco. Turns out although he’s met someone knew, they aren’t exclusive yet. He asked whether I wanted to get together with him next Friday. Yes, please. If I’m up for it, we may visit a sex club, but I’m not so sure I want to get on that ride again quite yet.
Saturday I stayed in bed for as long as I could. I wrote my break-up post and masturbated. I picked up Liam and he spent some time with my father-in-law for a few hours. I started cooking some things which took the remainder of the day. I texted some friends and talked on the phone.
I did NOT un-hide my POF or OK Cupid accounts. I did NOT update my FetLife, Adult Friend Finder, or local sex club profiles. The thought of jumping back into the dating pool and starting to vet new men who meet my dating rules – no. Not in the first 24 hours after a breakup.
But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do something for a distraction.
There was a man named Jack who reached out to me ages ago on a local sex club site where I have a profile. He knew I had a boyfriend (my profile is explicit about that) and was interested in joining us for a threesome. He’d been consistently polite and interested and in December had asked why a coffee wouldn’t be okay since it would help us vet one another.
So I thought what-the-hell and reached out to him. I did not tell him I’m single, just that since I’m back maybe we could find the time. He’s a college professor, so hopefully it’s at least a decent conversation. We have a coffee date on Thursday.
There is an erotica photographer from last year who has been asking me regularly if he could shoot me. He asks every couple of months. So I responded to him and said yes. Why the hell not? His work is different from the want-to-feel-sexy-for-my-fiance stuff that the last guy did. We are meeting on Saturday.
And…I’m loathe to admit it but I texted Lewis, the gloriously huge cock attached to the man who disappeared on me right before I met Fox. I wanted to dip my toe in his water and see if he bit. I sent a closed text message (as in, it was a note referencing something which made me think of him but didn’t ask a question or request a response). He responded instantly.
Here’s the thing, before any of you get ready to lecture me. I am under NO illusions him responding to me means he wants anything more than a fuck. After all, the guy did evaporate. He knew where to find me and never came knocking.
He apologized for disappearing, I told him it was ill-mannered and I thought his mother raised him better. He told me (and it could be true, but it doesn’t matter) he was overwhelmed with dating and he didn’t appreciate enough the women he met. Then he sent me a naked selfie – boom! I laughed to myself; this ain’t my first rodeo.
But then, after a few hours of sporadic texting where I didn’t suggest anything or open any doors (it was texts about dating in general), he asked if I wanted to get together for afternoon sex.
I said no.
He asked for a raincheck. He told me he remembered my glorious ass and when I told him I didn’t believe that for a second, he protested.
I said I wasn’t so sure casual sex was my thing right now (of course it is, but he doesn’t need to know that) and I’d think about it.
I haven’t gotten back to him but of course I’ve thought about it. Not of him as a person, but him as a vehicle of physical pleasure. He could come in handy and not dissimilar to Shenanigans, because I know exactly what this is, I could fuck him and leave it at that.
Admittedly, the thought of his cock makes my pussy twitch with desire.
I had Liam for the evening and the next day. He and I have what seems to be another phase of battles of the wills between Mother and Son. I got the phrase “you’re not the boss of me” more than once. It’s a good distraction from everything else in my life, and way harder to resolve.
My Mom and I saw the movie “Brooklyn” last night. The love story parts made me cry, naturally. It’s worth watching.
And that’s how I survived my first 48 hours post-Tony.