BabyFace

I hurt someone a long time ago. I was inconsiderate. I was mean.

I expressed contrition.

Then I hurt him again.

I expressed contrition. I apologised, not just to him, but to our friends.

Then I hurt him again.

And on it went. Over and over. Seven or eight months.

I was mean.

I could make so many excuses for my inexcusable behaviour. There are many reasons. I shan't try to justify it today though.

I was 22, he was just a baby. 19. I got drunk and kissed him one night. We ended up in bed together. I remember this moment vividly.

He was on top of me, we were naked. He kissed me and I held his face, stroked his cheek with one hand. I said these words:

"No matter what happens, I'll never love you."

Then he pushed his hard cock inside me for the first time.

That time ended with me on my stomach, wrists pinned against the small of my back, his other hand around my neck, forcing my face into my bed. I think he spat on my cheek. He fucked me harder and harder. The sunlight streaming in my bedroom window. We'd fucked for hours.

We bought take away, sitting on the floor of my apartment in our underwear and t shirts, talking. We hung out. We worked together. We flirted. I teased him. I played quite the coquette. 

He got sick of it one night at work, slammed my chest against the counter. He spanked my ass. Over and over. 

We played and played and played.

We'd kiss at work when no one was watching. We'd go clubbing and he'd stand next to me and stroke my ass through my dress, pulling my panties tight around my pussy. We'd sit next to each other at dinners. Then we'd sneak home together... and he'd fuck me hard. 

I didn't love him. He loved me though. And I knew it. I just didn't care.

At my birthday party, it all finally came to a head. I was kissing Bee (his best friend). I kissed another guy.

He finally cracked under the stress. He walked out. He sent me a message. Telling me we couldn't be friends any more. Telling me he couldn't stand to see me the way he had. That me not caring was too hard. He changed work shifts to get away from me. He stopped visiting during my shifts. He vanished. He deleted me off Facebook. Gone. 

Fifteen months of total silence. Not a whisper. After three years of speaking virtually every day. Silence. 

The silence was deafening at first. Something would happen and I'd think of him. I'd pull out my phone... only to realise I'd deleted his phone number.

Time went on. I'd hear the occasional whisper. Our friends to this day call him "Your Boy" to me. He was my boy. BossMan would lecture me. Telling me over and over to call him and apologise. I wouldn't do it though. I didn't want to make him hurt more. 

And so on it went.

Then out of the blue, he sent me an email about tax. Tax. Of all fucking things. Tax. I replied with a polite thank you, and an inquiry as to how he was.

The conversation grew. 

Best of all, I apologised. He accepted it too.

I nearly cried reading the words we shared. Not something I do often. But I'm filled with this sensation, maybe I'm softening. Maybe I'm starting to care. Regardless, I like it.

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. - Mark Twain

Inspiration

I'm lacking inspiration. Perhaps a little desire.


My encounter with Punk last week has left my mind distracted. Other pursuits have held less interest... He leaves again shortly. A month he'll be gone. A month to clear my head.


I've been dating. I have my fourth date with NewBoy this week. I haven't asked him if he's seeing other people or anything - I can't say it bothers me. 

Since a couple of weeks ago, I've stopped fucking (s)Ex. After his little boozy freakout, I'm not sure how I feel. Never a good move to call your newest ex-girlfriend by your old ex-girlfriends name while screaming at her for not wanting to be with you. It just got awful. It was the most passion we'd ever really had though.


I'm seeing (s)Ex this week though. Game of Thrones and dinner. Perhaps I'll blow him or fuck him if the mood strikes, though after playing nasty with Punk, I can't say I'm over-enthused about the plan. The gentle respectful sex of being with (s)Ex makes things feel different because I know he's only like that because he's repressed. Some part of him would love to let loose.

...to fuck you up

Red has been on vacation, out of the state. He'll be back soon. Lately he's been talking about feelings and love and shit about some girl. It'll pass, but for now he's pretending he's a nice guy instead of the cheating lying bastard we all know and love. Hope he's got her well fooled, else it won't last.


Spike also is making noises about the girl he's been fucking and being in love. His too will pass and will be back in my bed with in the next few months. 


Sometimes they need to detour back through the misery and heartache that is pretending to love someone before they remember what empty people we are sometimes. They're both physically incapable of loving a girl, of being with her without cheating.


Oddly, Spikes girlfriend and Reds girlfriend have the same name. My name too. Heh. At least calling out the wrong name in bed won't be a problem for them I suppose.


I don't know what I want any more. Awkward dates? Rough sex every six weeks? Weekly to fortnightly rolls in the hay with an ex who I'll never love? 


All this stuff seems to wash over me, lacking in inspiration. Lacking in joy.


Perhaps I should just spend more time at home with my favourite new toy (thank you to Swan Vibrators, your Swan Princess model and I are becoming very well acquainted since we met last week).


I haven't slept with NewBoy. This Saturday is a good friends birthday party, and she told me to bring NewBoy. That'll make our first night time date, and date number five. Five dates sounds like a lot. We haven't had tea together yet, we have only had lunch around the corner from his work. I get the idea that he likes me well enough, but I think his divorce is problematic.

I hope with Punk back on his flight to the middle of nowhere, the overwhelming desire to let him hurt me and fuck me and try to break me will subside, letting me refocus and actually get to know NewBoy. This wander down memory lane with Punk has felt like a little bit of a struggle. Like we're stuck in stalemate. The relationship is like lust with pauses of hatred. Ugliness.


I think I just need a new thrill... and perhaps if I felt like I was actually chasing NewBoy I'd be getting that thrill feeling. Even though he's sexy and charming and polite, I don't get that overwhelming desire to fuck him and kiss him and bite his neck, and I don't feel like he wants to throw me against a wall and rip my clothes off. (s)Ex does that. 


Can't a girl just have everything in one man, instead of needing four?

Who Am I?

So I guess who I am is the next question. 


Whether we admit it or like it, looks are the first thing anyone has to go one. So what do I look like? I'm not a model - I'm 'cute' apparently. I'm 162cm tall (5'3" for you American kids). I stepped on the scales to write this blog and I weigh in at 57kg. Making me a size 8-10. I do have big boobs - they're a 10DD. I have green eyes, which I always have thought of as one of my more impressive attributes. I have light brown hair that sits just on my shoulders. The photo in my picture is actually a picture of my lips (I'll confess to touching up a slight blemish to make it a little prettier though). 


I study at one of the more prestigious Australian universities. I'm supposed to be "smart". Always hated that word though, as if smart is just something you're born. Smart is something you choose. 


I fell in love for the first time at 14. It was a beautiful summer romance. A little over three months. He was my first, a pretty special guy too. We're still friends all these years later. He called me today, asked me to send him a photo of his boobs, I told him he was a dick. He agreed. 


I've been in love twice properly. I think. The first time was from 16-18. I spent with a huge douche. He fucked my friends and I let it go. I was scared to be alone. Then he had a relationship with a girl in secret behind my back. Then I moved out. Moved in with a friend who I got into a committed BDSM relationship with for a few months (that's a longer story for another day).
The second time was with an old friend (18- nearly 21). We had one perfect year, six average months, six awful months. At the end he realised he needed to sexually experiment with guys. He dated a few guys, and now he's dating girls again. After all that, we're best friends. Ok...sometimes we sleep together. 


And what since? I've tried dating. It's not really working for me though. I'm not really the white-dress-in-a-church kind of girl. I wish I was. 


I'm endlessly teased for being a Vulcan (non-nerds: Google that Star Trek reference). I don't get attached, I don't fall in love. And today... today is my three year anniversary of being single. Feels like there should be party hats right?


What does one girl do with a three year stint in singlehood? You fuck. Everyone you ever wanted...