A case of mistaken identity

Let’s begin with the good news my divorce was finalized last week. Hooray! It only took 10 months, god damn it. Oh, not because of anything ugly or fighting. Cheaty Cheaty Bang Bang Lying Liarface just didn’t respond to paperwork sent by the courts. This whole process has brought me a new perspective on my previous opinion it wasn’t right to date or what-have-you until your divorce was either filed for or finalized. Filing take more effort than I thought it would, the paperwork can be confusing. There’s cost involved, if you’re struggling or on your own, that might hinder you from filing immediately. Then the wait. The waiting is the worst. I thought having filed in October, it would be done and over with in December especially since we weren’t fighting each other on anything in the papers. Nope. I’ve had people give me shit about moving on while still legally married, still carrying our family surname- all while he had had girlfriends since before I threw him out.  ANYWAY, you don’t give a flying fuck about any of this. For my next blog entry to make sense, I need to give you a heads up that I have memory issues and they are significant. This isn’t something I say lightly, like “oh, sometimes I forget my keys are in my purse” kind of memory loss. No no, I have whole chunks of my life’s history completely wiped out. Years. People. Events. Things I’ve said and done that should be memorable, just gone. And it’s ongoing, I have trouble holding onto new memories. I write a lot of things down. Don’t cry for me Argentina, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve got a pretty good handle on it. Part of why I only write the phenomenal entries in my blog is because they’re the ones I want to remember.

So backup to about September/ October of 2015. I had left my cheating husband and set off on my own to figure out either where I went wrong, or how to feel better and move on. I technically had known about his infidelity for about 2 months before I left him, but I let it simmer as I processed my feelings on it. I knew I was going to leave him regardless, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t have a moment of weakness and take him back when the rollercoaster began. In this time my libido was completely gone. Like, non-existent. I actually considered therapy and medication to try to get it back, because I felt broken. I went on a few dates with men I’d chatted up on OK Cupid. Actual dates, like without tearing each other’s clothes off and then crying for 45 minutes until he leaves. (Pro-tip, don’t tell me to call you Daddy unless you’re into the aforementioned outcome.) Most of my dates were less than noteworthy, as I’m wholly un-interested in straight men on a personal level. All of my friends are gay men, women of all types, or people I’ve picked up along the way and added to my collection. I fully believe in surrounding yourself with the kind of people you aspire to be, or who inspire you in any way. Mostly, if you’re funny and can take my personality, we’re probably destined to find each other. I WILL MAKE YOU LOVE ME, DON’T RUN. Back to the dates, I went on one that was actually less mediocre than the rest- we went for a walk down the coastal trail and just talked about all the things. We didn’t really seem to have any romance chemistry and it fell flat, but it was a decent experience and I left it at that. I enjoyed his company and liked him as a person.

Fast forward to a month ago. I was slightly inebriated, and I kinda recognized him from our date so many months ago. We’ve since matched and chatted on Tinder, and now we were talking on MeetMe as well. OK, works for me. We talked at length about the current culture we find ourselves in where women are pursued for casual sex, but treated poorly for participating in it. His feminism makes him sexier. You’re god damn right I’m a sexual entity, and I deserve to live out my desires freely. This is all part of the screening process to determine if good sex will be had. He passed. He gave great head, beard and all, and still volunteered to do it after I mentioned I was slightly bleeding. I’m waiting for the day a non-bearded face looks up from between my thighs, on that time of the month, and asks me WHY SO SERIOUS!? I’d marry the guy that makes that joke. After our roll in the sheets I realize he is in fact not the guy I went on a date with, a realization I immediately felt compelled to share with him. They have the same name, same build, same beard, and eerily similar personality. He doesn’t mind I confused him with someone else, we had a good lay together and I sold him LSD on his way out the door. I’m very happy he understands the memory issue was in no way a jab at him, or the other guy, on a personal level; it’s something we can laugh about, which is my usual mode of operation. Just keep laughing. One thing I liked learning about this gentle soul was his damage. Damaged people, when not contorted into monsters, make for some really good people. He’s one of them.

Now, fast forward again to last week. My divorce was finalized, I’m riding the high of having come full circle and feeling closure. This month would have also been our anniversary; the Alpha, and the Omega. Also this week I had purchased a 3 inch gel memory foam topper for my bed that has tentatively relieved my crushing insomnia. Every single night I’ve gone to bed, I fell asleep soundly and slept through the night. That’s a Christmas miracle if I’ve ever heard one. So, I’m well rested. My day job is going well (you didn’t really think I got paid to write this bullshit did you?) and I’m starting to get back into my groove of work, play, sleep, repeat. Praise the lawd. On this night in particular, my gentleman caller was the previously mentioned encounter I didn’t feel particularly motivated to write about. Not that it was bad, but I was kind of drunk and it’s all fuzzy, hazy memory anyway. I liked him enough to go again, completely sober. He doesn’t need my address again, he bee-lined straight to my house in time to catch me getting out of my bath and brushing my teeth. I shaved my legs for this, it better be good. As I’m brushing my teeth he stands behind me, kissing my neck and shoulders, nibbling and biting as he goes. His hands around my waist and moving over my hips. He pulls the bottom of the towel up and starts touching on me, time to spit and hit the bed wouldn’t you say? Done, son. We get onto my amazingly comfortable bed and he tells me he wants to eat me while I suck on him. Ok, so… 69 it is. I’m down.

I cum in his mouth once, maybe twice, and decide I need to dismount and just focus on him for a bit. I do a better job when I’m not distracted by my own orgasms. You’re welcome I’m so selfless, by the way. I actually like 69, I just don’t think I’m super good at it if you are also good at giving head. So I keep doing what I’m doing and he’s getting into it. What that mouth do? Uh, magic. He pulls me on top of him and inserts himself into me. The look on his face when I take all of him, and that little moan, drive me over the edge. I had an orgasm almost immediately. Did his dick get bigger? Wait, did I get them mixed up again? WHO ARE YOU!? Whatever, I’ll ask the important questions when we’re done. I ride him for a good while and he flips me over into missionary, taking control. I like this. I like being maneuvered. TAKE IT. He grabs my hips and roughly yanks my body towards him before penetrating me again and going at it like a boss. He pushes me over onto my stomach to take me on all fours, pushing my neck down and kneeing my legs apart. I am loving all this. Please, please, please let every time with you be like this from now on. He finishes unexpectedly and falls over exhausted. He’s drifting off to sleep fairly quickly, but also has an arm around me and pulls me in for cuddles. He wants to hold me. I don’t really want to be held right now, I’d rather still be fucking, but I get comfortable and dick around on my phone for a bit. In the immortal words of Kylie Minogue’s ‘All The Lovers,’ if love is really good you just want more. Troof, sing it you Australian seraph! I may or may not have taken a couple Snaps looking all kinds of satisfied and posted them on my Snap Chat story. Where they belong. He must’ve only needed about  15-20 minute nap, because he meanuevered himself inside me and just started fucking me again.

ROUND TWO, FIGHT! It was better than round one, let me tell you. Probably because it was so unexpected. We started on our side, then ended with me on top. I can’t remember what was inbetween that, but I was very happy with all of it. We both passed out after round 2. Sweaty, heart racing, satisfied. I’m pretty sure I had a Cheshire cat smile as I drifted off. My hair and makeup looked GREAT. I wake up the next day to him hard again, behind me, and getting inside me for a morning romp. Oh fuck. You don’t even know, audience. Morning sex is my absolute FAVORITE. I got at it, too. We did the side for a minute, then him on top of me from behind, then I got on top for a good while and just fucked him up. Give it to me. Give it all to me. I will WRECK YOU in the morning. He flips me on my back and bangs me out until he finishes. I rolled round in my bed just giddy and happy. This encounter was the tits. He got dressed and left after we hung out briefly. I had a blast. I can say that is about as perfect as perfect goes in my book. He’s not super well endowed, but he’s larger than average. The big thing, though, is he’s a good lover because he wants to be a good lover. Not the greatest kisser, but whatever. He kisses my downstairs right, that counts.