Sometimes it’s tempting to send one last message or make one last remark, but I have to stop and think: who are you doing it for?
Are you sending that last message because there’s something truly important you need to convey to the other person before the lines of communication close?
Or are you just trying to have the last word?
Option C is that I’m reaching out because that’s what I always do, regardless of how much I get back from the person. I need to learn when to stop; when to just wait for them to come back to me.
I got in a fight with someone I really care about recently (more accurately, his girlfriend got in a fight with him and told me in no uncertain terms to go f*ck myself), and I’ve been struggling to decide if I should send him a message or not. I’ve finally started to come to terms with the fact that I shouldn’t keep reaching out to him if he’s going to site by and let his girlfriend speak to me the way she did without speaking up or coming to me to apologize later.
Sometimes, you just have to walk away. And that, you do for you.
I never get off. I end up concentrating/working so hard with my hands that I can’t relax and let go, and I never orgasm.
My shower head used to work, though, when it was one of the removable ones. Perhaps I just need to invest in some toys to help me out.
That, or I need a man who’s around more often to give me what I need. Alex and I haven’t been able to see each other in two weeks now…it’s starting to have an affect on me.
One of them I’m wildly attracted to physically, we have good (but not great, I’ll admit) sex, and he’s all kinds of sexy, but we’d crash and burn as a couple.
The other I’m falling madly in love with on an emotional level, but have no attraction to whatsoever.
I’ve realized I’m hesitant to give direction to guys in bed, because I worry I’ll be repetitive. 99% of the time, if we’re in the middle of sex, I’m going to direct you to the clitoris. Because that’s what feels best/will get me off.
I feel like that’s such a boring, uncreative suggestion, though, so I rarely voice it. I guess I need to come to terms with the fact that I like what I like, and I should only be having sex with people who won’t judge me for that. The rest can go f*ck themselves, if they don’t like the way I do it.
Seriously. LoverBoy and I are both annoyed at this. Morning sex wakes me up and means that I have a fantastic, productive day, but it leaves him in an exhausted haze until he can nap or get to bed that night. Thoughts on how to get around this? C’mon, there’s got to be a trick out there somewhere.
We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.
Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story (via jessicachu)
this will always remind me of “this we have now” and paul, in a blazer, reading it off of notecards while a spotlight shined in his face.
this segment of “killing yourself to live” is one of the truest statements i have ever read.
I’m not one to regret things. I find it a useless emotion: what’s done is done, and you learn what you can from it and move forward.
There are only two decisions that I can honestly say I regret, and both of them were men.
I met Caleb last year. He was funny and charming, with a twinkle in his eye and the body of a Greek god. And he liked me.
The downside? He had a girlfriend at the time. I found that out after I had developed feelings for him, and was crushed.
We became very close and hung out several times, intent on preserving our friendship in spite of the feelings we had for each other. I, of course, wished he would end his relationship and be with me. He was torn, and in the interest of honesty he told his girlfriend that he had developed feelings for me and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
I applaud him for his honesty, but after he told her, she told her friends, and the whole thing became a bit of a scandal. It estranged me from many of my friends, and some of those people still don’t include me.
The official story is that nothing ever happened between us. He decided that’s what he wanted, and I certainly wasn’t going to insist that the more humiliating version come out (although I hate lying). So it’s pretty incredible that, a year later, and believing that I’m just some girl her boyfriend had a crush on for a while and now doesn’t even talk to anymore, she still won’t let it go. She outright ignores me when I speak to her. It’s childish.
Of course, the true story is that we weren’t as angelic and restrained as we would have liked to be, and ended up becoming physical on several occasions when we simply could not contain ourselves any longer. And I must admit, there’s nothing quite like spending an afternoon with someone you know is longing to kiss you and watching him struggle with himself and seeing the fire build up behind his eyes until he just grabs you and kisses you with all the love he’s been repressing all day. We slept together once, and I was disappointed to find that not only was it not great, I literally could not feel him inside of me. Talk about a lap pinky.
In the end, Caleb decided to stay with his girlfriend. It was probably for the best, because if he would cheat on her, he would cheat on me. And I deserve better than that.
After he’d made his decision, though, he kept wanting to talk about it. He’d text me or message me and tell me how much he still loved me and how he hoped someday we could be together. It got annoying—you can’t have both of us, sir. You chose her, so go be with her.
Eventually that led to a fight and I said some pretty awful things to him, but the bright side is that he hasn’t contacted me since then. And I like to think that he quit daydreaming about me and gave his girlfriend the attention she deserved.
The fact that I slept with him, though, still haunts me. I have an alarming lack of self-control around the men I am attracted to. I’d always thought I would never be the other woman, but there I was. And it was awful.
I think it’s interesting how completely devastated I have felt about certain men in my life, when a week later I think about it and am almost entirely apathetic.
Last winter, there was a man at my university that I grew very close to, and we finally got together one weekend and began a relationship. Two days later, he told me that he wasn’t in a place in his life where he could be in that relationship (but in a caring and sincere and honestly sad about it way, not a douchebaggy this is an excuse way). I was absolutely crushed, and spent the next several days in tears and nearly unable to function.
And then like a week later I met a different guy and was over it completely.
Why do we do this? Is it just a release for other pent up emotions? Or am I alone in this?
