Duck's Back

This weekend I told my Mother I was dating again. After I assured her that is was NOT anyone serious and that the ONLY thing I wanted was some people to go and have dinner with etc etc, she was okay with that. (I did neglect to mention all the sex, but some things she doesn't need to know.)

The first question she asked me was "Is he heavy?", and that made me want to ram my head through a wall and scream endlessly.

You see, I am fat. A fat fatty McFattersons right now. I weigh a good 150 pounds more than I should. So CLEARLY the only man that would go out with me or find me even REMOTELY attractive is another fat person. Also, in my Mother's mind, I am fat because my friends are fat. There was a study - it was on Oprah, probably - and the scientists figured this gem of information out: Fat people have fat friends!! OH NOES!! So, if i'm DATING someone who's fat, I'm going to FOREVER BE FAT AND THEN THE WORLD WILL END AND I WILL HAVE BEEN FAT FOR THE WHOLE OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111!!!!

*SNORT*

This is nothing new from my parents. After 24 hours together the topic turns to one of three things: my weight, my current haircolor/hair style and how much they hate it or my piercing in my left ear which my Mother thinks is about me trying to "regain my youth".

This is why my ex really hated going to my parents. Their constant berating of me really bothered him, but mostly i think it was because he hated dealing with the aftermath of me when we got home. It's a lot for me to handle and process - it would be a lot for ANYONE to handle and process. I am well on my way to becoming a master of the technique of letting things roll off my back.

What really helps though is thinking of the men that I have dated - recently and in the past - and how they have all, unequivocally, loved me for who I am and the body I was inhabiting at that moment.

So, this is me...lettin' things roll.

Firsts

Somewhere about September I deemed the 12 months after he left "The Year of Firsts" I am still only four months into it.

The First of the Firsts(tm) happened to be the date that would have been our tenth anniversary. I took the day off work just in case I was a sniveling mess. I ended up doing a fat lot of nothing and then handing out candy with some good friends who get about seventeen thousand trick or treaters.

Now I have almost weathered the entire holiday season of firsts. There has been little to no fuss. Oh, sure...there have been tears, but I didn't shut down and I didn't feel like chucking the whole idea of the holidays and just holing up in bed with fast food and wine coolers.

Tonight was the First Family Christmas Eve(tm) without him. It went well. Really well. Amazingly well, even. I didn't feel overshadowed or worried or wondering how to make it look like we were happier than we were. I didn't have to PRETEND. It was liberating. I loved it.

Of course, my family makes this easy for me as they are immensely supportive. We might not all be normal, but we stick together. And we love each other. Unconditionally. Truly. As I've gotten older the bonds between me and my family have grown closer. The ex didn't quite grok that, his family not operating on this same premise. And so, even though he was happy about it, he always thought it was a bit foreign.

Tonight though, I was not a foreigner here. I was family. Loved in all my imperfection. And it was the best Christmas I've had in years.

Merry Christmas!!!!

Fun Times!

The experiment continues. Tonight is date night with HS (all initials changed to protect the innocent!).

We have both been wishing the days by faster to get to tonight. Like little kids waiting for a birthday, we've been counting down the days. Texting and IMing each other, "Only 27 more hours!".

I know I have been emanating a pre-coital glow since plans were made. And the tone of his voice and texts have been just as eager.

HS is not among my sweetly gentle lovers. He is more on the other end of the spectrum. So tonight's activities are going to be quite...quite...well, not to put too fine a point on it, but they're gonna be kinky. There will be rope and spanking and some teasing (which inevitably leads to begging) and whatever else gets us both off.

And that's the really wonderful thing about what HS and I do on these cold winter nights - it gets us both off. How fun is that?

I don't know what to call this thing we have going, but "Fun" is a good descriptor. Maybe I'll come up with a better term for it while I'm tied up tonight...or not...

Eye of the Storm

I seem to be holding my emotions and action under a microscope these days. Examining them for signs of…well, I’m not sure what I’m examining them for exactly. Yet, examine I do.

Does the fact that I was able to put up the Christmas tree with no angst at all mean that I am in denial?

If I cry while driving down a snowy street looking at Christmas lights am I experiencing a crying jag or is it just normal holiday stress or is it that my meds are off?

Is the fact that there are dishes in my sink an indicator of serious depression or am I just as lazy as the ex claims or am I some really unorganized amalgam of the two?

If I’m not careful, this picking apart of every thought and deed can take up large amounts of my time – usually when I’m supposed to be sleeping. Which means I’m tired. Which means I’m more emotional. Which means I have more to pick apart. And around and around we go!!!

The thing is, there is no way to tell if my reactions these days are normal or not. There isn’t a guidebook for this that tells you things like: “In weeks 7 to 10 of your divorce you will feel overwhelmed by the prospect of paperwork and alternately sad and angry at your spouse.” No, the experience of divorce is as unique as the two people who are going through it.

I think I’m weathering the storm in my own way just fine – when I can back away from the microscope, take a deep breath and look around me. So what if I had fun putting up my Christmas tree! I love Christmas trees and they make me happy. If I cry while driving, well I’m most likely just missing the tradition of seeing the lights on the houses as we drove around together. And maybe I’m not depressed OR lazy; I just hate doing dishes! I wasn’t Martha Stewart before, why do I think I should be now?

Most importantly, when I do step back, I am able to recognize that at the center of all this up and down – the eye of the storm, if you will –is the small tight kernel that is ME, waiting out these squalls and growing stronger every day.

Lightbulb Moment

The ex called me the other night, wanting to know if I had any extra Christmas tree lights. They hadn't taken any when they left, you see, so they didn't have any.

As I didn't put up the GIANT tree we had when we were together (nearly nine feet tall) and festoon it with the nearly 2000 lights we normally do, I had plenty of lights left over. So I told him to come over and take them. I'll be downsizing so I really don't want to be storing things that I won't be using.

Then I realized the time -nearly 9pm - and I asked him "You're putting up the tree now?" My answer was a tired "Yes." I figured i'd ask more when he got here.

Turns out that they (he and the gf and another friend) had decided that tonight was the night to put up the tree. He had asked that the two of them get the decorations up from the basement so things would be ready to go. Well...that didn't happen. Then they had dinner and then clean up and then it was the thing that made me insane when the gf lived with us:

She said "I guess we don't have time to do the tree now...*siiiiiiiiigh*" (or something to that affect)

So, on a weeknight when he had an 8am meeting the next day, he ended up hauling all the decorations up, dealing with the gf freaking out because she didn't think she had all her ornaments, as well as freaking out that they didn't have any lights. And dealing with the friend trying to make things better for the gf but just eliciting snappy responses from her. AND dealing with driving across town to get the lights from me and double check in the garage to make sure they didn't leave any of her ornaments.

He looked harried and tired when he arrived. He told me the whole tale of the tree decorating. He looked for the ornaments (which weren't there, as we both knew). He helped me put some things back together in the garage from taking down my own decorations. Then he left, still looking harried and exhausted, giving me an ironic smile when I told him to have fun putting up their tree.

And as I waved him out of the driveway, off into the night, I sent the following thought along with him:

"Enjoy your new life!!!"


Gods I don't miss that chaos one bit.

Ego Stroke

There is an adage (whether it is old or not, I'm not sure) that goes "Sometimes, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else".

I am currently involved in testing this theory.

It's not so much that I need to get OVER my STB-ex. Point of fact, I don't want to be over him, I love him. Its just that the love seems to be morphing into something different these days. More of an affectionate love, a friend love, instead of a husband love.

Regardless, I soldier on in my quest to know if this adage holds a modicum of truth. Although, my original plan of seeking out partners who were "into" the same things as I am seems to be derailing in front of my eyes.

I am "into" some of the harsher aspects of sex - D/s, bondage, pain, slapping, spanking, implements of torture...oh the sweet sweet torture and the sweet sweet release of giving up to the pain and finding the pleasure on the other side of it. This is what gets me going. That release and the pleasure therein make me catch my breath just thinking of it.

The gods, however, seem to have other plans for me of late. I find myself surrounded not with the oh so domly types who demand my acquiescence to their demands and reward it with orgasms derived from harsh methods but by men who are more interested in pleasure than pain and MY pleasure specifically.

Case in point: The Christmas themed swing party I was at earlier this month. A very very charming gentleman engaged me in conversation from the moment he walked into the room. He was lovely, funny, sweet and nice. Eventually, I realized that he was hitting on me, but...not hitting on me in a nervous manner I haven't elicited in a man in ages. At one point, i ended up flashing my cleavage (this WAS a swing party after all!) and he was clearly impressed and stammered something about really wanting to see more, so my response was to say "Well, just ask!' He did. And off we went to his room, where he confessed to being so nervous because I was "so pretty".

Now, folks, I have not been "so pretty" in my own eyes for a very long time here. Months, maybe even years, of being the "dull wife" contrasted against the "stunning girlfriend" in my prior relationship had taken its toll on my self-image. Not to mention the complete lack of intimacy at the end of my marriage and how that affected my sexual self.

This sweet man, though, was so overcome that he actually was a bit hesitant at first. (That was quickly remedied!) He kept repeating how beautiful I was, how lovely every part of me was. How much he wanted to make me cum, hear me orgasm, what could he do, what did I want, how could he be better for me, etc etc etc.

This has been the case with other men of late too (as I am apparantly turning into the town slut these days). They want to be with me because i am beautiful, desireable, funny, happy, smiling, passionate, and all those adjectives I had lost for myself for so long. And they don't want to demand things of me, they want to coax them from me. Stroke, touch, lick, suck, caress, whisper and moan them from me.

And perhaps this is what I need more than the kink right now. Maybe that is why I am finding more of these sweetly loving men in my life right now. I know I can submit, be an object, endure pain, be handled roughly - but I seem to have forgotten that I can be desired for being a beautiful passionate woman somewhere along the way.

Thank the gods who seem to know I need this ego stroke right now and for these wonderful men who are reminding me of these adjectives I have lost.

A day that will live in infamy.

On August 16, 2008 my life changed drastically. My husband informed me, tearfully and with great sadness, that he would like a divorce.

In that moment, months and months and MONTHS of feeling adrift, of never knowing what any given day would bring (affection or disdain), of waffling back and forth as to what i could do, would do, SHOULD do, in that moment it all coalesced and was decided. My life came to a pinpoint. A path to set my feet upon.

I have felt (as one friend put it, but gods know I can't remember who) gobsmacked for a while now. I'm coming out of it more and more. Finding my own way through things, making decisions for ME and no one else.

Yes, at night it gets lonely and I still sleep with a light on. I am ever so grateful for my cats and that they sleep on the bed with me.

So, as I come out of this, I'm feeling the need to write, to chronicle some things. As this is my space, my corner of the intarweeb, I'm going to post things here. Publicly. I can't promise they will always be happy happy joy joy things, but I do hope that there is more of that than sadness or anger. Regardless of tone, these are my thoughts and feelings spoken from my point of view. They are not the whole truth, because really, no one has the whole truth. I need to speak MY truth though.