Twenty-six months ago, in December of 2011, I started this blog. I was alone, heartbroken, sexually awakened, lustful, sad, hopeful, terrified. I was wild with passion to mask my pain and I used men and my body to slake the thirst that oozed from me morning, noon, and night. I was quite a sight.
For a year prior to that fateful day in mid-December a typical week would consist of 2 or 3 dates with different men. Sometimes I would sleep with them, sometimes I wouldn’t. I would dress provocatively, yet tastefully, allow a spaghetti strap to fall and absent-mindedly pull it back up. I would lean in close and listen to their every important word and hide behind their disclosures, then put my hand on their knee, in control and flirty, filled up and never fooled. I’d dip into their mouths or fall onto their cocks with abandon. Happy, distant, very busy.
In my despair I was able to create a space of comfort and control. I was distracted in a productive, healing way. I did what I needed to do unapologetically. I met good men and I met some lousy ones, but they all were a brick in the wall around my heart. Until one day, I didn’t want to lay another brick. I froze my acquisition spree and held 4 men in my hands: Phillip, Kevin, Jason, and The Neighbor.
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My journey to blogging isn’t a mystery to me, though it may be to all of you. When I was married and a stay-at-home-mom I blogged. And when things began to change I blogged then, too. It wasn’t until I was about to move out of my marital home that an important man I’d met online, Big Tex, suggested I write about sex, too. And so I did.
He encouraged me to use my words in titillating absolution; he supported my silly endeavor and encouraged me to keep going when I got shy. He helped me find my new voice, one other than that of mother.
It was a different blog name back then with very different characters, but what I discovered was that I rather liked reliving my wild trysts with Troy and others. I switched blogs once more to better reflect my new life and kept on writing, but I had made the mistake early on of sharing my writings with Troy and Lina and others who weren’t as safe as Big Tex, so as things became less pleasant for me I found my outlet not my own. I had made the fatal mistake of sharing my blog with people who knew me.
I shut down that blog and was creatively homeless for 2 months before I couldn’t stand it anymore. Writing had stealthily welded itself to my marrow over the course of the previous several years and not writing created only more blackness inside of me. It was this darkness, this need for connection, discourse, and creativity that drove me to start writing again. I finally had to admit I was a writer.
I switched blogging platforms to WP, found a title that very much matched my behavior and feelings over the previous 12 months — A Dissolute Life Means… — and promised myself to not make the same mistakes regarding disclosure that I had with my previous blogs. It would remain a secret, my ego forever in check, my drunken desires for confession squashed dead at arrival, my need for approval a private matter.
Two weeks prior to this decision, I met The Neighbor.
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I had no way of knowing that 2 years later he and I would be in love. Or that he would be my very best friend. It started out fun and surprising. He matched my passion, appreciated my humor, and did things to my body I thought no one could. We assured each other it would only be a friends with benefits kind of thing, but a handful of months later it began to unravel when I stumbled upon him on a date he had kept secret from me. That night was eventful: I realized I loved him and I “met” Noodle for the first time.
A few more months and more heart-wrenching longing later, he left me for a woman I called 4 am girl (f.k.a. Pisspants for you longtime readers). That, he says, is when he realized he was in love with me. But because this is a tale of two flawed people, he kept it to himself and dated her for 6 short, but agonizing weeks.
In the months following 4 am girl we hobbled along. I was still certainly in love, but furious with him for hurting me. I was also confused, embarrassed, happy. Yet again a big, fat hot mess, but I kept on.
I couldn’t break up with him, though I’d tried numerous times. Our connection and proximity made it impossible. And frankly, I didn’t see the need.
We spent more time together, learned to communicate better, and embarked on a different power dynamic that made something in me sing and we lurched yet another step forward, blind as newborn kittens but compelled to grow nonetheless.
As my anger faded my guilt rose regarding the blog: should I tell him about it?
When I was angry and we were clearly not in a relationship it was an easy answer: it was none of his business; what would it hurt? But as we grew closer I began to question the ethics of my decision, so I battened down the hatches to safeguard my privacy and our identities.
I purchased a VPN for both my computers and my phone; I made a secret email account; I paid for StatCounter which I keep secret; I got a secret PayPal account; I refused prizes that had to be mailed to me and asked for gift cards instead; I’ve deleted browser tabs with the blog on it before I share my computer screens with TN; I opted out of opportunities to broaden my network in person via sex blogging conventions; my computers were set to save zero history; there is no auto-fill in their search boxes; I’ve avoided social media which I might accidentally get mixed up with my own real life personal ones, so I don’t do Instagram or FB as Hyacinth or Twitter as “me,”; I’ve painstakingly deleted all my copyrighted photos so as not to accidentally give away my URL; and lastly I have made up an association with a friend (Noodle) so as to not have to explain how she and I met, as well as with various other characters in my life who’ve come and gone into my personal realm (Gillian and Ella to name two who are no longer with us in our blog-o-verse here).
I never lie outright to TN, but there is a lot of omission going on. I think I told him I met Noodle through my blog, the assumption being the retired one. I never clarified, but left it up to him to be curious. He never really was.
But all of this won’t matter if he feels betrayed. I wouldn’t exactly blame him, but I hope he can forgive me and get on board. If he feels betrayed, then I have to own that and figure it all out.
I’ve also come to believe that TN might actually be a little flattered by all of this and maybe — maybe — even a little proud of me. I have grown my stupidly wild life and tales into a little tiny community of brilliant, open, loving, sexy people. I’m kind of proud of me.
I can’t begin to fathom how he will react. It’s just another unknown.
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I told myself months ago while wrestling with this secret that I would tell him if he ever told me he loved me, because in that instant it would change the scene from me brokenly pining after a man who wasn’t interested in me to me loving a man who loved me back. I would now be accountable for us, not just me venting solo on the internet. He would deserve to know.
In a strange twist of emotions, I can’t wait to tell him. I want to show him Boobday and have him meet all of you. I want him to see how I see him: beautiful, intelligent, sexy, kind, loving, quirky, funny, complicated, and above all else worthy of all my efforts and affection. I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am today without his influence.
I want him to see the journey, how I’ve gone from fearful to daring with my heart and gone out of my way to let him tell me his story in his own way and never speak for him; I want him to know that even though he might feel that we have few real life supporters, we actually have a small army of them here.
I used to say that I knew he loved me, but would never hear the words slip from his mouth. It is pure paradise whenever I hear it now. Of course, I still don’t know what the future holds, but then again I never knew, so I haven’t lost a thing.
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I’m not sure what my goal is in revealing my secret blog to him other than the basic sense that it’s time to move on to the next phase of this whole thing. I trust him with my life, why can’t I trust him with this?
I know that some of you are adamantly against me revealing this blog to him and to you folks I ask to what end? I doubt I’ll blog here forever or even for a decade, but my relationship with him may last as long as either of those times. I have no way of knowing. And my blog, as important as it is to me, is not more important than my relationship with him. Writing, on the other hand, is different. I will always write, just not necssarily about the details of my sex life.
Having said all that, I am still afraid. My hopefulness has its limits and I fear I will lose him, but the clock is pushing me: the longer I wait, the bigger the secret. I have to do this.
I’ve never presumed to know what he is thinking or feeling in the past and so I’m not going to start now. I must be brave and patient. I will tell him and I will wait for him to show me his cards.
Maybe he’ll be holding the King and Queen of Hearts.
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