No bullshit

I kind of love that I wrote a blog post called Fuck You Kyle. And I kind of love that I’m using his real name. That’s a first.

I texted midday to see how he was — he said he was pretty fucked up and was going back to the hospital again to check in. Apparently he has a 3-inch gash in his head, lost a lot of blood, doesn’t remember much about what happened. Again, if true, horrible and I do wish he’d let me come check on him. But he refused again… called me when he left the hospital and we chatted for a minute, he did sound really out of it.

Either way, though, it’s kind of fucked up. A) I don’t trust him enough to believe this, and that’s fucked up; or B) he doesn’t trust me enough to want me there to help and care.

This has a bad feeling, dear reader. I can’t put my finger on it, but there it is. In person he dispels it but I haven’t seen him since Friday afternoon.

Oh, and the beautiful boy wrote today and asked to take me to dinner. I was there, not hearing back from Kyle, getting pissed I couldn’t make other plans and feeling a little guilty about wanting to. I put him off until later in the week — one way or another, this thing is getting settled tomorrow. If Kyle and I agree to try to sort this out, I’ll break the date. If not, I’ll have a date to console me.

Somewhere along the line I realized I couldn’t have gone out with him tonight or tomorrow anyway. I still have that fucking hickey.

I REALLY HAVE TO STOP DATING CHILDREN.

I broke down and texted him again. He wrote back right away this time, says he got a concussion falling on the stairs last night. If true, I feel bad for him– I do. Why do I still feel like something is off? I really don’t trust him yet; I don’t know why.

He says he thought we were together, really wants this to work, wants to see me tomorrow.

I will try.

maybe it’s time for me to acknowledge that what I’m doing isn’t working. I’m really tired of feeling like this.

I met a boy online. I had a lot of reservations about him, but I went on a date anyway. In person he was much greater than his online persona — none of the ‘can I hook up first’ bullshit. On our first date (around the corner from where he works, I paid for everything) he put me in a cab and sent me home. Then regretted it and texted several times trying to hook up. Next day, he came over and we fucked before going out — and it was great. Really great. I came, he came, his very large cock was very happy. We went out to a bar to watch football (yes, I paid again, not a thing for me but apparently it is for some), came back to fuck again. Decided he didn’t want me fucking anyone else and in the middle of fucking me made me promise to be his girlfriend and not fuck anyone else. I said yes but I didn’t really mean it. He doesn’t sleep over — claims it’s a thing. Next day came over before work so we could fuck. And it was awesome. Again. I had a party that night and he came over after work, met a bunch of my friends, was completely charming, but didn’t stay over because he had to work the next day. The following day he texts me a hundred times, so happy to have met me etc. I come back to the city late so we can meet up after his work– but when I text he says it’ll be too late. “Sorry babe.” and that’s the last I hear from him. I text him in the early morning wishing he was here. I text him later in the day asking if he’s still sleeping. It’s New Year’s Day and I haven’t heard from him all day.

Fuck you, Kyle. If you didn’t care, why did you pretend? If you did, why won’t you return my texts? I’d be okay with this being yet another fuck-buddy relationship, but you were the one who upped the emotional game. Was that just so you could fuck with me?

Fuck you.

I’ve spent much of my alone time the last few weeks crying. Being single is weighing on me, and I’m tired of being alone. Tired of being alone at the holidays. Tired of being alone period.

Only three things make me feel better when I’m like this: sex, exercise and helping other people. I haven’t found a volunteer gig or a way to give back. I’m exercising some, but it’s not enough and with all my injuries, I’m pretty restricted. The beautiful boy has been busy — I truly don’t begrudge him it, but it doesn’t help me. G. has been busy. It’s not J.’s job to keep me sane.

So when C. texted me last night, I was all happy. He showed up sober this time. It’s been a while since that drunken night last month, but he worked the last 20 days in a row and then went to Florida. He came by to see me on his way home. Which, from my limited perspective, means he likes me. And wow, I really do like him. He’s happy and he likes to fuck. He likes to fuck me. And he likes to give me pleasure– he notices when I don’t come, and he cares, but he doesn’t push it if I won’t or can’t.

I really do know this is a relationship of convenience, and it’ll never be anything else, and I really do want something more. But right now, I’m happy again, and I love fucking that man.

He semlls lke testosterone and beer. His arm is thrown across me, some of his body weight holding me down. It’ very early and I’m not at all sleepy, but I wouldn’t move for the world. I lay there, breathing him in, quietly. Hours pass before he wakes and fucks me again. This time is even rougher, he’s still drunk and all power, force, release. I get up afterwards to clean up, and I”m bleeding from my anus. Not enough lubrication (he’d tried, a little, using my own wetness, but it didn’t help much).

When he’d arrived, he walked in, stripped me, bent me over and fucked me there in the hall. I’d never fucked in that position before; it’s a little awkward and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to stay bent. Turns out yes, that’s what he wanted, and it was just fine. This is why I work out, right? to stay strong and flexible so I can fuck firemen?

I’m in his arms again after the second go-round and I eventually drift off to sleep, still breathing him in, all quiet in the world.

When we wake in the early morning, he fucks me again, this time pulling out just in time. I wonder if he remembers that he came inside me, twice, last night. My ass sure does.

I take a quick shower even though I’m going to the gym. As much as I’d like to revel in his scent, I doubt my trainer does.

And for the record, again: I really like this man.

yep. that’s all. fuck

Fuck he’s 27. 27! Fuck.

I looked up an old friend and we had dinner and it was nice and I wanted him to see how great things were for me now and it went too well and he kissed me on the lips good night and asked me out on a date and all I wanted was for him to tell our mutual friends that I was doing well.