Part II

We made his tiny cabin our love nest. Spending more time together. I remember standing on his narrow stairs drinking wine and watching a lightning storm.

Even though I enjoyed myself with him and felt like we were enjoying each other I was reticent. I started to feel my self-confidence grow from having someone else think highly of me.

One day I mentioned that it might be a fun time if we went out to the movies some time. He immediately and emphatically agreed with me. I was happy, but steeled my heart against rejection. I waited for him to call and set a date. Then I waited some more. After a week I figured he was just trying to be nice, and that he really didn’t want us to be in a bf/gf relationship. I was sad, but not hurt because I had prepared for this.

I think over a month went by before I heard from him again. He apologized and told me he had been getting called in to work ungodly hours. Then he asked me why I never followed through on my idea for us to go out to the movie. The phrase ‘struck-dumb’ couldn’t have applied more perfectly here. I told him that I was taught that it would be emasculating for a woman to take the initiative.

We ended up dating seriously. I started feeling better about myself. I agreed to go out to bars, concerts, events, restaurants, etc. And I was OK because he was with me; I had someone who would have my back.

He casually asked me how I would feel if he brought over another guy to have sex with me. I was a bit incredulous, but I’m up for new things and said that would be alright. I didn’t know how serious he was, but I figured either way I trust him.

I knew one day when he asked me over he was serious. I just knew from the look on his face that he had a surprise. I entered his home and saw a rather fine specimen of African ethnicity. The three of us had a good time. At least the sex part was. I hid my embarrassment. I kept thinking how fat and flabby my thighs look and how I wished I could change positions so they don’t look like that. They joked around with each other which made me feel like a dirty magazine being passed around between friends. I couldn’t relax at all. I just wanted him to leave so we could be alone together.

Every so often we would repeat this usually with a new guy, because SO would always find something wrong with the last guy. Every time I’d be uncomfortable, uncommunicative, and just anxious for them to leave. The only reason I would get excited was knowing that SO would be excited by it.

The problem was I don’t like hurting people, and I don’t like lying either. So every time he asked me what I liked I didn’t have any specific answers. He would often tell me I could say no if I didn’t want to. So I felt like either way I would hurt him. If I said no he would get tired of me. If I said yes then he’d see how I wasn’t very happy and be mad at me for agreeing in the 1st place.

*Warning some explicit material*

My SO (significant other) is older than me by 26 years.

If you said I was attracted to older men because I long for the love and admiration of my father I wouldn’t argue the point.

However I have been with men of various ages, the same age as me, a few years older than me, and even a few younger than me. Age doesn’t mean that much to me. All I look for is someone mature and treats me well.

I want to tell the story of us, but I want everyone to know that I do love him, but I need to tell the whole story; some will not be pleasant.

I was living as a stereotype: I’d just graduated college and was living in my gramma’s basement. I was getting into casual encounters. So I stalked craig’s list finding guys I’d be willing to take a chance with. If you are a guy on craig’s list and you are wondering why there aren’t more women? The answer is: YOU SUCK.

Well one ad led me to SO. I almost didn’t meet with him, because he was insisting he talk to me over the phone first. I thought he was kind of creepy and manipulative. But I was bored and he advertised that he love to lick.

Hey! For once I found a guy who didn’t #######4 around. He was into exactly what he said and he was very gifted.

So for the next few months we were friends-with-benefits.

He had the smallest house you can imagine. The entryway was the kitchen, then a square of living room, a small bedroom, and bathroom with a standing shower.

This concludes Part 1

Today I've seen something utterly outrageous, and it's stirring up some horrible anxiety every time I think about it. It keeps rearing it's hideously ugly head and I really just want to unsee it more than anything else at this moment. It's about something this sick, repulsive freak said to someone I know over the internet. His ass belongs in a god damn prison cell where he can't do $#%^ to anyone. I just..... I'm not going on about it anymore.

In other news, I'm gonna be seeing tomorrow's solar eclipse I first learned about them when I was about 9 or 10, and I've wanted to see one ever since. If my memory is correct, we're expected to get 84% totality where I live. On April 8th of 2024, there'll be another that goes pretty much directly over us

Also, we're moving houses very soon. This new house has three bedrooms, so I don't have to sleep seven feet from my brother anymore I can close the door and know that nobody will come in without prior notice. You know, I don't really mind the fact that we live in a bit of a rundown shack right now. I'm not that ungrateful, I know there are hundreds of millions, hell, probably a couple billion people living in worse housing, if even anything. It's the privacy element more than anything else that I'm looking forward to.

Also, I've been reflecting on how many times I've already moved, or helped others in the family move houses. I think the first time was in 2006, when I was 9 years old, and we moved from an apartment complex to a house on the countryside. In prior years too early on in my life for me to remember or to help move furniture, I'd lived in several other homes. The first was a mobile home in a trailer park... great place to know was your first home (*sarcasm*), then my parents, because they were still married at the time, moved in with my grandmother on my mom's side, then they moved into a suburban home elsewhere, then they got divorced and my mom moved into that aforementioned apartment building. After the move in 2006, there was late 2010/new year's time of 2011 when we moved from there to a house back in town, while my brother and I also had to help my dad move into his childhood home as a temporary stay where my grandmother had recently moved out, temporary because it was only about 2 months or so before he moved to a new place and we, of course, had to help out again. It was my great-grandmother's former house (she died in 2009, or something like that), but it was in a pretty bad dumpy area, so he ended up moving again in 2013, this time into the place where my brother and I live now because my mom wouldn't quit trying to control our lives, acting like she was 100 percent undeniably correct about what's best for us, and she ended up booting us out. Then, in the summer of 2015, we helped my uncle move into a new place, and in the summer of 2016, my grandmother moved from the house directly across the street from where we live currently to my uncle's house that he'd moved into the prior year, so we, once more, got to move furniture. And now we're getting ready to do it again. And.... I think I've rambled enough

a couple weeks ago my most dearest grandmother fell very sick, and went to stay in the intensive care unit for the third or fourth time just this year. this time she couldn't make it, long story short.

i had plenty emotional experiences which i don't wish to share here because they belong to the socially acceptable part of losing someone. in sum, it was not so hard for me as i always thought. every time i've cried for the past years for real reasons (not fiction), it's been because of her. sometimes i missed her, sometimes i thought about her death. thinking about it made me desperate. but i was ok when it actually happened. i believe it hasn't hit me properly yet.

on the other side, if one takes a look at my first blog posts they'll be able to see she was one of the main reasons why i kept the abuse i suffered in secret for my whole life. after her death i felt a strange relief, as if a knot had been untied. i later came to the conclusion that i've built my whole life around keeping that secret from her and my mom to make them happy. i thought a lot about why she had to die now and i believe that it was because i was living one of the only moments when i could handle everything in a healthy way. i haven't had sex since then. i've had my compulsions - very strong, destructive compulsions - but it seems that my joie de vivre is finally back. i cut the dose of one of my meds to half without my doctor's advice and that made me feel much better, later he told me that it was ok to do that. i've been progressing personally and professionally and it finally seems like the world is my workshop again. she left exactly when i was at my best. i spent my whole life taking care of her without her knowing and in her death she took care of me...

i started writing this yesterday and fell asleep. i always write so late in the night and that happens often. today i dreamed that i was gonna have sex with this guy that didn't accept the fact that i didn't want him anymore, whom i discussed in a previous post. then i went to a public bathroom before and there was the cousin who abused me - my second dream depicting him - he was naked and we talked about the guy i was gonna have sex with. i'm pretty sure i knew he was dead. he was physically weird - he made these weird movements when peeing. afterwards i went to have sex with the guy and then all these people started to come in our room - it was going to be an orgy, i didn't know that before. i didn't want that, i loathed that possibility, but i accepted it. then an old art teacher who really liked me came in and scolded us and i was glad she did. i told her i didn't want to do that and she wasn't really mad at me. she told me she was traveling the world playing games and she had some very weird hair all over her body.

it turns out, i really do feel like every time i'm preparating to have sex it's an encounter with my past.

Lately I’ve been working on being more open about my problems.

I mention how I feel bad, not being able to make small talk. That I understand how it looks to people on the outside, that I’m just stuck-up, mean, or stupid. But I’m not; I simply can’t think of anything to say, and everything I do say I don’t find very interesting.

I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself. It never helps.

They look very uncomfortable. Their eyes widen in fear. Their mouths curl in disgust.

They play their old tunes, “Just relax and be yourself.” They laugh. “I can’t.” I reply, “Myself is quiet and doesn’t know how to talk. How can I meet new people and have them like me if I just stare at my hands?” “…….” Awkward shuffle away from me.

This new guy at work told me I’m like his daughter, never says a word. I told him I do feel bad and I admire people who can talk. “Yeah, it really sucks being with people who never say a word. Makes everything awkward. It’s like you can’t wait to get away from them.” That’s what he told me.

So when someone tells me how much everyone cares about me and would be hurt if I wasn’t around at least I have one person that was willing to be honest.