How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
Optimism only gets me fucked over and hurt.
My whole life I have held the philosophy that everyone deserves my trust until they break it.
In my 43rd year on the planet, after getting fucked over in rapid succession I have realized, beyond all doubt, that is the wrong fucking answer.
Once upon a time I knew what it felt like to not be trusted.
But at the time I had earned that, I was an asshole. I cheated and stole and lied. I fucked other girl’s boyfriends, shop lifted and invented whatever stories I had to, to get out of whatever trouble I was in.
Then I stopped, and in time with good behavior and penance I was forgiven.
I earned that too.
I know what it is like to want that so bad it hurts, so I gave it freely.
But you lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
And I tolerate you
Intolerance ~ Tool
See also “I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave.” Sober
How many licks does it take to get to the center of this Pollyanna Tootsie Roll Pop heart of mine?
By my count about 10. 10 licks with a whip, 10 times being chewed up and spit out.
My center isn’t holding. I am actually flying apart without my candy coating.
The hits have been coming in rapid succession and I haven’t had time to regenerate.
I haven’t fed and I am not myself when I am hungry. But what if what I am eating is poison anyways?
“(Regarding) your love life card. Do these guys not know how invested you’re willing to be with them (guilty myself)” so asketh the Giant.
I don’t think they care, you didn’t, why should they?
I talked to him last night. He sent a thinly veiled invite to sit down over a glass of scotch and revoked it an hour or so later.
“One more thing that might set your mind at least a little at ease.
Not only am I not drinking for the bulk of February, I have also taken a temporary vow of chastity until month’s end.
So, you are safe as house, at either of our houses.”
I had said I was safe, I was on lockdown, I am celibate for February, I would double knot my baggiest sweatpants and still. Not enough.
“Once way too drunk, twice shy.
I was going to ask what body part of mine you found most tempting so I could cover it.
But I think it might be my mouth…”
He bailed a few messages later.
After he told me I wasn’t wrong about my mouth.
I was reminded of an article I wrote for him in the time called before…
I think “he only want me when I’m not there” (Beyoncé) and that really sucks.
I feel as though (and I could be wrong) my vow of chastity was met with black excitement instead of comfort.
It is flattering to think (and be told) that he couldn’t be in a room with me and not want me. I can still get him hard just by speaking. He made it clear that I am not some previously discarded sex toy, that I am someone with character that he has a vested interest in. So that was nice.
But, in the interest of moving forward…that was also goodbye.
All I want is Saturday night sex and scotch. Followed by Sunday morning pancakes and some forehead kisses by someone who says ‘that’s my girl’ when the occasion calls for it.
I want symbiosis.
I want the kind of friendship I have with Panda, and Mandy Panda. Those who call me out on my bullshit and also leave me alone sometimes. Those who I can tell anything to without judgement. They who support me regardless of my folly.
I want to feel protected akin to the ones I call Home and Habibi. Two men, a million miles away, that have the uncanny ability to make me feel safe when the situation calls for it. I can also tell them anything and they invariably do answer “that’s my girl”.
I want someone I can share music with, like the Giant. He also pushes my conversational aptitude into something to behold. And the sex, ya that, but with less intimidation, more of what it could have been had I not been afraid…so
Inhibition, pillow forts, lightning kisses and movies like Black 19.
Earn my trust.
And above all things, someone who stays.