Seems Vegeta is not suicidal, just socially retarded. He wanted back in. Not only did he want back in, but thought he had a chance of getting there without doing anything to win back my trust and respect. I tried to keep it light. I really did.
He is so ashamed of me that he backed down from the public meeting. He apparently thinks I’m stupid too because he’s claiming that he didn’t really dump me because we didn’t really have a relationship. No, he just dropped the thermonuclear older-non-Jew bomb and dropped out of contact for a year and a half because he wanted to see me again. LOL!
Thank you Roissy. Thank you from the bottom of my gravy smothered chicken fried heart.
Thank you. You have saved me from a fate worse than the wall: burnt out cougarhood.
Yesterday was Shai and my 12th anniversary. We went to the Bear Pub, and ate and drank well. The Bear is one of maybe only four places in the Carmel center where you can do both of those.
We did some reminiscing, and some talking. I’m sorry to say though, that I haven’t successfully convinced him to get his issues seen to.
The last time I was in a similar position, I was 25 years old. This time I’m almost 40. What makes it harder is that I’m not in any particular physical danger except maybe from myself. If I’m honest, that has to be the biggest problem at the moment. He’s just doing what is his nature to do. He’s a fetishist, and better yet, and older fetishist. From his point of view, he’s just matured to a level where he doesn’t feel he has to do things he doesn’t really like doing, especially when they involve risks that he is firmly against taking. He doesn’t like sexual intercourse, and is against taking the risk of possibly breeding.
So basically, there is no, or rather extremely limited room in his sexuality for someone like me. There’s room in his dungeon, but not in his pants.
I am so fucked.
I’m almost 40, and will never get love and sex from the same person ever again. Admitting that to myself almost makes me want to cry. What stops the tears is the realization that this is actually freedom. Now that I’ve accepted that fact, I no longer need to try to get both from the same person.
Personally, I don’t see a point in having sex with someone I don’t love, and who doesn’t love me. It feels necrophillic, and I can’t suspend disbelief enough during the actual sex act to convince myself that it feels good. Physically and mechanically, I’m there, but I would be lying if I said that sex with anyone except Cuz for the past 5 years has been even remotely truly satisfying. If I could make myself turn off my emotions up until the sex itself, all illusions were brutally crushed by the time any penetration happened.
Granted, this means that any of my former bitches who reads this will understand that I lied to them, but well, that would just make us even, now wouldn’t it? I never claimed moral superiority to them, just greater survival energy. I suppose now they’ll understand why none of them could really break me. I pretended to go along with their lies to me and to themselves for the same reason I don’t argue with my parents about religion. If they want to believe in Santa Claus, I’m happy to take the bite from the cookie, sip the milk, hide the presents until Christmas morning, and act as surprised and thrilled as they are.
So what’s next?
Well, anyone who’s read the Kama Sutra knows the answer. I gotta be real, and I gotta be me. Now that I understand what my life is going to be like, I’m not going to rail against reality. I’m going with the flow. At this point, I’ll view sex as something like an occasional antidepressant. For the next 10-15 years, once a year, I’ll seduce some dude who will at least appreciate it once. This will tide me over until I myself become physically uninterested in sex, and maybe beyond so long as the psychological urge is still there. It’s basically how I was for a year before I met my first husband, and that felt right.
At 21, I already understood that I lived in a screwed up world, and my chances of finding a guy who is an independent thinker was low, one who was attracted to me even lower, and one who wasn’t broken and would stick with me low like winning the lottery. My experiences between then and now kind of confused me into thinking maybe there might be some small chance. Now I understand that it’s just not going to happen for me, though I do encourage younger wolves to keep hunting because you never know.
For me personally though, the search is over. I am grateful for what I have. I have someone who is a good companion for me, and who I can talk to beyond the age my hormones stop nagging me. Truthfully, that’s what a marriage is supposed to be if you strip away the superficial and sexual issues: a bond with a person for life, not for sex. I’m wired so that I don’t really need sex for strong bonding. Once someone’s in my pack, that’s it. If I don’t see them for 20 years, I still have the same take-a-bullet love.
Beyond me and Shai, I have some great friends. I have enough love in my life. So sex is something more physically driven, and really kind of an annoying urge that I wish would go away, but it doesn’t. I have to keep it in perspective.
…and that’s that. I thank biomechanics and whatever Creator entity there may be for the lesson, and look forward to the next adventure.
I didn’t want to say much about it until things were stable, but I have some incredible news. Shai and I are now a couple again…a kinky one, but a couple. I have to get back on the pill for awhile because of it, but it’s a small price to pay. I only have a few years of fertility left anyway, and well, if I have a heart attack at 45, it’s okay because I’ll die happy.
Since I’ve been on the natural, nutrient dense diet, many things have changed. I’ve returned to my old self, I’m losing weight slowly but surely, and my attitude is solidifying into a consistent Big Mama-ness in accordance with my age.
So when the time came that I could deal with things I’d put on the backburner, I basically gave Shai a report of the things I learned “out there” in Israel. When we were deciding what to do about our relationship going platonic, I got some bad advice from him: find someone younger. I don’t think he understood his own uniqueness, or what was wrong with him or with me at the time.
Five years down the road, we understand now that he did go through a change, and it is normal, but that it didn’t mean what we thought it did. He’s had some time to think and figure himself out, so when I spoke to him about what I was going through, he told me what he was going through. Some of the factors that came into play then aren’t there now, so the main problem has been solved. Now we just have to iron out the details, like sleeping arrangements.
He lets the cats in his bed. I can’t have cats in the bed. So if I move back into his room, we have to keep the cats out of there. Each of our stuff has also spread out a bit, so even if I do sleep in his room, I’m keeping my room as an office and backup for when his subs visit.
I’m not rushing into things. I know how I am, and that it’s never easy for me to do any kind of back tracking. However, this is a special case since we’re not talking about someone who doesn’t love me or took me for granted. He’s just a formerly tired, retired cop who took awhile to get his life back. Apparently, the Bibi budget took a lot more out of him than he realized. Because things did get worse, he realizes now that he escaped just in time.
We still have some work to do about getting us back in sync, but now he’s much more open to what it’ll take on his end. Part of that came with realizing the toll experiences with other people can take on one’s sexual development. In order to have relationships, we often have to rearrange our priorities in ways that are, for us, a bit twisted. We have to learn to separate sex from love even though sex is an expression of love. We have to learn to not express love towards people who don’t or can’t reciprocate because those people don’t love, just find people useful and attach for practical reasons. We have to wear masks and chop our behavioral profile into little pieces, but since we can’t do the same internally, it eats at us. It’s like walking around with one hand tied behind your back. You get used to it, and that hand atrophies.
Our sexual relationship short circuited mainly because we were both fragmented. Now we’re in the process of defragmentation.
The day before yesterday, we got two new kittens. Their owner abandoned them at the pet supply store across the street. They’re only about a month old, maybe less, and barely eating solid food. They’re doing pretty well though, after only a couple of days of food and loving.
