Tag Archives: breakups

On the Cusp

I went home Friday night because #72 fell asleep on the couch and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any action.  I was done.  It felt slightly liberating but sad and myriad other feelings.  I felt like I’ve given him so many chances and as amazing as he is, he had used them up.

On Saturday #72 called me while I was at the park with Dave.  Dave and I were at the park watching this amazingly large wedding party take family pictures.  I looked at all the people who were happy today, knowing that divorce, anger and lawyers were in their future.  Isn’t that for everyone?   

I told #72 I couldn’t do it anymore.  He thought I meant the falling asleep and I said no, the lack of sex.  (I never in A MILLION years thought I’d be saying that.  Not me.  I have a reputation.)  That I can’t wait anymore.  He asked me for another chance, the last one.  He wouldn’t expect anymore and that he knew what he had to do. 

“Hand jobs aren’t going to cut it.”

“I’ll let that slide.  No, I know what I need to do, give me a chance to make this right and take care of you the way you want.”

I think he understands that means taking a nose dive into my snatch while playing with my clit.  Anything less is going to not be enough.   But then, today, with a hangover, I know it’s not going to be enough.  If he had wanted to please me in that way, he would have done it by now.  It’s been two years.   There is no miraculous fix to this and I don’t want to pretend there is.

I’ve only broken up with one other person in my life and I didn’t really care about him.  AND I had Ex-Husband #1 giving me the best sex of my life.  Cumming non stop makes any dumping decision easier.  But right now, I don’t have any kind of Band-Aid.  I can’t use #20.  There has been so much damage in our relationship that even though we said we were going to start from scratch, it’s got failure written all over it.  That said, will #20 and I try again?  Maybe.  If he asks me to dinner, I’m going to go.  I don’t have to fuck him, we can just have a couple glasses of wine or something.  We can try to be friends first.  He likes to say we were always friends, but there was always that sex thing looming over our heads.  Maybe this time will be different.  He lives down the street from me.  #72 is a mile south, #20 a mile north.  Both are walking distance away. 

Moral of the story, maybe I should explore numbers who live East or West of me. 



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Fire and Water Don’t Mix

You know that old adage, play with fire, you get burned?  What if the fire is contained and patient?  What if you were going to end your relationship anyway and thought this would be a great rebound situation?    

I contacted #20, again.  That was final step that I am ready to leave #72.   For all his faults, #20 has always been there to pick up my pieces.  I know that even if he hasn’t seen me in over 2 years, he’ll think I’m hot and want to fuck me.  (who wouldn’t?) (oh right, #72).  Even with an extra 6 pounds I discovered at the doctor’s office (fuck those calibrated scales), it won’t matter.  #20 will think I’m hot.   

It’s been two years with #72 and I can no longer be in a sexless relationship.  As much as I care about him, I can’t be faithful to him.  But I’ve never cheated on anyone before and I don’t intend to now.  There will be a discussion that we’ve had many times before. 

I’m tired of it and want to move on.  He’s PERFECT in every other way, but after two years and cob webs it’s time to get some heavily missed pancakes.

The best way to break up with someone is to say you met someone else.  So I texted with #20 tonight.  And I got a glass of water splashed in my face, if not the whole pitcher.  He was the first person I called after Ex-Husband #1 and then again after Ex-Husband #2.   I was always his first call after making a relationship mistake.  So even though I’d judged him repeatedly, I realize now, it was unfair.  We are no better than the other.  All that blame and fire I sent his way was my own drama and tonight I paid for it.

Somehow, he found out about the blog and the book.  Was hurt (understandably) and told me to stop being a victim and blame everything on him.  Which was also valid.  So any hopes of fucking my way out of #72 with him were dashed, as was my mascara.  Suddenly I was devastated.    I hadn’t felt this kind of hurt since Ex-Husband #2.  This is why I’ve stayed with #72, so avoid crying and feeling.  To avoid someone really sticking you with a dagger because they’ve been equally hurt by you.

Tonight sucked ass and not even the caller who likes women to fart in his face and call him “a little sinker” cheered me up.  Hopefully this double pour of Johnny Walker Black will.  And if not, there’s always soma.

Moral of the story, even the best fart jokes can’t always make you laugh.

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