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.