28th January 2012
How do you break off from something that can, at the same time, destroy you and build you up? I still don’t know what to do with the Bloke. He’s in and out and in again, and I can’t really face up to him anymore.
Perhaps I’m making more of this than I should. Perhaps I’m unconsciously in love with him and can’t recognize the signs. It kills me that I can’t write about this on the blog, because although I just can’t deal with it anymore, I’m afraid to cut him out of my life.
Because I’ve never been more excited and terrified at the same time. I could fall in love with him, and I know I can’t because he told me it could never be more than just friends.
I don’t know what I’m feeling.
But at this point, I’m feeling rubbish and I want to go to bed. But I can’t. I sit in front of my computer, refreshing my inbox until that one message comes. The one I’ve been waiting for.
He’s always unexpected. I was doing quite fine tonight until I saw a tweet of his. I knew that a mail was imminent. It’s always unexpected, catches me completely off-guard.
When we’re back-and-forwarding , it’s actually quite fun. He could be such a good mate, if it weren’t for the enormous sexual tension. Or at least, that’s what I feel. I don’t know about him.
Am I just really selfish? Am I really just keeping in touch because I’m slightly addicted to watching him masturbate over the webcam?
Or am I developing actual feelings for him?
If that’s what it is, love can go fuck itself with a giant, spiky dildo. I’m done with it.
In trying to make sense of the relationship I have with him, I come out feeling even more confused than going in. It was so much fun when it first started.
I remember seeing his message, smiling.
Seeing the pics on his website, being mildly amused by them being of his dick.
And then e-mailing him.
Somewhere along the line, I got obsessive. When we made the date for our first meeting, I was scared and excited and incredibly aroused at the prospect of having him near me.
When I saw him on cam that first time, I couldn’t believe he was real. He was there, naked and hot and breathing.
And I wanted that. I wanted it to happen.
As the minutes ticked past on the night we were supposed to meet, I felt so many things at the same time. Mostly terrified. And then peeved. And then angry.
And then I cried.
I still remember the bloke who came to check up on me where I was sitting. I didn’t want to cry in front of him.
But I cried.
And I shook it off.
When I came home and finally had access to my inbox, he had left a message. Said he had an emergency, if he could come Saturday morning. And I missed it. I still think I’m the biggest twit for not acting on my instinct and asking access to a computer.
I told him what I felt. He took a month to reply, and I thought he had forgotten me. Maybe it would have been better.
But he came back. And we’ve been making up ever since. I suggested we’d be friends with benefits. Which is logistically impossible for me, but I really didn’t want him out of my life.
Again, it pains me that I can’t be open about this. I just want it to be gone and done with (what I’m feeling) , so I can get on with my life and we can be friends.
Sometimes I feel like giving up. Closing all e-mail accounts and Twitter and the blog and just disappear. But that would be not dealing with this.
I’ve got courage in bundles. I can probably talk you under a table and then go home and write a story about it.
But somehow, I’ve got neither the courage nor the words.
I don’t want him out of my life. Or at least, I think that’s it. Maybe I really am just addicted to the movements his hand make when he’s jerking his cock. Or his voice when he tells me to show him my pussy.
I can’t explain it in any other way. He’s like an addiction. I crave the hit and I crave the high I get from him. I’ve never felt so wanted in my entire life. I’ve never shown another man my naked body without having an ounce of shame.
I don’t know whether we’ll ever meet and make due on what we’ve been saying to each other. I don’t know if I want it to happen. Stupidly enough, I’ve made myself scared of sex. And it’s a pain to be scared about the one thing you love talking about the most.
Living with the constant anxiety that he’ll forget me, or reject me is nothing short of horrid. I know I should man up. I know I’m stronger than this. But I can’t help being weak for him.
Even as I sit here, writing this epistle of a confession, I don’t know whether I have the balls to own up to it, tell him about it and post it on the blog. I’m scared of the reactions.
I don’t want pity. I just want this to be out of my system, because I’ve been bottling this up for far too long and it aches.
It’s funny how even the strongest woman can be reduced to a weeping heap of utter shit by the first man that looks her way. I don’t want to be that weeping heap.
But I don’t understand how I can’t cope with this. It’s true. The simple way out doesn’t exist. There is only hard, harder and impossible. But nothing really is impossible.
You can only keep trying harder.
So there you have it dear reader, the first ever piece published on Anonymous @ Molly’s Daily Kiss and now it is you turn. Do you have some words of wisdom for the writer, what do you think they should do? Tell the person how they feel? Break it off and be done with it? Or maybe you have another suggestion? Which ever it is leave a comment in the box below, Anonymous is waiting to hear from you…
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