This was the first and only time that I actually didn't enjoy sex.
I may be a good sweet baby angel in my day-to-day life, but I'm also a girl who secretly almost constantly likes to get bad and freaky behind (semi)closed doors.
...but tonight was different.
Let's call him Ace. He's hot and I've slept with him before, and we've always had good times in bed (and on the couch, the floor, the chair..). But I met him when I was beginning my sex-volution many months ago after a bad break-up, and neither of us were looking for a committed thing, so I moved on and I'm sure he did too. We hooked up a few times and over time he's called and texted trying to allow visitation again, but I've said no the past couple of months. I've had other NSAships but he was a little different than the others--a little dirtier, a little grimier. Dirty can be good...but it can also leave you feeling disoriented, and in my case, soulfully empty.
Additionally, I've been falling for someone else since early summer. Someone that I could really give my all to, full body, full heart, full soul.
So I guess it shouldn't be a huge surprise that I burst into tears of guilt, and maybe a little shame, after he left with an arrogant smirk and wink. I then proceeded to trip down the stairs through my hot, self-loathing tears, which just added physical pain to the already metaphysical kind. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?
And thus begins my existential blogging journey.
Welcome to my life, Internetties.