Leveling The Playing Field

I work with this really cool woman.  We work in the same department.  She is fun and cute.  She is thin and has big boobs. I swear those women are the kindest.  Well maybe not,  Idk, it seems to me that way though.   She is never mean, never jealous, she doesn’t put me down, she doesn’t patronize me.

We eat lunch together sometimes.  We tell each other things.  She knows Ex.  she told me once when he puts me down he is trying to level the playing field.  I started to think about that.  I think there is something to that.  He feels insecure and jealous and that he would lose me.  He did.  I was coming from a place where I really didn’t understand sex.  I still might be.  Girl’s got issues.

I thought about that again after the push away, after intense trying to please Him.  That failed, that he is tired of dealing with me.  That I can’t convince Him that I want Him.  That I want to be close and love and be loved.   That he is too afraid of other men.  That he doesn’t feel like he can protect me for Him alone.    I sat there after he told me I was the cum soaked one and should get my own towel.   I felt intensely degraded.  I thought of Ex.  I thought of all the fucked up thngs Ex did, he would have never done that.

Ex.  loved our sex life, he appreciated the sex.  Him makes me feel unwanted, that my sexuality is really my slutuality.   It is proof that “You like men looking at you don’t you!”   Sometimes I do.  Sometimes I do. I like men, I like sex.  I like sharing and feeling close.  He is so focused on who has, will, thought about touching my jay-jay.  He does love me, I know that.  He loves my jokes, my weird way of looking at the world.

But after he pushed me off and told me to get the towel after I gave so much to him, I just sat there for a moment.  Then I laid back down and put my arm around him.  He ignored me, so I thought this is pathetic and went back to the couch.  I didn’t bother to get a towel and just let it dry on me.   I curled myself up as small as I could make me, my arms underneath my bent up legs.

I got all emo, I thought of Ex, maybe I am the one who turned him into an asshole.  Maybe any relationship I get in will be the same one.  “Oh I love you, you are amazing and wonderful” turns to “You are a fucking embarrassing slut”  It does occur to me that every relationship I have been in the very same qualities that he found attractive in the beginning are the ones that he hates in the end.

I thought, that is it, I am done.  I will not be degraded like that in my own home.  He is right, I do have options.   I don’t want options though, I want to be happy.  I felt like life was not worth living, because no matter what I would die alone, because I am incapable of being loved.  I thought of my love of poetry, I know, lame but still.

 

“Never shall a young man, 
Thrown into despair 
By those great honey-coloured 
Ramparts at your ear, 
Love you for yourself alone 
And not your yellow hair.” 

“But I can get a hair-dye 
And set such colour there, 
Brown, or black, or carrot, 
That young men in despair 
May love me for myself alone 
And not my yellow hair.” 

“I heard an old religious man 
But yesternight declare 
That he had found a text to prove 
That only God, my dear, 
Could love you for yourself alone 
And not your yellow hair.” 

Yeats

But after thinking about throwing myself off the bridge, hugging myself as closely as a person can, I noticed how soft my tits felt against my arms.  How comforting and like a teddy-bear.  I remembered all the times that people had told me to cut them off so I would have no worries.  I felt horrified.  Why should I cut them off?  I mean no offense to women who did or want to, but why should I cut away myself to try to make other people have manners?  It probably wouldn’t work anyway.  They don’t hurt my back, just lie people said.  It would hurt my heart too much to cut my comfort away to make others happy.

Then I thought, fuck it, and brought myself back from the pit of despair.  Fuck it, if Him loved me every minute of every day, if Him always said the right thing to me and never got jealous and mean and weird. I will still die alone because that is how we die.  I will die.

I thought of how I am doing well at work, I am doing well at a lot of things and happiness is not going to come to me from a relationship.  So I decided to get selfish.  To stop trying to please Him so much.   I am not going to cheat still, but I am going to become more selfish, to do what makes me feel good and let him take care of himself. I can’t make him feel secure, the harder I try the more he pushes me away.   I am not going to live my life as any mans punching bag.  I am going to throw myself more into work.  I am going to volunteer, I am going to go to a support group, which sounds like a horrible thing and maybe it will be, but I will take that chance.

Him can tell.  Weirdly, he is being a lot more considerate.  Him started opening doors again, thinking of me again.  I feel like I am turning into a man in a way, not a real man, but the kind they have on T.V.  selfish, work-obsessed asshole.   I guess this is how it happens.  I will not be degraded like that in my own home.  I will not.  I will not live my life like that.


Him

I spin myself around acting like I am a normal wife, with a normal marriage.  I have a new dress, do you think it is pretty?

His face clouds over.  I knew this would be a mistake.   The dress while modest in the neckline brings attention to the waist.   He tells me I am obnoxious.

He gets frustrated with my attempts to please him.  I open the vodka, I have just seen my mother which is always a mistake.   He doesn’t want to hear about it.  Don’t drink he asks.  I say I will just have a few and I just have a few.  He likes to cuddle so I have three drinks and cuddle.  I fall asleep.  I wake up after midnight.  I am alone on the couch.

I feel very lonely.  I go into the bedroom.   I strip.  I scratch him softly like he likes.  Like scratching the back kind.  I take his perfect dick in my mouth.  I straddle him, I press my tits into his thighs while he lies there.   He doesn’t move.   I suck so happily, so enthusiastically.   I stop because I want to feel him inside of me.   I climb on top.  I even do the champagne popping of putting him in my pussy.  You know push, push and then so easy.  He says nothing.  He lies there.  I pump away, I tell him how good he feels how perfect his dick is.

He puts his hands around my waist fully.  I am circled in full by his hands, his body doesn’t respond but he pushes me up and down on his cock about twelve times before he pulls me up forcefully altogether.   There is come all over me.  He sets me to the side.  He rolls over away from me.  Are you going to get a towel?  I ask.. He says “no”  I ask why not he says, “the cum is all over you not me”

There is more than one way to betray your spouse.


Better Than Expected

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I thought yesterday was going to be hard because I had to walk through a terrible neighborhood.  I planned my outfit carefully.  I think I have been backwards about the dressing thing.  Things seem to be worse when I try to hide under a sloppy look.  People still say things to me when I am dressed up but they are more respectful.  More along the lines of, “How are you doing”  with our without added leer factor. Or saying it in a way that is unmistakably sexual.

I was not going to go prancing around this neighborhood though, so put on a shirt, a sweatshirt, a jacket, baggy jeans and sneakers.

You sometimes know when something is going to happen.  Especially on those kind of streets where people hang out in groups on the sidewalk.   They will act like they don’t notice you approaching and then separate on either side of the sidewalk, so you are forced to walk through the middle for their maximum entertainment value.  I couldn’t put my ear buds in because I wanted to be able to hear.  I didn’t feel safe enough.

The first time it happened the group separated and as I passed one of the men lunged at me, but didn’t touch me, just jumped out like he was going to and was making comments I couldn’t quite understand but it sounded like he thought I should let him and his friends gang bang me.   I said quietly, “Stop it” and he did.   That was nice.

The second time the man was very big standing with an even bigger woman and some other people but I don’t remember them.  I just remember the dreaded making only one way for me to go, through them.  I wonder what would happen if I just walked into the street anyway to go around them.  I didn’t think of it.   I walked by and the man loudly said,  “Tits, oh nice tits, look at those perky tits” and the woman started laughing really loud.   I wanted to say, “That is unnecessary”  but the woman’ s laughter was more than I could bear.  As I passed then he said, “Oh and a perky little ass to go with it”  which people never comment on my ass, but you know, it figures after I say that, they do.  The woman seemed to think that was the funniest thing ever.

The good thing though was that night I didn’t feel the need to grab the blueberry vodka, or self-destruct in any of my other ways.  I was okay.  I just thought there is no reason for them to be so rude to me.  I didn’t do anything to them.  I didn’t have a shame attack.  That is a really big and positive step.


Girl, Where Is Your Ass?

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I know this one is hard to figure out.  That is me in the smallest size Forver21 carries, skinny jeans.  I think God was having some blueberry vodka when he made me and accidentally photo-shopped my ass out and put it on my top.   Another reason I don’t wear skinny-jeans. 


Inspiration comes from the Strangest Places

So last night I was watching  9 to 5 for the first time.   It was fun seeing all the old-timey office stuff.  But what really got me was Dolly Parton.  She plays a character called “Doralee”  she has a fucked up name like I do IRL, but mine is more British and hippie than hillbilly.

It is a comedy, but parts of it really got to me.  Especially because all I knew about Dolly Parton before I saw this movie was that she was an old woman that people make jokes about because of her tits.  I was horrified to look at her and think, she looks right-sized to me.  She looks normal to me.  Her ass looks a little big but other than that the real size of  a person.  She looks like me.  The joke of Dolly looks like me.

It also hurt me to see her sitting alone in the lunch room.  I hardly ever see the reality of life with tits reflected.  The isolation.  The realness of other women hating on you when you really want to be one of them.   When you really want friends.    I am not as sassy as Doralee.  I don’t have a gun in my purse, but after watching her think I will get one.   I saw the scene where the boss looks down at her cleavage and thought, “You should have known better than to wear a necklace”  Because I will not wear necklaces, because I am not going to a put a shiny bling  where people are looking anyway so they can tell me I was asking for it.

I got upset, I googled her measurements,  she is bigger than me except in the tittage, her hips are almost half a foot bigger than mine, her waist, her tits not.   That disturbed me.  I kept reading though.  She is no joke.  She is an awesome and wonderful person.  She is a philanthropist.   She is an incredibly talented artist. She grew up dirt poor and was an incredible success.  She is kind.   She may wear a blond afro, I may start doing that.

Still, I was blinded, her image is blinded by her tits.  I am converted, I am her new number one fan.  She helped pull me out of my funk.  I hereby promise that I will be a success story.   Skateboarder molester doesn’t win.

Oh I was so stupid about that.  I didn’t want to believe it.  It has happened before, worse than that.   But really I didn’t tell the whole truth about that because it upset me so.   It was bad.   I didn’t do that though.  I did not do that to another person, he did.  I am getting better.

Dolly is beautiful:

I didn’t know anything about country music before I learned about Dolly.  Except in the face she looks so much like me in that pic.  My face looks more like a blonde-blue-eyed, fair skinned Jennifer Love Hewitt.   That is what people tell me anyway.

I listen to this song and tears fall free and quick from my eyes, I feel really sad but I also feel hopeful.   I feel comforted.  I feel less alone.  I love her.  Dolly is the awesome.  She triumphed where I failed but she gives me hope.

 


They Only Want The Best For YOU

Problem is I just want more blueberry vodka

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But you know it is a bad thing when even the guy at the corner store says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”  and only reluctantly hands over the bottle.   I try to laugh it off.  “I am just so not thirsty” I say.   But my last few fatty-food fests are paying off.  I have put on a little bit.  File Cabinet man was very happy, he smiled and told me I look great and didn’t try to shove any frosting in my mouth. 

So tonight I had a real dinner made out of real food and not food flavored vodka.  I am going to take a bath and try to sleep.  I have trouble sleeping.  I hope not tonight. I do not have an eating disorder, I am not attracted to eating disorders.  I don’t even think super skinny is a good look.  Besides, I can never truly be skinny.  I am all roundy. 

Everyone knows something is up, my husband didn’t even want to hug me because it made him sad because there was “nothing there”  meaning my body.   They all think they want to help me and care about me, but they don’t really want to know.  They don’t.