New Love.... Allowing the Heart to Move and Flow

He picked me up from work last night, late, at 10pm when I was stranded because I locked myself in a parking garage. He’s sweet, he’s full of light and insightful offerings. He’s a wild and dangerous animal too. He "shows up", he answers his calls when I need him too. There’s no sticky manipulation. There’s no ‘goo goo gaga’ feeling…he’s just real, deep, genuine and true.

We get to my house and cuddle on the couch as I eat a midnight snack. I sink into his strong chest and arms and his heart is radiating around me, I feel safe and loved. I haven’t felt this radiant heart love feeling since the last dude face I don’t want to mention right now.

We go up to my bedroom and he averts his eyes so I can slip into some lingerie and surprise him….I choose a little lacey black underwear and a black lace nighty that cuts off right under my butt cheeks…

I model it for him before jumping into bed, a bed that we have slept together in before. But tonight was different, it was deep, connective, emotional, heart-felt. He felt my tenderness, and my vulnerability, and my heart’s calling for Love. And my heart’s mourning for lost love…and he just holds me and fills me up… I think I just want to cuddle, to keep it safe, I don’t know if my pussy is up to opening to him tonight. But he found his way in…through the blissful sinking into one another, it felt as though our energy bodies became linked, and then we were just in this seamless flow together…like a love scene form the movies, our bodies mimicking the entwinement of our tongues, we only stop for air to look into each other’s eyes.

He doesn’t use a nickname for me, he calls me by my real name, which beckons forth my full power, he’s really asking for all me to come into presence.

“Lauren, I want to make Love to you Tonight.”

“I know.” And I did know. I could feel his heart’s asking to melt into mine, that this was different than fucking, that we wanted to enter all of me, feel all of me, that he could encompass that.

He warmed my pussy up with seductive caresses, touches, holds, licking the edges of my underwear. My body is electrocuted with energy, I’m rejoicing in my yes to connect with this man that so playfully loves me, my body, my pussy, my soul. We’ve had galactic sex in the past, but we haven’t quite melded our hearts together. My heart was especially open, and his was radiating. He could feel me melting beneath him. He straps on a rubber, and lingers at my entrance. My favorite thing about sex is rubbing cock on the outside of my pussy, the tease, right at the entrance, not quite inside of me, asking for my pussy to open. You could make me come with just the desire for his cock. He pulsates here longer than usual, really waiting for my invitation for him to enter me. Then he makes his moves….the tip pushes in. I close my eyes in exuberant pleasure; it feels like a rainbow is penetrating my body, filling me up, flashing my soul with his. We meld together…. he just rides this sweet edge of my quivering pussy, filling me to the brim, rocking side my side as if we were on a canoe, just rocking the boat gently. I could come at any moment….and so could he….

He pulls out for a break because the energy it too intense. He runs downstairs to empty his bladder. By the time he comes back, I am half asleep, not sure If I can be disturbed by another go at our love session….

“We could just wait until the morning and just build this energy all night long”

He ponders the idea.

“I had to stop earlier because I was about to come.”

“So was I.”

Then my pussy gest a flush of heat and dampness, it beckons his pressure and heat back inside me. He hears the call for him to enter me. He pushes his cock inside me from an awkward side angle, which just makes my pussy squeeze him tightly….

“You feel like a virgin pussy right now, Lauren. You feel like a virgin.”

I laugh because I am so far from a virgin…but the fantasy goes into my head, of the newness that this cock is offering me. Of the weight. Of the inquisition of his pulsating pleasure inside the conquest of my wet flesh. I welcome it; my juices flood.

He pulsates faster now, harder, penetrating my depths to a delicious rhythm. I tell him I’m blacking out with pleasure, that it’s so overwhelming, I can hardly hold on.

He wants me to come with him, he works me to a nice edge and I signal when I’m coming, and he shoots is hot liquid in harmony with the contractions from my orgasm….it’s always a trip for me, the orgasm; the height of it, then the potential low feeling afterwards. I know things, secrets about my body that when done properly, like if a man is properly working my G spot, that I can come for minutes on end. I won’t stop coming….

But we don’t quite get there. He bangs me until the wave is over….and pulls out, we rest in each others arms.

“You’re really beautiful Lauren, you know that. Inside, as much as outside. You’re a beautiful soul.”

Words I needed to hear on a night that I wanted to be with my “true love” who just isn’t able to be in my life. I’m letting go of this feeling of any old attachment to D, these old feelings that don’t serve me anymore.

I welcome this new feeling of love, it’s innocence, it’s sincerity. A new connection has been made…his name is Mikael. 

My Heart Doesn't Know How to Stop Loving

I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. We would make plans, and he would easily break them, he says he was avoiding me to protect me from the chaos of his life. Either way, I hate being toyed with, I hate feeling like a yo-yo jerked around by his moods, by him not being able to make a decision to see me or not, by him telling me only a partial truth.

The last time we saw each other I stole his ring of the Ram off his finger and kept it for weeks. I still have his scarf back from July, which he demanded back when he was drunk, but I wouldn’t give to him. I know when he requests his scarf back,  that it’s really over. 

The last straw was him telling me he was coming to San Francisco to come see me, that he was looking into plane tickets, and then when 8pm Saturday night rolled around, he’s still in LA, driving around with his friends going into another supposed meeting with his producers. I was just so over it….over “the yes, no, maybe so…”

I sent him a loving yet firm text that I was done. I need a man of his word, that informs me when he needs to cancel on me,  at the very least. I wanted to give him space and time to process his break-up of seven years. Fools rush in; and him and I rushed into love back in June. And now we are both suffering the consequence of rushing love while the other relationship was still existent. I thought she would be able to disappear much quicker. But now that it is mid-November, I laughed. I laughed at how much suffering I endured over this time, but also how funny it is when it is all over. It seems so simple now, like no time had past, like the pain never really happened. But I know I am deeply changed by this whole experience. My capacity to love has grown as large as this earth. Sometimes I feel like my heart chakra has expanded exponentially wide and I am somehow able to encompass it all and RADICALLY LOVE…love even when I don’t think it’s right, or he’s right, or what he’s doing is right. Love unconditionally. I continued to love him; despite the fact that I knew I needed to give him space this week.

Well the “space” lasted for a week. Yup that’s about as long as I can last without texting him, without talking to him. I can’t just say, “go away” after all we’ve been through and expect those words to hold. Our magic is too intense, our love runs like a deep mysterious river, the current carrying us forward despite our bodies trying to hold onto the banks and denying this love. I can’t deny it. I also don’t have to perpetuate it. For me right now, it just IS.

 It doesn’t mean that he’s not everywhere in my psyche. I thought I spotted him on my way to yoga on Saturday. I texted him;

“D going to yoga?”

It was just his impersonator. I get out of yoga with the text,

“I want my ring back.”, he requests. I know what it’s like to loose something that becomes a part of your identity.

“I don’t know where it is.” I have had dreams of returning his ring and his scarf, hanging it on his door as a memento of the past. Of giving it all back. As if I could.

I honestly misplaced the ring.

“You slut, you lost it while you were fisting someone in San Francisco, and it’s still in her pussy.”

“I wish.”

A day later I find the ring, and I tell him I will return the ring and the scarf. Let him feel like himself for a while, to wear his own skin without any women around.

So he calls me Sunday night upon my return from San Francisco and says

“I need to speak with you. In person. I need to tell you something.”

It sounded like he needed to go to Catholic Church inside a confessional and admit his sins. His voice was tense and remorseful, like he knew what he had done wrong, that he had hit his wall. That he was done manipulating the world around him. He just wanted peace, quiet, for the storm waters to settle, to simply inhale and exhale without being persecuted.

“I haven’t slept since she left.”

Insomnia has come over his world, and one would think I would be rejoicing in the words that she had FINALLY left. I kind of feel indifferent at the moment. I’m weary of letting him back in my life. I’m somehow happy that he’s suffered along with us, that it finally hit him; The Dragon is Gone, and he has to repair the broken pieces of his life.

I suppose that is the first necessary step in opening a new door is closing the last one. He closed a door. She flew back to Italy. His body is finally feeling the shock of his partner of 7 years no longer being there when he got home, no matter how much they tortured one another. That was his deepest love.  He’s scared to start something with me, mostly because he’s scared he will fuck it up and hurt me. 

So we make plans to see each other on Monday at 1pm for lunch. He shows up at my house at 12:42, 20 minutes early and I am still in my workout clothes about to jump in the shower. I get in the shower, nervous that I haven’t seen him in three weeks and I’m not going to be as polished as I wanted to be for him. He loves my aesthetic, and I can tell when I wear something he doesn’t like.  I tell him to come in when I’m naked and brushing my teeth. I peak my head out the door, he tip toes past me, nervous and coy, and perhaps being respectful of my girl space.

“Hello???” I say wondering if I can see his face. He shows it for a moment, I see his tired eyes, and he keeps walking and sits in my bedroom in his favorite chair. He hasn’t laid in my bed since our last night together on July 4^th.

I come out from the bathroom in a towel, and briefly say hi to him. I want to get closer than he’ll let me, and he pushes me away. He’s still afraid of intimacy, he’s kissed me once since September, and he was drunk and playing games that night.  I have no idea how a man can have so much will power as to resist my embrace, my kiss and my love. As fucked up as this man is, I respect him for not using me sexually through all of this, for not sleeping with me, for not reverting to sexual tactics. Most men meet me and reach their hand down my panties and think somehow that is intimacy. It’s not…I see it as weak and childish. D does not touch my pussy to turn me on. He turns me on with his energy; I’m turned on the second I see him. He turns me on with his words, his mannerisms, his laugh, his eyes, his heartbeat. He makes me wet with his presence. He melts me completely without even touching me. It’s a joyful feeling, but sometimes I think it’s unfair because I don’t think I have the same effect on him.

I enter my bedroom from my shower and get dressed. Facing my closet I drop my towel and he can see my bare ass. I’m not sure if he looks, and if he does, he doesn’t look for very long. He’s not here for that. He’s here to share his heart. I get dressed in tight snakeskin jeans, a bra and a black ruffle shirt. I lay on my bed while he sits in my chair and talks. He talks for an hour, saying everything he needs to say. I know he is truly remorseful because he is not making me speak. He is not asking me what I want like he has in the past. He is spilling it all. At the end of it, he says, “I have told you everything.”

I respond, “No you haven’t.”

“You haven’t told me that you love me.”

“But you know that I love you. I don’t need to say it.”

He’s right, I do know.

Before we leave my bedroom, the moment arrives that I have had so many dreams about; returning his scarf and his ring. It is not a smooth ceremony, but carries much importance.  I take the ring off the scarf and return it to his hand.

“Keep the scarf.”

I was really ready to give it back to this man, but I am happy to keep it; a memento at the very least that our love meant something; and somehow still does. I take the scarf and wrap it around his neck and make sure his pheromones and the smell of his potent cologne returns to the scarf; otherwise it is just a piece of fabric. This tiny piece of cloth that has tortured me since I departed in July for my first trip to New York is still hanging on for dear life like the Velveteen Rabbit who gets tattered from it’s years of use and love. I want to love this scarf until it becomes tattered with my joy; he is much like the Velveteen Rabbit; loved my many, but tortured and lonely on the inside. I wear the scarf to out to lunch.

We go to lunch, I can tell he’s a bit weak and distracted, but we entertain each other so. He sits under a giant bunny advertisement for a new movie in Hollywood. We smile at the synchronicity since I call him bunny.  He picks at his food, his appetite is also gone.

I scarf mine down because I enjoyed a run in the hills this morning; my belly is often ravenous at meal times. We leave and head back up to the hills where my fairy palace lies. We sit in his car for a while, I never want to say good-bye and linger in our conversation. He’s trying to drill into my mind that he cannot give me what I want. He’s telling me to not want anything from him. He’s telling me to kill the fairy tale story of any kind of future with him inside my head. My mind has stopped thinking of a future with him. I had to kill the story in order to see him who he really was in the moment. And I keep just falling deeper and deeper in love with him. His words are saying one thing; don’t invest in me. And his heart is saying the complete opposite. Just the intonations of his lips bound my heart with his. “Don’t” says his lips, but his soul says “Yes.” I am giddy filled with his love, at least for this moment, knowing that it may not last beyond this day.

“If you were me, what would you do? Would you let this all go? What is the wisest thing to do? Am I foolish for loving you?”

“No! It is foolish to not love. That is foolish. It is foolish to kill love. You are not foolish. Keep loving.”

I settle for that as my answer. To keep loving, for my heart doesn’t know how to stop.

The Return of the King? Or is he just a Coward?

I land in NY Saturday night, after a long day and night of no sleep, I’m disheveled, confused, and nervous about my trip here on the East Coast. I’m taking a big leap and risk financially, but it will pay off if all goes as planned.

I text him, because my heart told me to. The bonds of our connection aren’t severed yet.

“I landed safely in NY, with a strange sense of anxiety. Wish me luck.”

He replies quickly which is rare;

“Keep my scarf with you, it will protect you.”

I know this mean he is still with me, his heart hovering around mine.

“I have it in my bondage bag, but it doesn’t smell like bunny sauce anymore.”

“Well in that case, it will not only protect you, it will bless you,”

he confirms the diligence in his love.

“I hate you.” He professes.

“I know.’ I reply, careful not to say I hate you back.

“I love you. Slut. I miss you.”

I walk these New York streets, just floating in a sea of people; I’m mostly going unnoticed, because I’m really not trying to stand out. I’m hallowed by his love, I feel like I can feel everything pass through me. His heart has burned an imprint inside my carcass. I could cry at any moment, and sometimes I do.

We text again last night, I send him a video of me dancing in the Atlantic right after he kissed me good bye and sent me off with his scarf, full of his sent of Christian Dior. I explain that this is how his scarf lost it’s scent; it got wet in the ocean.

We text back and forth, he’s in a good mood and so am I. He misses me, he confesses multiple times. I never say the words back, but I’m sure he knows I miss him too. My memory goes back to when we were at the bondage ball together and I flogged him in his pink designer boxers. I want to see them on him again. I tell him to take a picture of his pink panties and send it to me, or I’ll train him like my bitch.

He’s very shocked by my request and thinks that I’m calling him gay, and he doesn’t realize the picture of him in his pink underwear would genuinely turn me on.

“Dog bitch slut or picture of you in your pink panties. You choose.”

“Dog bitch slut” he decides his fate.

“Come D, come! Now sit! Stay. Now lay down, and lick my….”

“Wow.”

“I’ll give you treats and make you sleep in the dog house. Now go to bed.” I demand

“K”

“K what? That is not a proper answer.”

“Dog bitch slut it is! Yes Madam Mistress I will go to bed in the dog house.”

And then somehow we go on a tangent of unicorn sex. I laugh and giggle, my soul no longer lonely from being in this far away city by myself, in an apartment that’s not mine. The joy fills my soul and I go to sleep with a smile on my face.

The last thing he says to me is.

“Haha you are the best and the worst thing that has every happened to me.”

Sept. 28^th, NYC

I awoke to the sound of rain outside, and to images of him playing in my mind.

We were up late texting last night, me telling him to come and fly to New York; and he is; next weekend, after I leave. He has work meetings with his producers, and I myself need to be home for a photo shoot. So we will be just missing each other by a hair. As much as I would like to spend time with him in NYC, to capture more movie-scene images of him in my mind, I also like the thought of him missing me all week long, vying for me as I have vied for him all this time.

He tends to let romance get ahead of him, his emotions to stear his ship, and now he’s letting his heart hang in the middle of the room so I can inspect it’s beating flesh, and how strongly it is beating for me.

“HAHA stop it. Dom is Yours.”

He’s talking about Altars, Chapels, Marriage, all of these silly things since his ex-girlfriend is still living at home. Perhaps I squash his hope just a little bit because he can’t say these romantic things to me while he is still tied to another.

“Why do you miss me,?” I ponder I want to hear it in his words

“WHY??? Because haha is a part of me,  haha is my God. You know why I miss you.”

In his mind he is having images of marrying me at Burning man.. of course. We probably wouldn’t get married any other place.

“I don’t believe in marriage, the only constant is change. And you really want to marry? You’ve never said that before.”

“Oh my god. I love you.”

“Dom the submissive. I know our fate. The cards already told me. The Oracle,” I entertain his idea of our everlasting love.

“Who is the Oracle? Where is she? Oh on your end you get it.”

I can smell him, feel him from 1500 miles away as I write these words. But I also burst his bubble and tell him, 

“How can you tell me these words if your Dragon is still at home? You can’t be with me until she is out of your life."

 Despite how amazing it has been with him, it has also been very painful, I have had a lot of ups and downs with him. Many broken pieces of my heart to recover. Perhaps he was too busy picking up pieces of his last relationship to deal with his feelings with me.

“Haha why are you doing this?”

He only wants me to be the revealer of love, of beauty, not painful truth. He doesn’t want me to bring up the difficulty of the situation.

“Because somebody has to tell the truth.”

I tell him good night, that I will dream of him, to wish me goodnight.

“I love you I love you Fuck you I love you.”

With Vigor and Passion I fall asleep and dream of him. Once again he fills my consciousness, even the spaces in between my waking states.

My heart is open to his love. But inside I am weary and untrusting of his words.

Los Angeles, October 6th

I arrive back to LA from two weeks of travel and work on the road and I'm worn out, on the verge of being sick, my heart is trembling and fragile and I need to be held!

I text Him when I land at 2:00pm

"Your kitten landed."

No reply.

"Um...do you care???"

No reply.

I get picked up by another boy, and dropped to my beachwood canyon paradise where in quickly shower off the travel stench and put my tennis shoes and ground myself in this place that feels new even though it's home. It's still hot and sunny, 4:30 in the afternoon and I hit the road that leads to the dirt trails. I run, I sweat, and it takes every ounce in my being to try to burn off the raging and pitiful desire for him. I try not to cry, I try not to think of Him. I try to just stay present, one foot in front of the other and breathe and sweat as I run up hill

Listening to my iPod... Trying so hard to forget about Him.

I get back to my house and decide to go to yoga. Get the keys to my car and start to drive down the hill. Ever since that fateful day In July when he broke it off with me the first time, I looked at every black Land Rover and my heart would skip a beat and look inside to see if, by chance he was in it. It never was.

Except for today.

I drive down and on the othe side of the street I see a black Range Rover approaching, and my heart does what it always does; it hope that it's him inside.

And this time he speeds past me in his black leather rockin out to some tunes and driving too fast to see me. He just had his eye on the goal, not the side of the road. I honk, then turn around after he doesn't see me. I chase behind him up the winding beachwood hills, all the while getting more and more nervous, my heart beating out of my chest. This man that I hate and love, adore and abhore , worship and condemn has come to my doorstep to see my face. Because he loves me and misses me, and I guess cares enough to drive an hour to see me right now.

I get out of the car and scare him. I say "what the fuck are you doing here"

 and approach him as if I was fending off a predator. I refuse to be his prey I push and shove him, a wrestler without a ring, and he runs away and doesn't put up a fight. He's in a soft mood, I am not. I'd rather fight this man who has stolen my heart and played it like a disposable instrument. He breaks up with me one day and then the next texting me that he was an idiot for letting me go. I think he really does just want to be friends with me, have a non-sexual relationship... But our hearts  are all

Intertwined and it's too late now to go back to being just friends....

We wrestle, I growl then I purr and meow meow... He wants me to look him in the eyes but I can't and he's holding me from behind and I'm avoiding his gaze...

"Haha speak to me. You send me sexy I text message but you can't say anything in person? Why so shy Haha? Speak to me."

"No." I growl instead.

We end up on the roof of my house, overlooking the canyon underneath the Hollywood sign and we are relaxed. He says he's here, that I can let go finally. I don't believe him, I tell him I don't trust him. 

We talk for hours and admire the mystical pink, orange and purples of the sunset. God is putting on a show for us, and our souls ignite with the sky. 

Part of me wants to believe that he's REALLY here; he drove an hour from his meetings from Long Beach to see my face, but I know it won't be long before he leaves again.

PHOTO SHOOT DAY!

I do one photo set without him there, and it’s brilliant; the lighting, the mood, the setting of the Southern California Trees shining through the windows. He disrupts my flow, my ease, and  texts, “What’s the address slut, I’m coming.” I’m elated and full of fear at the same time. He always makes me on edge.

Showing up in person is his way of "showing up" for me, of showing that he cares. I don’t really want him to be here, oddly, because he makes me nervous and his watchful eye is like a combination of a hawk, my father, and my lover in which I so desperately want to please. He doesn’t miss a single detail, and is always seeing things that I miss. A hawk never misses a chance to feed on his prey, and even though he arrives restless, his heart beating out of his chest, maybe he’s strung out, maybe he’s on drugs. I will never know.

I’m finishing my hair and make up for the second shoot and Carmen arrives right before him. She’s his perfect body ideal; slim waste, big tits, nice little ass and proportionate thighs. I always feel like I have an odd body type for a woman; very boxy upper chest, an A cup which doesn’t’ match my wide hips and thighs. My belly is always pudgy, so I stop dieting and exercising so much cuz I just don’t care anymore to try to be perfect. I’m always going to have a layer of fat even though in my mind I can see my body as this cut, lean and chiseled shape; a six pack…but I cant work out two hours a day to achieve this look.

I place him on the chair, I’m the one trying to calm him down. I’m two drinks in, a few margaritas to calm my nerves. I don’t really care on one end and yet I care so much.

So Carmen shoots before me, and the boy’s eyes are glued to her fabulous chest, her fetish wear rubbing him just right. His groins are pulsating towards her and I know it. He’s not paying the same attention to me and that makes me even more nervous and insecure about my not perfect A body. I’m shaking. I want to puke. I push him out the door when it’s my turn to shoot because I’m not perfect and I feel like all he can see is my imperfections. I can’t take it.

“D you have to go outside. Go take a walk, I’ll call you in when I’m not so nervous.”

He steps out, and doesn’t want to make me nervous. Ok.

I start shooting on the bed, and Carmen joins, and warms up my ass by giving me a few spankings. We do a few shots together, of me biting the flogger and leaning over and being her bitch. I pull D back in, thinking he should see this kinky scene, I’m trying to be ok with the fact that she’s hotter than me…ergggg….

I start shooting, and he’s sitting in a chair, gazing through the door. I close the door on him when I don’t want to see then allow him to peek when I feel more comfortable. He keeps up with the shoot, and I take a moment in the bathroom mirror to fix my hair, gazing at myself…his eye catches the beauty and pulls the photographer into this scene; I arch my back accentuating my booty and play with my hair, and grab some good peed-a-boo shots in the mirror. I’m much more comfortable here than I am on the bed, and happy for him to be directing the shots a bit.

“Haha, next time you need to shoot with me. If you were shooting with me, I’d be turning on the shower, making steam and shooting you in that…”

I can tell his mind is going wild, that his mind is dirtier than anyone else’s here, that his imagination is making up dirty play scenes… I do want to shoot with him….I believe in his weird fucked-up genius.

I’m playing in the bathroom with Carmen, then he comes in and says “I have to go, I’m leaving.”

My heart drops. I have this Santa Monica suite rented, a nice serene get away, a romantic spot to be with your lover who says “he’s yours.” But somehow he’s still not. Not only does he have to go “home”, but he has to go home to his life which is waiting for him there, at his house; a seven year relationship that even though they have parted, she expects him to return home. He doesn’t have the balls to start a new life with me. My assumption is that he would be castrated if he stayed in this hotel with me.

“I’m tired, I’m really tired. I want to sleep in my bed,” a lays on a good excuse to leave me by myself in a $500 a night hotel suite.

My inner little girl sees this big fluffy bed, my endless will that I extend to him to make him comfortable; why can’t he sleep here, with me? We can just snuggle, we don’t’ have to play.

I tackle him in the bathroom, and pin him down on the bed. He hates it when I’m above him it makes him uncomfortable. We start processing on the bed and I pull him in and tackle him, demanding some kind of answer. He thinks he can just prance in and out of my life and I feel like a fucking yo-yo that just has to deal with his ebb and flow. He’s so real in his love, he demands that I believe that it’s all real, but it’s moments like this that I doubt everything. I want to destroy it all. I want to not give a fuck even though deep down I do.

He pushes me off of him and picks up the flogger we were shooting with earlier; he starts flogging my back, through the black corset, he’s hitting me hard so that the physical pain relieves the emotional pain he’s inflicting. It stings and I am happy.

“Hit me harder, right here,” I point to my upper back. His sadistic side is happy to please, and his face changes while he hits me. He’s taking pleasure in the sting and reaction of my body. I turn over and he hits the front of my body.

I start to doubt it all, and I tell him of my jealousy that came up around Carmen, her body and how much he likes her body. He’s upset that I’m even triggered by my insecurity, by his admiration of fake tits…

“Haha I love you for what really matters. I’ve worshiped you since day one. You know this. How can you even question this?”

He’s upset. There’s something in his blood that is true, that I can depend on, that I want to believe, he’s so convincing. His tender side is shown, but he’s still going home, to her, to his old life that he’s still responsible for. But he’s never really been a fan of sleeping next to me, in someone else’s bed. He wouldn’t even sleep next to me at Burningman…he left so early in the morning. Then later regretted not going with me, getting pictures with me. There’s a tender part of his soul that loves me, that wants to show up, and I think there’s a part of his head that is broken, that tells him to go away, to save me from his insanity. I want it. I want all of it. I want to fight in the trenches and the light with him. But I can no longer be his halfway house between his old life and his new potential. I deserve my King, not a coward who won’t stand up for his Love, for the one he Desires. I’m fucking over the back and forth. I told him to not fuck with my heart, and he’s done nothing but.

We step outside to have a cigarette and one last word. It’s just getting more and more tense between us, something that rarely happens and I really don’t like.

“I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do Dom. Just go!”

He turns, upset and shaken by my words and walks away and doesn’t look back. I get a phone call and answer it and turn away from him.

After the photographer leaves and I’m all alone in this suite that I rented which I have all to myself; I’ve never paid for a nicer hotel for myself, I can’t stand the fact that I will be here alone. I am enraged by I refuse to submit to the sadness of him. Thankfully my girlfriend shows up with a care bag of things I need for the next day, and can hold me as I scream bloody murder. I want to punch things…and I’m laughing because what more can I expect from this man??? Like really.

She comforts me and tells me of a story about how she did a similar thing for one of her ex-boyfriend, which went completely unappreciated and unacknowledged for. She spent the night in tears. I refuse to cry anymore for this man.

My super hero friend, always dressed in tight black clothes, which hug her fading model body which always seems to be shrinking, but has the personality to fill the entire room has the perfect idea to remedy my broken heart. Just find another man to play with that night and take home to my suite. She takes me to Harvelle’s on a Sunday night, which a crazy jazz band is playing, the cigar smoke is thick, the dance floor is full, I’m exhausted, but open to the possibility of fun.

A big beautiful black man approaches me and smiles. I know what he wants. He puts his hands on my waste and starts dancing low in his groins, slowly kissing my ear. I'm laughing ecstatically on how easy it was to pick up a man at a club. I really don't want to be there, I want to be taken care of. I tell him I'm hungry and to take me to get something to eat. 

We go out to the parking lot, he's wearing a nice watch, nice white leather shoes, and unlocks the keys to his Land Rover. Of course he has to drive a land rover. I take a picture of the inside of the car and send it to D and tell him it's not that hard to find a replacement. We drive to Swingers in Santa Monica and we learn about each other; he's from Holland...an investor and coaches soccer. I can't say that the conversation was particularly enlightening, but he has a softness about him that I like. I tell him he can come to my suite in Santa Monica, but I'm not going to fuck him, so don't even try.

We make out a bit, but I keep pushing him off of me, because I really don't want to fuck. I want him to hold me, and that's sometimes my test to see if a man can control his cock enough in a night and meet my emotional needs. He failed. He kept me up all night, pushing his groins into me, and I almost wanted to kick him out. He gets off in the morning by his hand, pressure relieved, and I am too because I really don't know this person enough to be sleeping with him. 

I text D in the morning from the bathroom, where I am somewhat isolated from this man in my bed, and I’m so pissed, I want to make sure he feels my pain.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh really? Ok.”

He’s not reacting which is good. It calms my nerves when he doesn’t’ take my anger so seriously.

“You can’t have two mistresses. I can’t do this, not until she’s gone.”

There I said it…I can’t be his, he can’t be mine until his Dragon is gone…it’s not fair to anyone involved…He can’t fucking have me. I want a King, not a coward. Call me when you’re King.

He’s responsive, just for this day, then no word from him for a week. I fucking hate it when he ignores me, it’s the worst. I can hardly handle it. I feel like I’m going to explode.

I say to myself that I’m never going to talk to him again, I’m going to not text him for a week but I text him every day to see if he responds. He doesn’t. He ignores everything. I fucking hate it and I’m crushed.

Almost a week goes by. He left on Sunday night, it’s now Saturday and I’m feeling a little more peace around it all. I have a shopping date with a girlfriend of mine.

We end up in West Hollywood, his neighborhood, and I can feel him inside the city. My groins jump almost out of my panties because I can feel his cock. I know I am going to see him today, but I don’t know how, or where.