This is Your Brain. This is your brain on Cock

This is Your Brain. This is your brain on Cock
 For women, sexual fulfillment is a double-edged sword.
On the one side there is ecstasy, freedom, variety and orgasms. On the other, emotion, longing, jealousy and…love.  Women bond emotionally through sex (most of us, anyway) and any kind of sexual adventure can become a minefield of emotions waiting to explode all over the fun and ruin everything.
It’s not impossible for women to have sex just for sex’s sake, but the longer it goes on the greater the chance of “catching feelings” as a friend of mine says.  I’m not immune, but since I’m not looking for The One at the moment, it has worked out really well so far. I think I’ve been giving the impression it hasn’t been an issue. It has but it hasn’t been terribly hard re-directing myself.
Until now.

Of course I’m talking about the Terminator. I don’t know what it is, but damn it, something is happening and I did something totally juvenile to try and head it off and now I don’t know if I should come clean (I can hear you ladies screaming, “NO!”, lol) or just let it play itself out until our next meeting. But ladies (and guys taking notes), there may not be a next time. I don’t think I can bear it.

BackStory
At our first meeting, we talked and got to know each other for about half an hour. He was nice, charming, funny, answered all my questions and even gave me his full name and I.D so I could text my friend his deets for security. We traded histories: He’s divorced, is 32, is restoring his house himself and works at night. He said we went on Craigslist because he doesn’t want a relationship or complications. Cool, excellent, ditto.  He made me feel super-comfortable and seemed then and still is, dammit, the coolest guy I’ve met since this all began. Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!!  That’s aggravation, not exhortation.

As you’ve read, the sex was amazing. Legendary. Without toys, porn or pharmaceuticals of any kind. At one point in between bouts, we lay facing each other, me on my stomach, he on his back. He just played with my hair (abundant and curly) and looked at me with this blissed-out look on his face. He actually asked me at one point, “What are you thinking right now?” and I remember thinking, another first. I’v never been asked that by a man, much less during sex.

I was thinking one of two things: “More please.” or “Do it again.”

Truly, I was too overcome with coming to know what I was thinking. But that question? Unique. When I had to leave, he was…surprised. “You have someplace you have to be?”  This man is not used to women leaving his bed until he suggests it.   He didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t come out and say it, which would have been nice to hear.

So next time I cleared the whole day for the tryst. I couldn’t get enough of him.  At some point I planned to leave early in the afternoon, but he very smoothly pulled me back in bed and started talking, telling me his life story until the intention was forgotten. As much as I enjoyed that he was sharing with me, I also was reveling in being held like he was holding me, being touched like he was touching me and stroking me. I loved that he absentmindedly played with my hair while he talked, and with the indentation of my waist. I loved the scent we make together, it makes me high. I love how he smells after sex. Shit. Holy shit. This is bad.

Then we had another amazing round. This time we talked about how great it was, and I asked him how common it was for the sex to be so amazing. “Like this? Never.”
“Mmmm chemistry,” I sighed and melted against him. On the train home, I felt like Diane Lane in  movie Unfaithful, when she’s on the train going home after the first time she sleeps with her lover. Reliving the encounter and all the emotions. The amazement, the amusement, the disbelief — the euphoria. That’s exactly what I went through, but better: no one was being unfaithful to anyone.

Between our first and second meeting, something happened that told me clearly that I had complications. I had gotten a new phone to avoid being contacted by S., the bad relationship from the past who had texted me out of nowhere. When I called Terminator to let him know my new number, his number was disconnected.  We were supposed to be having a tryst the next day.

I felt like someone had kicked me in the solar plexus. The air left my lungs. I had to work to keep my composure as I walked home from work, my new cell like a dead thing in my hand. Of course my first thought was that it was all about me. Had he ditched his number to get rid of me? I seriously thought that for like a whole ten minutes before I came to my senses. But still…he was…gone. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and throw things. I had to sit down at a cafe and pretend to drink a coffee I didn’t want so I could compose myself before getting home to the rest of my life. I was a mess.  This is your brain. This is your brain on cock.

Maybe that’s why he was on Craiglist, so he could walk away guilt-free. But damn, how cold can you get?  Welcome to the world, I thought to myself. You want to have indiscriminate sex with total strangers, you have to be prepared for shit like this. But it didn’t jibe with what I felt about him, which was that despite the hookups he was fundamentally a decent guy.

Red flags all over the damn place that I had caught the dreaded “feelings.” Did I care? Sigh. I thought I had it under control.  Yeah, I’m that stupid bitch. I just learned how to fuck again and I got it all “under control.”  Go ahead. Smack me. No, lower, LOL.

Later that night I had the idea to look for him on Craigslist again. It’s where we met. To say that my feelings were mixed about finding his ad there is an understatement, but it was my best chance at that moment. It was 10:30 p.m. when I logged on. A a few clicks later there he was, but not the same ad. Very brief, and only one pic of himself…hmmm. I checked the date the ad had gone up to see how long it had been there.  Fifteen minutes before I logged on…wow. So I clicked the email response link,  and asked him if he wanted to see me again, and that if he didn’t, it was cool, to please let me know, with my new number and email.  I knew that he worked at night so I wasn’t expecting a response right away, but I was hoping for one.  I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to go pee (us middle-aged   people do that), and as I was getting out of bed, my phone dinged. New email.  He had lost his cell and had no way to reach me. He gave me his new number. “Talk to you in the morning,” he wrote.

The relief that flooded through my veins was…ridiculous.  Also ridiculous was the reason we didn’t meet. I thought he was going to call me, he thought I was going to call him, neither of us picked up the phone — I couldn’t make up something this stupid — and so we didn’t meet.  He thought I had a complication, I thought he had a complication — let’s say we were being respectful of each other’s space. When I finally called him a few days later, because this guy is allergic to dialing, we made a date, but that fell through. At that point I was done. But two days later, I get a text: “When r u free next?” That was the second time we saw each other. And although it was well and truly amazing, when I left I told myself that I wasn’t contacting him again. I needed to protect myself. Hah.

Then three days later a text: “just letting u know I’m still thinking about the other day…amazing.” So I text back: “So am I, and yes it was.”  True. I don’t usually text him because I don’t like to be clingy. “Oh ok, lol it’s cool to text me I don’t mind…it’s not like we see or speak to each other that often.”  Um, gee thanks. So we talk a little back and forth about how great the sex is between us when I tell him he’s very talented, and he tells me that I have a great ass. Really? I was really pissed that that was his entire valuation of me. Truly? You spent two hours giving me your life story ’cause I have a great ass? No shit? I was at work and couldn’t get into a thing about it, so I just laughed it off and said he sounded like he wanted more of it. Immediately he started saying (texting) about how busy he was going to be this week, and I couldn’t bear it. I broke in with “no worries, I’ll be out of town next week. Vegas.”

I wanted him to imagine all the kinds of crazy, nasty shit would be going on while he was so busy not fucking me.
I was trying on the crazy nasty, but not in Vegas. I had planned 3 dates (1 naughty)  to keep myself occupied and continue building the stable, but I wasn’t really interested at the moment [very bad sign] and it all imploded in my face.  Date 1 barely survived the first phone call. I knew he would wimp out and he did, but I don’t understand what the point was. Ick. Date 2…who was..? Oh, right, very boring but cute age appropriate guy with motorcycle. Although our first phone call made me want to kill myself, He is built and seems really sweet. I bailed on him last week and today. I think if I ever do see him he’ll strangle me.

Date 3, the easiest, the nasty one, the one I had the highest hopes for. never got past the coffee stage — well no, we had a GREAT coffee date, hot and sweet, not too long or short. Then we strolled around Union Square and down 14th street hand in hand, talking like we had known each other for ages. But I think he’s married. He keeps trying to get invited to my place. What’s wrong with his place? Oh its too far, blah, blah. Whatever. Shoot. Me. Now. So you understand the fixation with um…yeah. He has no competition right now. Well, none that counts for anything…

I just couldn’t stand hearing that he couldn’t see me, because it killed me every time he said it.  Every time he fucked me it was like he brought me back from the dead.  I can feel molecules and nerve-endings repairing themselves and turning themselves on when I fuck him.

Terminator waits until the morning after the day I get back — allegedly — from Vegas and texts me bright and early Sunday morning. The first moment he knows I’m back. “Hope u enjoyed ur trip, hit me up when u get a chance.” So I do. And he responds “So did you enjoy yourself?”  I get a frisson of foreboding, but, how can he possibly know? I say yes but don’t elaborate.  But he knows. He asks no more questions about it, which is ridiculous.

Then he tells me he can’t talk because he’s sick, and totally ignores my question about when we will get together again. End of discussion. Can you say insensitive prick?  But if he knows and he’s pissed? I get it. My question is how to resolve this. Confess? Brick wall it as long as possible (no contact) or a peace offering. I opt for the show of strength, which is the silent treatment. If it’s over, its over. I’m not going to resolve this via text messages. When the man picks up the phone, he gets an explanation.

Image: Thinking of Him, painting by Roy Lichtenstein. ©Estate of Roy Lichtenstein no infringement intended.

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