Human stepping stone.

Just when I think I'm finally over him: I have to go and dream about him.

I don't know why it is, but whenever a relationship of mine comes to an end, the powers above very cruelly make me dream about my ex night after night. The dreams are never good, I mean, they can only be nice or horrible; but either one will have me wake up thinking it was real, and then missing them.
In the nice dreams, all the problems that were, are mysteriously erased by this weird haze of perfect contentment that surrounds us, which results in us having the most perfect sex. I wake up thinking it's true for five minutes. When I realise I was in fact dreaming, I start to miss him.
In the horrible dreams he is usually shagging someone else in front of me. Usually a friend of mine. He has her up against a wall so that she can mouth the words "I'm a better fuck" to me. Smugness seeping from every pour on her body, until she comes. Loudly. As I said, horrible.
Last night had me dreaming about the most recent male failure in my life. Not Ex Boy: the other one. The ridiculously good looking one, who pursued me for the best part of a year: F2. Seemed lovely, but turned out to be, well, abit of a dickhead really. It was a nice dream. Ergo: we had perfect sex. Ergo: I woke up reaching for my phone to call him. Silly girl.
Laying in bed, staring at my phone, I started to remember how happy I had felt when I first met him. I remembered how gorgeous he was, and that he had a nice smile. In my sleepy, sexually hazed state, I started to think perhaps I hadn't tried hard enough with him. Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough with Ex Boy. Maybe if I'd done things differently.
I'm ashamed to admit that, from that train of thought, I momentarily, (very momentarily) questioned if I could sleep with Ex Boy with no strings attached. One final farewell. Or maybe even F2? After all, both of them had made it clear that they still wanted things to continue on that level. But I hadn't wanted that; I'm a pretty all or nothing girl, and I know myself well enough to know that, for someone to get the best out of me, they have to keep me interested mentally as well as physically. I knew then, that it was never going to be as good as it could be, by simply being bed buddies alone, and I wholly believe that if you're going to do something, you should do it properly. So no, I wasn't about to start trying to divorce emotion from sex. Just not that kind of girl I'm afraid. Wouldn't want to be either.

Towards the end with Ex Boy, each time I was getting ready to meet him, I would stare at my reflection in the mirror and question what I was doing.
I'd felt us drifting apart for a while, but I'd resisted thinking about it. I didn't want to quit, and I didn't want to walk away: I wanted to fight.
Over the years, our relationship had always been hugely up and down, yet, the one thing that had always remained constant between us, had been passion. At times, when little else seemed salvageable, it had kept us together. Each time we tried to walk away from one another, it had always brought us back to each other. When neither us knew what to say to each other, it said all that needed to be said. Yet, towards the end, when neither of us had anything left to say, it started to fade. For eight years, it was the strongest connection we had with each other: without it, everything started to unravel; the splits, and tears that had always been between us, could no longer be repaired. Without it, there was simply nothing left to fight for.


(ms-kzm)
n.
1. The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused.
2. The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.
3. A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.


After Ex Boy contacted me last week I sent him a friends request on face book in the nature of all things 'friendly'. He rejected it. What the fuck?
Quick to text me at four in the morning to tell me he "'oves" me, but can he be my friend on a social networking site? Obviously not. Obviously he found himself horny at four in the morning and decided he would give me a text. After eight months of nothing.
Well, well done Ex Boy, you have just reminded me what an emotionally stunted, manipulative, fuck wit of a human being you are. Well done. Here's to the next eight months of no contact.