COMPERSION PERVERSION

How does Highland Park seem to know me so well?  He sent me a text on Friday that blew my fucking mind. He described in EXACT detail one of my number one sexual fantasies that I have had forever. It was about being fucked from behind against a railing from some stranger and never turning around to see his face.

He wants to play it out. He described it like this:

I want to find you right now, walk up behind you, press you against something hard like a handrail or a counter, push my mouth against your neck, breathe in your ear, pull up your skirt and press my raging hard on against your incredibly hot ass.

Then, of course, I will have to push my cock into you with one long hard stroke and just keep it there. Steady, with pressure, to the hilt. I will put my hand on your neck. No choking, just firm pressure to hold you still. Then I can start fucking you vigorously, with long, hard strokes, up against that rail. I will have to stuff your mouth with my fingers to stifle your excited moans. I will feel you quiver, and you will feel me pulsing, fucking you harder than ever.

Then I will release my grip, pull your back straight up, smooth your locks, bite your neck, take a good look at you, pull out, smooth your skirt, turn and walk away, leaving you against the rail with fun streaming down your thighs.

I mean, come on! The guy is good. So good.

How can I say no to that???

I didn’t.

I said HELL YES.

He proceeded to text me about how his wife was getting ready to go out that night and get fucked by another guy. He encouraged her to sext with him the night before and then read her sexts. He was so turned on by their interchange he didn’t get much sleep last night.

I am insanely turned on thinking about his wife fucking another man. And I am turned on by the thought of him being turned on by his wife sexting. I am even oddly turned on by the thought of him fucking his wife. And the only thought that doesn’t turn me on is that I wanted that kind of experience with my Husband.. I wanted compersion with him. I wanted to get closer. I wanted him to want me.

I am so happy Highland Park gets to experience that with his wife. I truly am. He sounds so liberated, excited, and free. I would even be into making this thing totally polyamorous. Meaning, I would love to meet her. Be friends with her. Hang out even. Shit like that.

Then I met The artist.

And I had to invite him to lunch because I didn’t know how else to stay connected. From the first second I touched him, I only knew, I wanted to do that more.

When he told me he was dual-diagnosed, schizo and bipolar, I swooned a little. He said he was molested when he was young, and my knees got weak. Then he told me he was 51/50’d twice and I thought to myself, I am in love.

This. Is a man. Who can understand me.

Man.

He’s turning 33.

He’s only four months sober. He’s newly medicated.

I am almost ten years older than him and 11 years sober.

I think I scared him off. I was not shy about my feelings. I took the reins. I haven’t heard from him since.

Oh well.

It is good to have dreams.

Even if they never come true.

It’s the dreams you never dare to dream that seem to.

Then you wish maybe you hadn’t dreamed them in the first place.

Even if you didn’t know, they were yours.

His poetry makes me feel stupid.

I sent him my anxiety poem.

Now I wish I hadn’t.

I am not too much. My needs are not too great.

He said I had powerful energy.

I don’t know what that means.

But I liked hearing it.

My Mom just arrived from Mexico and is staying with me for a few days. We made this plan when I was married and living in a three bedroom house. Now I live in a quaint little two bedroom cottage.

She triggers me like no other.

I was hoping she would be helpful. She is not. Having her here is like taking care of another child.

I am about to lose my shit.

I don’t have the capacity to deal with my primary caregiver and her narcissism right now.

I might have to ask her to leave.

Oh man. The guilt of the traumatized child.

It is times like this I really miss my ex.

He was a great buffer.

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