Went out tonight with Donny. I know, I know. The sex last week was weird. It was uncentered. We were disconnected from each other. But I do like him. I do. He’s smart and funny and sweet and strange and he’s not boring.

And he’s so different from the kind of man I’m used to.  He’s not older than me.  He’s not married.  (Never been married.)  He doesn’t have kids.  He’s really handsome and boyish and when I’m with him it’s like I’m trying on a new style of dress that I’ve never worn before.  I feel a little uncomfortable in it, and I’m not sure if I recognize myself in the mirror.  But I like seeing a different me looking back at me.  It’s refreshing. 

I wasn’t free until late tonight, so we met at a supermarket.  We bought Pop Tarts and iced cream and then had a picnic on a quiet bench outside the market.  We kissed and held hands and talked a lot.  I think I’m also different from the kind of woman he is used to.  (Maybe the kind of girl he’s used to.)

It sort of left me wanting more.  It felt good in his arms.  We kissed slowly, just connecting and getting used to each other.  I think illicit sex is good when it involves meeting and fucking shortly thereafter.  But maybe with regular, non-cheating sex you need time to establish a connection.  It sounds obvious, doesn’t it?  But it wasn’t to me last week.

A Woman

For more new posts from the Horny Housewife, please visit http://thereallifeofawoman.wordpress.com/

The Donny sex repercussions are zapping me in the head, blinding me and knocking me down.  What was I thinking?  It’s all like a dream.  If it feels like a dream, and if it feels like it didn’t happen, then does that mean it actually didn’t happen?  If no one knows it happened, and if I want to forget it, can it be that it never occured? 

I’m stressing over No-Nickname Mike.  He is such a good person.  He is such a great lover and a great master.  Our sex has consistently been the best sex of my life.  But safety is very important to him and I’ve always promised him not to fuck anyone else.  And then I just did.  Just like that.  Without a thought.  Without consideration of the repercussions or the hurt or the danger.  WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

What does it mean when you jeopardize the things and people that are important to you, in order to find some kind of unattainable satisfaction with strangers?  Does it make you a love and sex addict?  Why, yes it does, Joe.  I guess you’ve been right about me all along. 

What do I do?  Can I go back to No-Nickname Mike?  Should I confess to him and say goodbye?  Should I not confess (It would hurt him a lot), but still say goodbye?  Should I hope I didn’t catch anything (the condom broke at one point, but Donny never came), and just go on with Mike?  I don’t think I can do that to him.  That would feel like an even bigger betrayal. 

♣♣♣

So, you know date number Two?  The one I liked so much and felt so connected to?  I e-mailed him when I got home from our great date, because something funny happened on the way home that I wanted to tell him about.  Because I was already feeling so attached to him.  And I liked him so much.  And I really wanted him to like me as much.  And I really thought he did.  And when I was talking to him, I felt like I just fell right into his eyes and his face and his beard.  And I liked the way it felt there.  Like a warm, cozy, happy home. 

Date Number Two never e-mailed or called me back.  I’m astounded and hurt and disappointed and sad.  I spent yesterday making up excuses for him:  ”He fell at soccer practice and hurt himself;” “He likes me so much that he doesn’t want to appear too eager;” “He suddenly had to go out of town.”  But I know that’s all bullshit.  He would have contacted me if I had been important to him.  I was hoping he would be Mr. C’s Bachelor C. 

 ♣♣♣

How can it be that a person I’ve only met once is so important in my life?  What kind of a huge, ugly, black, wet, bubbling, gaping fucking hole is in my soul, that I so define myself by the men who are in or not in my life.  Or that I define myself by the men I know I can find and conquer? 

I’m thinking of shutting down the shop.  Ending things with all of these men.  Taking my profile off the online dating site.  Just being alone.  I know it’s a terrible cliche, but I don’t know if I can be alone.  Watch out, here comes another cliche: if I can’t be alone, how will I ever be with a man again.  Really be intimate with one.  I mean, look what I’ve just done to Mike.  Betrayed him for a Gen-X blondie I barely knew and hardly liked.  What the fuck? 

At sea,

A Woman

…from sex kitten to cat…

very good date last night.  no sex.  not even a kiss.  just lots of truth and laughter.  He had sparkly, welcoming eyes.  He paid for dinner and opened doors.  And he was quirky and funny and so smart.  Can’t stop thinking about him, but I want to be careful not to jump back on the roller coaster. 

 Easy does it, kitty…

Tonight is date number two in my Three Nights, Three Dates Series. 

I’ll let you know how it goes, but I know this: no sex.  no sex.  no sex.

It occurs to me that I do not know how to date.  I know how to meet and fuck.  I also know how to meet and bond and fall in love for(-not-so-)ever, build a home, and spend years together.  But it’s that in between step I’ve never known how to do.  I’m going to try to learn.

For more new posts from the Horny Housewife, please visit http://thereallifeofawoman.wordpress.com/

For more new posts from the Horny Housewife, please visit http://thereallifeofawoman.wordpress.com/

Secret Confessions of a Horny Housewife?

I am not a housewife anymore.  I am not sex-starved and horny any more.  There is no reason for me to live my life in secret.  I’m not doing anything wrong, so I have nothing to confess. 

Now we know what I am not.  So what am I?  I am a woman struggling to synchronize the disparate components of her life.  A mother who doesn’t spend enough quality time with her son.  A lonely person looking for companionship, understanding, support, and friendship.  oh yeah, and sex.  that too.  a compulsive grammarian who has given herself permission to surrender to the powerful pull of lower-case letters.  A woman who is tired, and confused, and up too late, and who doesn’t know what she’s writing, but a woman who is not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

Isn’t if funny that it wasn’t until I was officially separated from my husband that I did something I feel kind of ashamed about? 

I’m tired and confused and my vagina is sore.  I’ll give the old girl a break now.  And you too. 

Goodnight. 

A Real Woman