Tag Archives: divorce

Saying no to one of the best sex partners I’ve had

18 Dec

I had sex for the first time almost a year after my divorce, two years after the separation.  Lollypop Guy became a fuck buddy who surfaces every now and then for one or two encounters, and then fades away.  We have crazy chemistry.  When we get together, there’s so much passion, so much desire.  I haven’t felt like this with any other man after him.  We get along pretty well, but we don’t have much in common, other than our mutual enjoyment of each other.  That’s why we both know that we will stay fuck buddies and nothing more.

The last time Lollypop Guy and I were together was about five months ago.  Last week, out of the blue, he started texting again.  I, not really knowing if I wanted to see him this time, ignored his texts.  He called the day before yesterday.  We had a nice, friendly conversation.  Got up to speed with each other, and then he mentioned that he was seeing someone.  That gave me pause, but his voice is so enticing, and you could hear the desire in it.  I let him believe that I would see him later in the week.  I needed time to think and make up my mind as to what to do.

I’ve been alone pretty much since Pilot Guy.  Aside from a brief and not noteworthy encounter with Six Kids Guy, I haven’t had sex in quite a while.  I’ve also been talking to a new guy from the dating site, but we haven’t met in person and I’m not sure it’s going to work.  Sailor Guy has his own set of issues.  All in all, I’m pretty lonely and sad, so a good fuck with a hot guy would actually be a great temptation.

Lollypop Guy is quite hot.  So what if he is dating someone?  They both live pretty far from where I live.  I’m sure we don’t know each other.  We don’t run in the same circles.  Most likely she will never find out.  Besides, he has been My fuck buddy for the past three years.  I have precedence.  And I’m so lonely… and he does me like no one else has ever done me.

I had to say no.  I couldn’t live with the knowledge that I did to someone else the exact same thing that hurt me so much.  I know I could have rationalized the shit out of having sex with Lollypop Guy.  I may have inadvertently had sex with him while he was dating someone else before.  But this time I knew.  There was no way of unknowing the fact.  The biggest thing is that, no matter how great the sex is, I want to do it with someone who will also choose to be with me.  Why the fuck do I have to give this guy the best sex he’s had in a long time (his words) when he does not, and will not, choose me?

We talked on the phone this morning.  He wants me because he hasn’t found anybody who does him quite the way I do, not even the girl he’s dating now.  I almost fell for his bullshit.  Just now he texted:  “I was honest with you.  I deserve at least one last time as a goodbye.”  My answer?  There’s no need for goodbyes.


A message to Marc Anthony and Tito El Bambino: shut the f#ck up!

4 Dec

Don’t you guys hate it when you wake up in the morning with a song stuck in your brain, and you can’t get it out?  It happened to me yesterday.  The worst part is that it is a song that I truly hate with all my heart.  It is about a cheating man who wants to justify his scumbag cheating ways while shamefacedly blaming the ex.  Catchy, right?

  Listen to this at your own risk.  Mark has a great voice, but he’s unbearable.  Tito’s voice is unbearable.

Here are the lyrics (commentary by a woman who tried to be the best wife she could, and still was cheated on):

That one that you usually insult
(maybe because she brought it on to herself)

 knew how to give me more than you
(men-stealing-whores always seem to be giving more)

who were my woman

and even though you call her by another name
(oh, dear, I have more than just another name for her)

I’m her man
(whoa, what a prize she got herself!)

and today she’s my woman
(and very deserving she is)

Why do you lie to them

and sell yourself as the innocent victim
(Uh, maybe because I need to vent, and most reasonable people can see you exactly for what you are.)

 knowing you treated me

like shit in front of others

while I didn’t do that to you
(This could be a perspective kind of thing.  It could have been worked out in therapy before you decided to move on to the next.)

Ugh, the song goes on, but I just can’t stand it anymore.  I hate that it is a “hit” in local radio.  I hate that it is sung by Mark Anthony, a known serial cheater and Tito El Bambino, a guy I can’t consider either a singer, nor an artist.  I especially hate that they justify the cheating, pin the blame solely on her and shame her for choosing to talk about it.

I know no two relationships are the same and not every relationship is salvageable, but every person in a relationship deserves honesty.  Before you go looking  for what you are missing in a relationship somewhere else, why don’t you look for ways of fixing it?  If there is no fixing it, why don’t you end it before starting something else?

I think it’s a thing of common sense and common courtesy.  Nowadays there is so much selfishness that it’s hard to expect these things from most people.

I belong to the ones that believe this.

I belong to the ones that believe this.

I’ve no time to age now

3 Sep

It’s here.  The signs of aging are starting to show.  I know it because I don’t have to shave my legs if I want to wear shorts two days in a row.  It used to be that I had to shave the morning of if I wanted to show off my gorgeous gams.  Not so much anymore.  There are also lines on my face that don’t diminish when I stop laughing, and let’s not talk about the nails!

In school I was one year ahead since kindergarten.  I was always used to being the baby, both because I’m petite and because I was always the youngest.  I had never had a hangup with my age.  In fact, I loved birthdays and always made a big deal about mine in particular.  That all stopped after college, when I realized that no one gives a crap about me being a year younger.

I started to feel cranky about people calling me what could be considered the equivalent of ma’am in Spanish (usted).  I was no longer referred to as the “girl,” I was the “lady.”  It all was made worse by my oldest brother who, in an effort for making me snap out my mid-divorce depression, warned me that I was already over 30 and shouldn’t waste my time crying over spilled milk.

This is such a fun birthday party dress! (gap.com)

Three months ago I celebrated my 36th birthday.  Two weeks before the event, I had an epiphany and decided that I wasn’t going to feel sad and depressed about my age.  I decided that I wanted to feel happy and vibrant and young at heart, so I started acting like a happy, vibrant and young at heart 36 year old woman.  For the first time in my life I organized a birthday party for myself.  I reserved a spot at a very cool place and invited a lot of very nice friends to party with me.  I bought myself the cutest birthday party dress and even prepared handmade decorations for the party area.

That night was one of the happiest that I can remember in recent times.  Friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time showed up.  There were hugs, laughter, and free guava sangría, aside from the presents.  Oh, and what presents did I receive!  They gave me jewelry, a bag… a sex toy.  You would think it weird for a friend to give me a sex toy as a birthday present, but you don’t know how weird our friendship is, so it was a very fitting gesture.

Every girl should have a mindful friend with excellent taste in gift giving.

From then on I’ve had a very carefree attitude towards age and what it represents.  I’ve been happy and proud of being a fabulous 36 year old single gal.

That was until last night.  Last night I went to the theater with my gay friend J.  It should be inconsequential that J is gay, but I have to say it because that has shaped his views in a very different way than mine.

We grew up in the same town, and we both had the same kind of upbringing and schooling.  He embraced his sexual orientation while in college and that has formed his character as some kind of a rebel.  He just doesn’t think that he has to conform to society’s expectations of him in any area.  He is a respected, responsible and successful member of society, but he is all of that just because he chooses to, not because it is what is expected of him.

So J and I were seated waiting for the show to start, and I started to interview him.  He is in a relationship with a very intelligent, caring and funny man.  They seem to be happy and committed to each other.  Since it looks like he has it all figured out, I wanted to know what he thinks love is and if he feels that all relationships have an expiration date.

I wasn’t very satisfied with his take on love.  It seemed too utilitarian for my romantic inclinations.  He feels like they both fill a void in each others’ life.  There is love and happiness, but if the relationship were to end he would be understandably sad, but he will go on with life.

It’s funny how I understand why he feels that way.  He’s had a lot of experiences that have helped him mature and be ready for a more grown up relationship.  His answers got me thinking about my own maturity versus my age.  I was surely not mature enough when I got married, and I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do at my age.

If love is not what I thought it was, and my expectations about relationships are not realistic, what do I know now?!  I’m starting to doubt if I was ever in love.  What if we got married just because he was there and I was there?  And, really, that question is inconsequential, the important question would be how can I discern between real love and the rest.  I should be old enough to know, but I still feel like I know nothing.  I just hope that I can figure this thing out before the boobs find their final resting place at each side of the belly button.


Man-order addendum

21 Aug

A little part of me. The luscious, yummy, freaking hot part of me.

Dear Universe, remember the order I put in for a very specific man?  Well, I’ve been thinking about it and it just so happens that I need to add some important items to the list of specifications.

How could I forget to ask for an agnostic man?!!!  Maybe it is because of all the years of catholic indoctrination that my subconscious decided not to remember such an important detail.  Most of my adult life I’ve lived in a kind of limbo in relation to religion and spirituality, which by the way, was part of the reasons given by my ex-husband for our parting of ways.  For years I have refused to define what it is that I believe in, or not, but the important thing is that I have neglected that spiritual side that I’m supposed to be nourishing instead.

After my divorce, I started to wonder about God, and religion, and spirituality.  I even thought that if I said I believed and tried real hard to imagine a supreme being who controls my destiny, I would find solace and a new direction in life.  I went as far as to blame my not believing  in God for the failure of my marriage.  In a letter I wrote to my ex, I (now regretfully) wrote these words:  “had I let God into our family, it wouldn’t have failed.”

Now, looking back, I can see how desperate I was to not loose my marriage.  I was willing to make myself believe in something that my heart can’t accept.  Now that I’m back to normal, I relish the opportunity of finding a kindred spirit who will not make me feel guilty for not believing that a man-made construct is watching over me, while thousands of babies die of hunger and thirst around the world.

I also want a bilingual man (a polyglot would be even better).  I’ve told you guys about my fixation with English speaking men, but let me explain further.  Here in my corner of the Caribbean our native language is Spanish.  Because of a very complex and hard to explain relationship with the United States, we are taught English as a second language in public schools.  But the thing with us Puertorricans is that we are stubborn and don’t want to completely assimilate the American culture, so most people usually do not become bilingual even after 12 years of English classes in public school.  The fact that I am highly proficient in English without ever having lived in the US is astounding to most people.

I believe that I have a special ability for acquiring language, and that has also set me apart from a lot of people.  When your are completely bilingual, your thought process is different.  To acquire a language, you have to also learn the culture from whence it came, so bilingualism has opened up other worldviews to me that not a lot of people have been exposed to.  To say it more succinctly, I am a weirdo and I’m looking for a weirdo man to be weird with.

So there you have it, Universe, you can add those two items to the list and keep in touch with me.  I might have to make further revisions to the order in the near future.  For the moment, keep working on finding me a man, like asap.  It has become kinda hard to get into some of the yoga poses without imagining other hard things in the vicinity of certain parts.

To my new friend Ido

12 Aug

Well, guys, I had a breakthrough, and I don’t necessarily love it.  Two days ago I started a journey that has proven to be incredibly surprising.  Turns out that my new friend Ido, a follower of this blog and a blogger I myself follow, published a self-awareness online workshop and invited his followers to try it out.  Off I went to his website to begin yet another project of introspection.

The interactive workshop begins in a very whimsical, almost nonsensical, way.  Once you start it, it kind of draws you in, and you start wondering what will happen next.   What did happen next was that I, inadvertently, wrote a sentence that filled me with dread.

The purpose of the assignment was to make me aware of the fact that I have to look to the inside when I face a situation that prompts me to be angry or changes my mood and the way I interact with the world.  The assignment required me to write about who and what I blame for my unhappiness.  Can you guess where this is going?

I started blaming my ex-husband for leaving me, for not keeping his promise, for making me feel undesirable.  Then came the sentence:  I blame M for taking away his love, for being what I can’t be right now.  What the FUCK?!!!  Excuse my french, but I can’t be that fucked up!

I don’t have any witty insight on this one.  It is just bewildering, and I only hope that finishing this workshop will give me some tools to continue working through this.

To my friend Ido, I have to say thank you for the opportunity of doing this.  I know that, after this initial shock wears off, I will see the benefit of completing it.  Please excuse me if my reaction seems a little dramatic, I had a glass of whine (ha!) while I was writing.

On the pitfalls of being a hoarder

6 Aug

It’s funny how life arranges things in a way that makes you face whatever it is that you are trying to push away.  In a previous post I mentioned a great truth uttered by a dear friend.  He said that my continuous search for the reasons why I have been dumped by certain guys is just a reflection of my still wanting to know exactly why my ex-husband left me.

After 2 1/2 years of separation, extensive therapy, and several other men in my life, I would have thought that the answer to that question was not important anymore.  At the time when he informed me of his decision to leave, I did not understand the reasons he gave me.  I was too wrapped up in my pain and disbelief.  After a while, I think I stopped listening to whatever he said and started making up my own alternate reality.

I had always been a “till death do us part” kind of woman.  There was no other possibility for me but to be married to him for the rest of my life.  I saw my own parent’s marriage and thought that if they had made it through, we certainly could.  I mean, after ten years of marriage, I still felt butterflies in my stomach when I thought of him.  I idolized him.  In my eyes, he could do no wrong.

When he informed me of his decision to leave, he was cold and unemotional.  I never saw a tear or a glint of doubt in his eyes.  However, I wanted it all to be a nightmare so much, that I kept thinking that he would come back.  He said that he didn’t love me anymore.  I was sure that he did.  He said that he could not even think of trying anymore.  I could swear that this could be the one time when it all would work out.  He said that he didn’t trust that I could change what he wanted me to change.  I changed everything about me expecting him to notice, and he never did.

All that therapy helped me to accept that maybe I would never get an answer to my question.  I learned to start seeing the best of my new situation:  I was a young, professional woman, with an extended family supporting me, with a great job, a good apartment, and an incredibly brilliant and witty daughter.  Starting life all over would be difficult, but I was already equipped for it.  So, I started to appreciate my new life.  I learned to love being single.  I realized that I have complete control over my life, and that was thrilling.  I occupied both closets in my bedroom and felt like everything was in place in my life.

Well, the thing is that that “everything was in place” was more figurative than literal.  I have always been kind of messy.  I even have a dresser drawer where I put important papers, postcards, and every bit of odds and ends that I think I need to keep.  It is my hoarder drawer.  Yesterday I had to go through it looking for a document that I need for my daughter’s vaccination, to which I have to go tomorrow.  Riffling through payment stubs, birth certificates, college transcripts, and old student’s handmade cards, I found the letter.  It was a letter he wrote to let me know he was leaving me.  I had kept it all this time, I have no idea why.  Immediately I thought of my question.  I thought that the answer was there, in that paper, and that maybe now that my head was clearer, I could understand.

I debated whether I should read it again and relive that painful moment.  I considered if it was important now when I know I wouldn’t want him back even if he begged.  I thought of him being married already.  I thought of myself and the excitement that I feel when I think of all the possibilities that lay ahead of me, and I realized that my question has been the wrong one all this time.

I may never get a satisfying answer to the question of why he left me.  Maybe he doesn’t even know, but I need to put it to rest.  Whatever the reason why, the fact is that what’s done is done.  He moved on with his life, and I am moving on with mine.  I do need to know what I will do differently from now on.  I do need to know what I will be willing to put up with and what I won’t let fly.  Those are the questions I have to be working on.

I didn’t read the letter.  I put it in with a bundle of other things I needed to throw away from my hoarder’s drawer and put it in the trash.  After that, I promised myself no to let so much shit accumulate in any of my drawers.


Soñar no cuesta nada

3 Aug

This is a saying in Spanish that loosely translated means:  dreaming is for free.  The connotation is that you can dream of anything, even if it’s impossible in reality.  People tell you that when what you are thinking is considered as impossible.  Lately I’ve been thinking about this saying and asking myself if there will be a price to pay for all the dreaming that I’m doing, and I mean daydreaming.

You see, the thing is that there is a recurring dream that doesn’t want to go away.  I’m daydreaming of a guy that I thought was long gone from my mind (and heart if I dare to say it).  We dated even before Smoker Guy.  He ended it way before I was ready to let go, but I honestly thought I was over whatever that was.  It turns out I might not be.

I met French Guy and was not overly excited about him at first.  I liked him, enjoyed his company, and had a lot of fun, but at the end of the first date, I thought we would end up as good friends.  The second date changed it all, though.  You don’t get to meet a lot of French guys in my little corner of the Caribbean, and a French guy who will let you take him on a road trip to your favorite place while translating French songs for you in the car will do weird things to a girl’s heart.

Everything after the second date was a fast, passionate, sexy, incredibly crazy whirlwind.  He became my teacher, and me an avid learner.  He taught me about wine while pouring a fruity peachy sparkling one down my neck and meeting the tingly stream with his mouth in between my breasts.  He taught me about food by smearing truffle oil on his lips and sensually kissing my lips, my neck, my chest…

I became a primal, sexy bitch eager to learn and explore all my sexual possibilities.  I had sex with a man only thinking of my own personal satisfaction for the first time in my life.  It felt awesome!  It was liberating.  I was not self conscious in the least.  I couldn’t believe that I had been keeping myself from this experience for such a long time.  At one time I even felt a nostalgic sadness for the boy that married, and divorced, me cause he never knew this other woman.

Unfortunately, I’m also learning that nothing lasts forever, and this experience lasted only too little.  He ended it with an excuse that I don’t really care to go into right now.  Aside from all the crazy satisfying sex, I also learned not to leave anything for later.  That sexy dress that he would have ripped from my body, and I left for wearing later, he will never get to see.  I don’t really care if he sees it or not, but I really wanted to have it ripped away from me.  So from now on, I will give no second thought to what I want, relationship-wise.  I don’t want to feel like I missed on anything anymore.

Evidently, I am still unable to let go of that dream.  I don’t admit it to anyone, but I constantly remember the time I had with him.  I secretly wish to bump into him, and I go over the conversation we would have: (insert French accent here) “Chérie! How are you?  I’ve missed you so much!  Life has been dull and uninspiring without you.  I painfully regret breaking up with you.  All this time without you has made me realize that my purpose in life is to be your sex slave for ever and ever.  Will you consider giving me the tinniest chance of making it up to you?”  This will all be said in frantic desperation, and I will need to say not a word.

The problem with that dream is that I realize that I haven’t learned yet that when someone doesn’t look for you, they don’t miss you, and when they don’t miss you, they really don’t love you.  So why am I still dreaming of this man when it was his sorry ass the one that didn’t want to have this sexy ass every which way he could have wanted?  I know that daydreaming about him is stopping me from moving on.  I know I have nothing else to look for with him.  Intellectually I know that he doesn’t even deserve my thoughts, but emotionally I still kind of wish for that encounter to happen.  I guess that now I know that this daydreaming business is really not for free.

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