The line is but a dot

It seems that sometimes there is no real way to express your thoughts, other than through the lyrics of others. And this time the credit goes to the goddess Adele.

But there's a side to you, that I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true
And the games you play, you would always win, always win

The Kid and I crossed the line, figuratively, not literally. After arguing tirelessly that I did not want a friendship based on sexting, he got me there; of my own volition I admit. Again, my only defense is the indescribable, uncontrollable sexual connection he and I have. So when the text came, the one suggesting that perhaps we might be able to see each other, between the sheets, I was not surprised.

I played the coquette, and forced his admission, relishing the thought that he preferred me still. Over both his girlfriends since, even though they are absolutely gorgeous. The initial desire gave way to concern, for the friendship. I had come to enjoy his conversations, which had been largely sex free before this break. But when he acknowledged that he valued the friendship and would rather we not if I was worried, I caved. Though perhaps caved is the wrong word, because I knew I wanted it all along.

But what happened next blew my mind. Although, as the BFF says, I really should not have been so surprised. After everything we had been through, all the lies, cheating, and fights, all the admissions and make ups, he did it again. We had made plans for a secret rendezvous, but he suddenly became distant. While I could once use his texts as a morning alarm, it was now silent. The day before he was supposed to be in my bed, I broke my rule: I creeped on his FB profile. And his status? "Plans for Friday changed, any ideas of what I should do now?" When I texted him that night, inquiring about Friday, he told me that he couldn't... because his great-grandfather had died.

Knowing what I know, I shouldn't have been surprised I guess. But I was. Because we had been so honest with each other as of late. I had been told every detail, more than I needed or wanted to know. So why lie again now? When I called him on it, he flipped out and turned it on me. I was pathetic for thinking he would use that excuse, etc. He declared himself done and out.

I second guessed myself with that, but what FB revealed in the following days only confirmed what I knew. He had gotten cold feet and bailed, but didn't have the balls to admit it. My relationship with The Kid has changed in a way that I am no longer attached emotionally, or romantically, so it didn't hurt like it did before. But I thought we had reached a point where we had the beginnings of a genuine friendship. And to be betrayed like that, that's what hurts.

I've Got You Under My Skin

Nothing good can come from this. I know this. I KNOW THIS! So why do I continue to engage in this unhealthy addiction? He is most definitely a bad habit.

It all started in a moment of weakness, a need for a connection. And that is something that The Kid and I undeniably have.  Talking with him is far too easy, far too comfortable, much too intimate: he is the only person I know who refers to me by name in a text. But while he provides that sense of comfort and grounding, he traps me in the past.

Our conversations always go there, because for some reason I can't let go. I can't seem to shake him. Five months out, his presence in my thoughts is fading, but he still lingers. Now that we are somewhere between something and nothing, he's finally able to say everything I wanted to hear: that we were dating and that he could have seen us together in the future. But now I don't want to hear it. 

I Walk the Line

The Kid and I have been talking recently, quite a bit actually. Oddly enough it started when I tried to pick a fight with him. Damn his rational reaction. It's such a comfortable feeling, us talking again. He says he has missed it. "Seriously."

The conversations that ensued have caused me to curtail our discussions however, as I feel that he tends to skirt the line. Unfamiliar with the rules of a relationship, I asked his opinion on our actions. In hindsight, probably not the best of choices, as of course his perception is skewed. "Rules, what rules?" he asked. "The rules as applies to sexual discussions with ex-lovers of course." According to his mind, it is not cheating as he is not acting upon it. But I know that most girls would have his balls for what he says.

I promised to keep it between us, but what is the internet if not a confessional? Though he cares for his girlfriend, a lot, he often finds himself thinking about us. He gets "weird" sometimes, because we never had that last night, last moment of passion. I have since gained my emotional closure, but physically, I do still pine for him. And he apparently for me. Not only does he admit to thinking of it, often, but wanting it as well. If it not for his girlfriend, he would be in my bed, using his tongue to paint upon my "amazing canvas."

Such talk makes me ponder possibilities that have no substance, will never happen. If I had been courageous enough to admit that I wanted him, all of him, where would we be now?

It's a Small World After All

Conversation remained nonexistent following our last encounter, but it didn't bother me. It seemed to be Muscles' pattern, to wait until his breaking point before reaching out. I was surprised however, to see his name in my newsfeed, tagged in the post of a friend. And floored to see his smiling face in her best friend's profile pic, with him proudly listed as her boyfriend.

While I have been both the shattered partner and the other woman, I usually do not get involved in the intricacies of others relationships. Mainly because even when I was that girl, I didn't see the harm. It was his choice to stray, not mine. But for some reason this was different, perhaps because he was slowly invading my personal life. Because knowing her name, seeing her face, made her real.

Following the girl code of chicks before dicks, I made inquires and discovered that the girlfriend has in fact been The Girlfriend while Muscles and I were doing the dirty. Though dating only for a short while, he had been dreaming of marriage and a little house with a white picket fence and she fell for it hook line and sinker.

I don't know if Kell ever ended up breaking the news to her friend and ultimately shattering her happiness but it's got me thinking. I'm beginning to feel like "Good Luck Chuck." Muscles marks the fourth "I don't want a relationship at all, with anyone, period" to shove me aside for a serious girlfriend. The Kid and I have been having some discussions on the matter, and believes it's partly my fault. Though I've decided that perhaps I want a relationship after all, I only ever offer and expect the sex.

"Pretty please?"

"Pretty please," he whispered as be tugged at the hem of my shirt, "let me see them, it's been too long."

"Pretty please," he whispered with his face nestled in the valley between my curves, his hard body pressed against mine, the longing quite apparent, "let me in."

But no, he would wait. I would make him wait, as he had done to me.

This encounter was not expected, at all. His text surprised me, mainly because I didn't recognize the number. I had already deleted him from my phone, written him out of my life; conversation steadily declined after our hook up, and I am not one to be ignored. He laughed it off when I questioned who he was, and quickly propositioned me. With all the drama of late, I was quick to say yes. But it would have to wait until after my coffee date. 

He made me wait again after I got there, sitting outside his house like a stalker as he "tidied up." Waited again in his living room as he conversed on the phone. I was this close to leaving when he led me into his bedroom. And everything fell into place. This time I had no problem stripping down, pressing my body against his as I traced the contours of his body with my fingertips. Each pass venturing further south, lingering here and there, watching him rise. With him on top, grinding his hard cock against me, trying to get in, I had no problem teasing. Watching him squirm.

He's quite the fan of my "bombass titties," burying his face in them as he whined. I rolled him over, straddling him, my nipples within mouth's reach. Arching back, hands on his thighs, grinding into him now. Even my hot wet mouth didn't suffice. He needed to be in me.

Bane of my existence?

The internet is a slightly disconcerting thing. No, thing is not the right word. A thing is lifeless, and the internet has become a life force all it's own. Perhaps entity is more appropriate. I'll settle on entity for now. The dawn of the internet has created a world so information filled that ignorance of any sort is scoffed at; a world so interconnected that it seems there are truly only six degrees of separation between me and you. And in some ways it's truly incredible. But sometimes I wonder if it's too much.

The internet is how I knew he was starting to talk to her; how I knew that he and I were coming to an end. It's where I learned of their facebook official relationship, as well as it's eventual demise. And it's how I know that even as we've begun talking again, he's having adventures with someone else. Without the power of the internet, I would never be privy to this information. I would have been blissfully ignorant. And I would have been happy with that.