After my now former lover had called me a fucking whore (catch up here) I got in my car and drove into the night. Not ready to face an empty house I followed the double yellow lines past my turn, no destination in mind. When the open air had calmed me I looked for a place to stop, one where I could just be still for a moment.

Around the next bend, tucked amongst large live oak trees I saw a small white Catholic church. I pulled in the vacant parking lot, cut the engine and leaned back to look at the sky. The crescent moon paused close to Venus just above an oak’s canopy. In the recently mown field adjacent to the church a newspaper tumbled to and fro. Am I like that? Do I allow myself to get blown one direction and then another? Am I just drug along by this always-seeking wind that is at my core? And for what does it search? I breathed deeply and became more introspective than I’ve allowed myself to be in ages. Minutes ticked. Crickets chirped. I peeled back my layers and faced a side of myself I try to bury, a side that shames me, a side that refuses to go quietly into the night.

I ache to be wanted beyond rationale and shown the depth of that want in every way possible. I’ve tried filling it with other things—work, hobbies, friendships, food, wine, sex, even God. But this hole isn’t any of those shapes. And so massive is this gaping need that I feel weak because of it. And weakness maddens me.

Several times I’ve come close to filling it, only to realize I had given my heart to a mirage. And now, the words that fell from former lover’s lips bring it all back. I am opening myself up to a man (for those of you keeping up, yes, I’m talking about Mr. Intrigue) so much that the thought of being with anyone else is repulsive. My heart crunches with a quick pain, remembering the mirages and recognizing the risk it now faces. Another deep breath. And I embrace the risk.

Lover was wrong. I’m not a fucking whore, though I’m all for a good passionate tumble… frequently. But maybe I do have a whore heart. It waits, open and sprawling, willing to be used—abused even—in the never ending hope that one day something will click. And the hole will be filled.

36 thoughts on “Blown

  1. Wow… Very moving and powerful post.

    I know it’s easy to say that words don’t hurt, but the truth is they do… a lot.

    The one thing I’ve learned over the years, after one failed marriage and nearly destroying my second one, is that love isn’t easy. It’s hard to find and even more difficult to keep… but it’s worth it in the end.

    All of the scars from our past help mold us into what and who we are today. Learn from those scars… But don’t be afraid to put yourself out there and get back into the water.

  2. For him to have called you that, then he doesn’t deserve you…never did. Andif anyone is a whore, it’s him who has a girlfriend test wants to be blown by another girl. You are beautiful, strong, and deserving of love from your own mr perfect, and even though there are scars, mistakes, and errors along the way. He will find you. Sending love and hugs your way. Love ya :).

    • You are so sweet. And I knew all that about him which is why I used him as a lover. I didn’t want a relationship and certainly wouldn’t have entered on with him… as harsh as that sounds. You’re a natural defender of others aren’t you? I didn’t realize how much so until just now. Don’t ever lose that. : )

      • I was thinking about this all day yesterday…how weird (and beautiful) it really is to find others who are like us. Maybe there really is Divine Intervention. (?) I like to imagine that in 50 years, school children will say, “How odd! They all knew each other way back then.” because we will all be famous. Obviously! Like the Impressionist. I’m sure if I was famous, my heart would hurt less. Yours too.

  3. A whore fucks as easily and with the same thought process as a waitress bringing food to a table – performing physical work for personal or monetary gain. (No offense to waitresses)

    To fuck just for the fun of fucking doesn’t make one a whore.

  4. Well, like Rich above, I’d say you’re a whore if it’s an activity you do autopilot. You let yourself be used as a means to an end, with minimal, if any reciprocating elements. Whilst, it seems more like you’re seeking affirmation in something that may take a long while be filled, or it seems like never because we all give ourselves short time horizons.

  5. Everyone in touch with connecting to another, loves their sexuality. Only here have I seen a spectrum of adoration and introspection and exploration from the salacious to the reverent aspects of it. My point is, “whore” was a default and shallow attempt to hurt you. Sorry for the loss of what used to make you happy. I like what you said about how those of us who share the ache have found one another. I’m gonna percolate about writing something attractive about being a whore. The word is really a reflection of the speaker’s judgements, not about the woman.

  6. With ex-lover’s body count, he’s way out of line in calling anyone else a whore, especially you. But “repulsive”, really?

  7. I understand that ache. I keep telling myself that being patient will bring along the right kind of guy. You’re not a whore; you never were. I hope Mr. Intrigue turns into something beautiful for you. :)

  8. Click here (on the “Reply” button) and I’ll fill your hole!
    (So crass, HH, really?)
    I’m sorry, couldn’t resist.

  9. I know this feeling all too well…It’s hard to fill that ache. I think you’ll find a truly sexy beast that will put your heart back together and cherish it. He will sweep you off your feet, and whisk you away to the bedroom… or any other place of your choosing :)

  10. If you know what a whore’s heart is (“It waits, open and sprawling, willing to be used—abused even”) then don’t be a whore. It’s fantastic to have an open heart, but it’s not there to be abused. It’s there to be shared. Find someone who appreciates it, and share.

Talk to me. Please.

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