A Lie Catches Up with Me (part 2)

I lay stiffly in the bed, careful not to brush against Nathan. As upset as he was, there was no way he would want to touch me. After a few minutes of fiddling on my phone to keep up appearances, I shut it down, set it on the nightstand and closed my eyes.

In the dark, I began to think of the times and ways I have been unfaithful to Nathan. I imagined him finding out, the betrayal that would wash over his face. Then the anger that would invade, poisoning the love. And worst of all, the hurt. And then the cold, frosty way he would forever look at me. Life without Nathan. That’s what I contemplated. Over and over my heart clenched, breaking at the thought.

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A Lie Catches Up with Me (part 1)

Nathan missed me while I made my weekend jaunt to see Hy. When I pulled into my driveway he was there, sweaty from washing his car, but a big grin on his face at the sight of mine. I hopped out and into his arms. He took a deep breath and planted a hard kiss on my cheek, his sharp whiskers stinging my skin.

I felt off balance emotionally once I was back a home. The other-worldly quality that permeates Hy-land still hung like a pink and purple unicorn filled cloud over my head. Mundane things like laundry and a trip to the grocery store had no place. Yet, they needed attending to.

Nathan didn’t ask much about the trip, but I told him about it anyway. And I alluded to the minor hangover I woke with… nothing a couple of aspirin and an extra thirty minutes of sleep couldn’t fix.

“So you got drunk?” he asked.

“No,” I said (which was the truth), “I just drank for a longer period of time than I’m accustomed and didn’t drink nearly enough water.”

He shot me a skeptical look, but not one that was disapproving.

But it was while we were grocery shopping together that I discovered he does have boundaries when he comes to me.

“Should we get some beer?” he asked.

“No thanks. I flirted my ass off for plenty of free beer last night. I’m good,” I shot back.

Now, why on earth I said that… I don’t know. One, it was a lie. No one bought my beer. Hy and I both paid for all three beers we drank. That’s right. Only three. But in hindsight I realize what I said made it sound like I had been knocking back half a case. And two, while there was some very mild flirting, I certainly wasn’t flirting my ass off.

Nathan’s face hardened. And up until that moment, I was curious if he had boundaries when it came to me and flirting. I’ve told him about men complimenting me before, some even that were pretty forward, and he hasn’t batted an eye. But this was different. I could feel his disapproval. Ironically over something I didn’t even do.

We finished the shopping trip with me covering up the awkwardness I felt with light commentary, pretending I didn’t know I had upset him. The rest of the night played out in the same way. I could have earned an Oscar for how well I acted as if nothing was wrong. I knew if I could just make it through the night, let us get to bed and to sleep, we could wake the next morning and all really would be better.

Nathan was in bed before me, the lights dimmed, reading on his iPad. I puttered around the bathroom, washing my face, brushing teeth and chatting off and on about general things such as the weather outlook for the next day… all the while judiciously avoiding any and all talk of my weekend trip.

I slid between the sheets, being careful to stay on my side of the bed. I was beginning to breathe a little easier. Nathan hadn’t brought up the flirting comment, and I in no way wanted to talk about it. The home stretch was in sight. All we had to do was sleep. That would reset things. It would be okay.

I hoped…

—to be continued—

Pointing Out Elephants in the Room

I sat crossed legged on Hy’s sofa, an embroidered pillow in my lap, a glass of white wine in my hand. Her new living quarters have the same colorful, eclectic style of her last place, but it feels more spacious. At first glance one might assume the art on the walls and the books and candles were just randomly scattered about, but no. There’s thought and design with each choice. The space is calming, in a zen-like way.

We had been catching up, talking about things neither one of us choose to address on our blogs… the non-relationship stuff. But then, as most women do no matter their age, we circled around and began to discuss boys. As her “boy” has settled into a model man who is fast learning how to successfully navigate a relationship, the talk turned to my current state of affairs. While talking about Nathan and the things I love about him I said, “He accepts what I present to him. He takes me at face value and doesn’t question me, so I’m able to still have my secrets. And my secrets are important to me. They make me feel safe.”

“Well Marian,” Hy said, her sapphire eyes twinkling, “You certainly don’t move in a straight line.”

I started laughing. Because what she said is so true. I’ve given myself whiplash with my quick turns and 180s. But all this happens below the surface. Sometimes it’s an infatuation that lasts a couple of days or as in the case of Chris, one that has been simmering for years, but not acted upon. They are churning currents of hot and cold that swirl and turn under a calm sea.

We went out later that night. Beers were downed. Pool was played. Men were harmlessly flirted with. And we were happily curled back up in her apartment before midnight, gleefully ordering pizza, making brownies and watching recorded TV. That’s when Chris texted me. He knew I was having a girl’s weekend because he and Nathan had gone hiking together that morning. Continue reading

I Need an Escape

I know I’m not the first person to want to flee from reality for a while. It’s a feeling I would assume everyone has experienced. There is a lot in my life coming to head at the moment. Work stress and the added pressure from my upcoming decision on what to do with Jack has made my chest feel tight and tiny furrows to appear between my brows.

So I’m running away for the weekend. Where, you ask? To the haven and welcoming arms of dear sweet Hy. Everything seems better in her rose-tinted world. I’m so thankful she has invited me down. I have a huge bottle of white wine chilling in my fridge to bring. And will raid my liqueur cabinet for some other goodies to take as well.

See you soon my sweet friend. It’s been far too long.

I Want You to Ride My Ass Again

“I want you to ride my ass again,” Jack told me over lunch last week. With a covert look over his shoulder to make sure no one had approached our patio table he continued. “Remember how I had been fucking you and then you told me to roll over so you could rub my back? And then you were sitting on my ass massaging my shoulders and kissing my neck. And then you started grinding your pussy on my tailbone and you did it harder and faster. And then you came on my ass, and I felt you squirt and it ran down my ass crack. That was amazing! We have to do that again.” Continue reading

Here on My Shoulder

I stretched tonight after I had toweled off after my shower, easing the tension and soreness. Clasping my hands behind my back, I aimed to connect my shoulder blades, my tendons squealing a little from the pain. My hands released and then took turns kneading the muscles up and down my arms.

As I preformed this evening ritual I thought about the decisions I’m faced with on a daily basis and the analogy August brought up about the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Like many people, I feel that tugging in one direction or the other often. What I should do versus what my baser nature wants to do.

While this ran through my head I took a good long look at my shoulders. They are broad. Always have been. I will never have the narrow, delicate frame of my mother, and I’m good with that. They are surprisingly strong. I can remember many times I’ve moved things without a second thought and been asked how I had done that. I’ve never done strength training or weight lifting… It’s just how I was made.

I believe that I was designed with the body I need. So whether the angel or devil who sits on them wins the next round, I’m going to be thankful for my strength, both physically and emotionally. Throughout this life I expect to need both. If not for myself, then so I may be a comfort and help to others.

One of my shoulders… Continue reading

Lusting After Another

Nathan and I have “couple friends” now. One of them is a husband and wife who are several years older than us. It began with the wife—Kate—and I being friends and now that Nathan and I are a regular thing, it’s grown to include the men more often than not. Last night we attended a casual get together with them.

A little bit of back story:

Several years ago at a fancy holiday gala I had indulged a bit too much in the open bar. That’s rare for me. Normally I stay happily buzzed but still completely in control. But on this night, when I stood up after having who knows how many vodka tonics, the room spun. I placed a hand on the white leather upholstered chair of the hotel bar and willed myself to stay steady. Chris, my friend’s husband, noticed. In moments he was at my side.

“Kate,” he called to her, “I’m going to walk Marian up.”

She smiled and waved us on.

“Thank you,” I whispered, “Is it obvious?”

“No,” he said, “I just happened to see you stand up and saw how quickly you reached for the chair.”

He slipped a strong arm around my waist to steady me as I maneuvered toward the elevators across the marble floored lobby in four and a half inch heels. We didn’t have to wait long for the lift. Once inside I let my head rest on his shoulder. The surge of desire I felt for him hit me like a brick wall. I’d had a crush on him for ages but this was different. It was raw lust.

The doors opened and I stepped out, thanking him as I exited. I needed to get away from him before I made a fool of myself. With one hand on the wall for balance I made my way to my room. I was almost there when I looked over my shoulder and saw him behind me. Continue reading


Every good story has conflict. That’s what we’re taught in our English literature classes. Without conflict there is no story, because resolving the problem—in one way or another—is the very crux of a story. Otherwise there’s no plot. And a plotless story… well it’s nothing more than words on a page.

I think of myself as a storyteller, and of this blog as a place to chronicle my own journey. Not so much in journal form, but simply a nook to let my thoughts pour out, a place to process my actions and my desires… especially those of a sexual nature because I had no outlet for that. I could tell my mother about troubles at work or my co-worker about a weekend trip. But what about those more deviant tales? Those live here.

But I’m less deviant now. The sharp contrast of how my sexual nature has evolved in the past two and a half years came into crystal clear focus last night. Pent up stress and anxiety due to work and changing of medications came bubbling to the surface. I desperately wanted to go to a bar, down some whiskey, and lure which ever man caught my eye to my side. And then… just toy with him. Like a cat with a mouse, tease and flirt, giving nothing but my smile and maybe a deep, lingering kiss at the end of the night. Continue reading

Thoughts While Walking

Flames of clouds lick the sky, white against the midnight blue. Swirling. Twisting. Violent vapors in the air.
I want to writhe like them, free, drifting. Fill myself with drink and move with abandon. And then to feel a hot smooth tongue trace the lines of my body. Plundering. Taking. Fingers possessing. Desire overtaking.

Rainy Mornings and Blowjobs

Thunder clapped outside my curtained windows before sunrise. The previous lightening had scattered flickers of white light across the room. Burned in my retinas was the outline of the familiar space… the four-poster bed, the lingerie chest, the vanity with my embarrassing wealth of expensive perfumes… and long, man-shaped lump under the covers beside me.

Nathan has practically moved in. Something I enjoy, yet am still getting used to. I question my worthiness of him. He’s a good man. True, loyal and faithful. I am not made of such pure materials. I still talk to former lovers without his knowledge. I have this blog, of which he will never be informed. I daydream of illicit meetings. But I compartmentalize like a beast and brushed all that aside as he nuzzled towards me and took a mouthful of my exposed breast.  Continue reading

Creative Noodling the World!

I took a look at my all-time stats today for about the first time in forever and was excited with what I found. Except for a swath across north/central Africa and countries that aren’t on speaking terms with mine, most of the WordPress world map has some color on it. And that makes me smile. At least one person in 190 countries has landed in my little nook of the internet. I don’t know what brought them here, how they found their way, but for what began as a place to simply begin to process how and why my heart was broken, to have coverage almost the world over is more than a little thrilling. But it’s humbling too. What I have here… it’s just words. But they are my words. And for so many to actually read them brings me such joy. I wonder if there is a man in the mountains of Austria who let my steamy thoughts warm him on a cold night. Or could there be a woman on the shores of Peru finding comfort in my melancholy musings. I’ll never know. But I do know those of you who comment and encourage keep me going way more than you can ever realize. Thank you. Now if I can just get WordPress to do the map in shades of green…

Creative Noodling Worpress Map

Countries that haven’t yet had people stumble my way: The Western Sahara, Mauritania, Mali, Cote d’Ivoire, Guinea, Niger, Chad, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Gabon, Iran, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Somalia, North Korea, Cuba and Svalbard.