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.
But Nathan was coming in, so there would be no going out. Instead I walked a rapid two miles, envying the clouds above my head. That’s when I realized it has been almost a year since I’ve had an urge like that. Some of that has been due to the fulfillment I’ve found through this blog.
Relationships have been formed, attention given and received, phone calls exchanged and, in some cases, actual meetings have happened. These have led to some beautiful friendships, intense feelings and a steady long-distance emotional tie with a very special man.
I know the way I was feeling last night was just a random wild hare. But it also has me thinking… what if Nathan wasn’t in town and I had gone out? What if hot kisses against a dark wall had been exchanged? What if hands had wandered over lusty bodies before I pulled away and left him without a number? Would I have not told the story because there are readers who know me in person now? Especially because of one in particular who has a bit of an emotional claim on me?
I’ve always filtered everything I write. It’s my nature. Even my secrets have secrets. But now… where will I share them? Can I be that transparent?
Transparency isn’t my thing. When I really take stock of all the people I’m lying to right this moment, it’s startling. I lie to Nathan. I tell him we are a couple, one with a future. And we are. He is an amazing fit for me in so many ways. Our friendship and mutual respect is a strong foundation for what could be a long, happy life together. But I don’t tell him about my urges. I don’t tell him about this blog. I don’t tell him about having slept with a married man at my office.
Speaking of Jack, (the married man at my office) he and I are supposed to do an overnight work trip together in a couple of weeks. And I’m lying to him too. When he spoke of all the ways he wanted to have sex with me over lunch this week I just nodded, agreeing to his plans. But inside, I don’t know if I want to have sex with him. Weirdly, not because of Nathan, but because I know it would hurt the reader with whom I’m emotionally involved.
I know if I succumb to the heat of the moment things will change. So what do I really want to do? I want to lie. I want to lie to the reader if I have sex with Jack. But then here’s the real conflict, and a glimpse at just how truly selfish I am. If I’m not honest about what happened then I am slowly cornering myself, making it impossible for this blog to be what it has been for me for so long now… a place where I’m free to share my deviance without fear of repercussions.
The simple answer would be to just not be deviant. But I know me. I know how I’ve always been. And somewhere down the road… I will leave the pavement and go running through the dewy grass. And that sweet readers, is my conflict.