Two Weeks
It’s been almost two weeks since The Boy and I started…and it’s been amazing, absolutely wonderful. That boy is just….one of the best things ever to happened to me… He says the sweetest things, wonderful things, things that make me feel good about myself and who I am and how I look. He contradicts the hateful, angry voice in my head that tells me I’m worthless and that no one will ever love me. Or maybe, no one will ever really love me, unless it’s a love like Neighbor Guy’s love, which borders on obsessive, possessive lust. But The Boy loves me for who I am, not what I can do for him, or what I can give him, or how often I fuck him. When he touches me, he touches me. He doesn’t touch my crotch, or my boobs or my ass, cause that’s not all he’s interested in. (Don’t get me wrong, he does certainly touch those things, and with great skill, but they’re not his main concern….which is nice…)
And while he has an absolutely Amazing body ( I could just sit there and stare at it all day and be content…) that’s not what I like most about him… he’s so god damned smart and perceptive, he knows what I’m going to say before I say it, he predicts things and they happen, he seems to know what I’m thinking as I’m thinking it, and he’s usually thinking the same thing. We’re both freaks…we’re both terrible, horrible people that were never meant for this world. We aren’t supposed to be here, but I guess so long as we’re stuck here, we can be stuck together and keep each other company. We just…we seem to belong together…I’m not quite sure how to explain that, but it’s there.
I’m more comfortable with him than I ever have been with anyone before. I can sing in front of him. Like really sing. I don’t sing in front of anyone. Ever. I’ve never been able to, I’m always too shy….but I can sing in front of him. I know that’s terribly insignificant and probably stupid, but it means a lot to me. I can talk to this boy, and he’ll understand. I can say anything I want to him, and he’ll understand, and if he doesn’t, he’ll question me until he does understand. I don’t know what I did to get this god damned lucky, but it must have been good…
As for the Neighbor Guy…well, that poor thing…I feel for him, I really do…he’s absolutely miserable…He’s not working (he hasn’t worked since November…), he doesn’t have an income other than unemployment, he’s neglected most of his friends while he was obsessed with me so he lost quite a few of those, although there’s still some that come around…He has nothing to do during the day, no one to talk to, nothing to keep him busy and distracted, so all he does all day is sit there and think about me and wait for me to get home. And as soon as I do, he’s all over me because he’s horribly bored and attention starved…Kinda like the dog who bounces up and down peeing everywhere when you walk in the door after work. So I’ll reach down to give him a scratch and he starts humping my leg…and gets himself kicked, yet again… I don’t really mind spending time with him but anytime we’re together for more than 20 or 30 minutes he gets all touchy feely and starts hugging and kissing and pulling and biting and I don’t want that, I thought I made that perfectly clear….but he does, every time…we can’t spend any time together without me having to fend him off my body, even now…
I mean, yesterday I went over there in the morning to give him a pack of cigarettes, he asked me for a hug and while we were ‘hugging’ he reaches down and starts rubbing my crotch, just out of nowhere. What the fuck is that? You can’t do that, that’s not allowed, I told you that, why the fuck are you doing that? Oh, oh, well, I just uh, oh, I uh…uh…… Yeah, I’m going home, you’re an asshole…and he apologized later that day but still…what makes him think that he can just do that to me? I don’t want his fucking hands all over me. I’ll give him a hug, that’s perfectly fine, but keep your fucking hands off my crotch. It ain’t yours anymore, you abused it, overused it and neglected it’s caretaker. Sorry buddy…
I do feel guilt though. Lots of it… I never wanted to hurt him. Of course, it was inevitable, that was the only way to get him out of my bed and back across the street, it couldn’t have been accomplished without hurt, things rarely are. But I still never wanted to hurt him, I don’t want to hurt anyone and I’m sorry that I had to. I’m sorry that it had to come to that point. I’m sorry that I was never good enough for you, I’m sorry that I wasn’t what you wanted me to be…I’m sorry I couldn’t be your doll anymore…
But I’m not sorry about sending you home. You needed to go. You can’t completely forget about your own life and try to live mine for me. I need to live it myself. That’s why I hurt you, and sent you home, and why I can’t have sex with you anymore. That’s why I can’t allow you to let your hands roam wherever they want to. I need to stand up for myself, even if it’s only just against you. I can’t allow you to do that to me, it’s not right. I need my space, my privacy and my dignity and my self respect, or at least whats left of it. I’m sorry that I had to hurt you and I’m sorry that your miserable, heartbroken and love-sick but in all reality, it’s not my problem. You got yourself into this mess, I never asked you to fall head over heels for me, I never asked for your obsessive love, I never asked you to make me your possession. I’m sorry that I hurt you, but you hurt me too…