Wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Dear [withheld],

I know you think I’m a little nuts. Let’s be honest, a lot nuts. But truth be told, I have a feeling crazy is your type. I’m emotionally intense, impulsive, brutally honest, smarter than most people you know, and a beast in the sack. You know it’s true. Over the past year and half or so that we’ve known each other, things have not been easy. At all.

It felt so good to be pursued by someone as sexy, confident, and successful as you immediately after I had gotten out of a very long, disastrous, and emotionally abusive relationship. You even witnessed the wreckage and helped me settle into my new sketchy alley apartment. I felt so fucking special. I don’t know if you are even aware of it, but you played a major role in getting me over the asshole I dated for six years.

I thought this was an emotionally poignant time for you as well. During our second date your disclosure that your on and off ex of ten years that you “kind of loved” had just committed suicide was not general getting you know you type small talk. This was said post-coitus, in that context, since the suicide you were not able to perform sexually and jokingly said that she had “cursed your boner”. Well, I must be a cock magician because you’ve have had no problems getting it up with me, save a few ethanol soaked nights.

So in this way it felt somewhat mutual. You helped me overcome an emotionally abusive breakup, I helped you through the unexpected reaction to the death of a loved one.

It felt really good for a while. Drinking at your regular bar almost every night, getting to know your friends and  employees. Going to Colorado with your family. Then you started working on expanding your business.You started pushing me away and making me feel needy for wanting for foster the bond that was growing. You were too busy and overwhelmed to spend time with me.

Or maybe you were afraid of getting close to someone again. I get that. Intimacy is scary enough, scarier more when someone you once loved took their own life. And I was understanding when you got her face tattooed in an intimate spot.

What I don’t understand is the year of constantly pulling me in and pushing me away. Fucking me at night and ignoring my texts during the day, I’m starting to feel more like a dirty little secret than a friend. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is mind blowing and probably a big part of the reason I haven’t given up completely. Don’t let it go to your head, but you’ve raised the bar for a man’s sexual performance for me, and there are so many disappointments out there. So thanks for ruining them for me. But I digress.

There are those moments of tenderness that keep drawing me back in. Most recently when you were on vacation and drunkenly texted me how amazing it was where you were and how I was the only person you could think of who could appreciate the historical and cultural relevance of the city you were in. We had intellectual in addition to explicit conversations almost everyday. You got me a souvenir and I even picked you up from the airport. We fucked after.

“I was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to be careless.” —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises, 1926

That felt pretty intimate. I fucking hate picking people up from the airport. It was the first time in a long time I’ve had sex without getting stoned first. I was anxious and awkward but it felt so genuine.

But of course, when you went back to work, things were status quo once again. Ignored texted and hurt feelings. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for you to start to open up to me again, be able to spend quality time having intellectual conversations over “apple beers” and Guinness, and then have wild sex.

I don’t know exactly what my intentions are in writing this aside from expressing how I feel. I wish I had the balls to tell you in person, or even in a text message. I can send you pictures of my tits and describe how I’d orally please you, but knowing you know know I feel is terrifying. It’s scary because I know the exact reaction I will get from dirty talk, but I have no idea how you would react to my emotions.

In a way, this is the most honest, vulnerable thing I’ve written. I hope it doesn’t back fire. Handle with care.


Hedonic Treadmill


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