Scintillectually Yours

I am facing a very difficult task and one in which I am not sure I am up to. For a couple of months my sexual relationship with my ex-HTB has been rekindled. We enjoy each other’s company but we don’t date, we rarely go out in public, and I’ve started to feel like an unpaid call girl. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the sex. Despite the many, many problems we encountered in our three year relationship, sex was never one of them. We have a passion for each other that is yet to be matched. In truth, I am addicted to him.

Because I fell in love with him in his physically female form, and went through the subsequent stages of his transition with him—attending therapy, accompanying him to doctor’s appointments, getting heavily involved in transgender activism, serving on panels at transgender conferences, and staying overnight with him during his top surgery and nursing him back to health afterward—I have this Goddess-like feeling that I am the ONLY woman in the world who truly understands that facet of his being and feel in some way that leaving him would leave him stranded.

Now mind you, I am the first person in the world who will say that no one else is responsible for your happiness. But I didn’t truly think this way until just recently. I have been in co-dependent relationships with partners who were wrong for me in so many ways but I looked to each of them for my salvation. Now, as my 45th birthday is fast approaching, I know that, at some point, I am going to want to settle down into a committed relationship. I don’t want a polyamorous life. Been there, done that. I lived in a trilationship with two women for two years sharing a king-sized bed and all the difficulties that went along with it. I have met an amazing woman with whom I share so many common interests. Actually, all of our interests are roughly the same. While I cannot trade one for the other, I am never going to be able to leave myself open to any future possibilities until I am able to walk away from my ex with no residual emotional ties and no desire to run to him for a screaming hot orgasm or two.

There is no future for my ex and I, regardless of our past engagement. I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted the big wedding, the validation that came from being a seemingly heterosexual couple although I missed my gay/lesbian community so very much. I wanted my family to finally accept me and I wanted my son to have a father. But all was rather tenuous based on the fact that everyone, literally everyone, knew of his transition. We have nothing in common. We come from two different worlds and aside from enjoying movies together and some outdoor activities, we have no real foundation upon which to build a lifetime commitment. I will not get divorced again. I will not tolerate certain aspects of his personality that he is unwilling/unable to change. I also drive him batshit with my laissez-faire attitude. He is rigid in his schedule and I am free-floating and subject to change like the wind. He is very happy in the town he grew up in and I want to experience the entire world and all of its diverse cultures. I could go on and on and on…but you get the picture.

So. Norway is here for a few weeks. I am spending the day with my ex. This may be the last time we are together. I don’t know. I want to be emotionally and physically free of any ties that bind, but I need to take that step on my own, not because there MAY be an opportunity around the corner. As I said, I cannot trade one for the other.

…and so, with all of the cerebral knowledge that I have, why am I letting my cunt rule my life?

Kudos to Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for her website’s new home, and for giving us this week’s MFM theme: Breathing.

This was a control issue.

I wanted to pull out all of my usual maneuvers. She wasn’t having any of it. After months of talking every day across the thousands of miles that separate us and more than a week of being in each other’s presence during her month in the States, I was now straddling her lap, my cleavage at eye level. She knows me too well for having known me such a short time. She anticipates my moves and shakes me off. Her eyes gleam, half-lidded from the bottle of wine we’ve shared, a smile plays at her lips. Those lips. I want them on mine. Now.

I always get what I want when I want it. I’m like Veruca Salt that way (not the band, the other one). But she isn’t giving in and I’m frustrated. She knows it and says it. “This frustrates you doesn’t it? You hate it when you aren’t the one in control. When you aren’t getting your way.” I pout and flash my eyes. It’s not working. I refuse to move. I want what I want and I want it now. I think I see her giving in. Leaning up toward my mouth, hers slightly open. I lean down, my lips parted. She pulls away, laughing softly. I should be aggravated but I am intensely intrigued. Does she know how much this game is getting to me? Does she feel my heart race? Is my lust for her that palpable? She knows. I’m sure she knows.

An eternity passes before she gives up the prize. Our lips playing upon each other, my sigh into her open mouth, the talking, the teasing, and then…that one sweet moment when the kiss becomes a tangible thing. An event. A happening. When the chemistry takes over and you become insatiably hungry for one another and no one else will do. I fall into her deep, soft, long, lingering, passionate kisses.

And she takes my breath away.