Not a Lady. Just Gaga

Well, it's been a while.

I was dating a man and it didn't feel right to write about him if he didn't know I had a blog. And somehow, I never shared this part of my life with him. We were kinky (a little) in bed, but we never got to this level of sharing.

What we did get to was a kind discussion of our exes. It's funny, he met the 'ex' and that was fine (we went out on a couple of double dates), but somehow or other, I mentioned John--not as an ex--I don't remember how it came up. But it came abundantly clear to both of us that I had truly been in love with John. And it became clearer to me that I was not in love with this man after nine months of fucking him. I broke up with him a couple of weeks later. And didn't shed a tear. It was more like a tedious thing that had to be done the right way. I did it a week after my income taxes--I couldn't handle both at the same time. Too much bureaucracy.

Coming back here, it feels like I've failed in some way. I wanted to grow up, be stable, have a person to share my feelings with instead of a blog.

I thought I killed this part of myself. I really thought when I cauterized the wound from 'John.' I thought the part of me that yearned for surrender, and also for sharing intimacies with complete strangers, was dead. But I guess the remnants are there.

And then today I got into Lady Gaga. (Like a year after everyone else--I'm nearly 40--I don't have to be up on popular culture.) And I spent all day listening to Bad Romance. And all of a sudden I started tearing up. And how pathetic is this--it was over John. And then pushing that vulnerability aside and getting cold and hard and bitchy.

I suppose the best I could have ever hoped for with John was a bad romance. Love and disease and ugly and revenge and horror and a leather studded kiss in the scene. I didn't want to be friends. I wanted his love.

It's pathetic. Over a year since I've had any contact with him (other than occasionally checking out his photoblog, which I haven't for at least 6 months). (OK, I just did, but he hasn't been very active. I do hope he's happy. I've never been good at revenge. But then there's nothing to avenge.) Oh, and I did send him a Christmas card, but it was a "good luck to you--I hope you're happy" card, not a "let's get together" card. And I was fucking another man long enough to have a baby with. And the newer guy wanted to get married and have children (at least hypothetically). And my heart still has a John sized hole. I wonder if this is what cocaine or heroine addicts feel like? Does methadone fill a cocaine sized hole for the moment, just as this man I was with did, and then melt away, leaving the hole? It's not as raw as it was. I'll have a moody day again tomorrow. And then I'll erase Lady Gaga from my iPod. And I'm already sort of dating someone new, who seems fine. (If I were an English professor, I might comment that 'fine' is not an adjective that potential lovers typical use to describe the other. Maybe I just need to learn to not care about men I fuck. But I think I'm too old to learn that trick.)

How could I have such a deep soul connection with someone who seemingly didn't give a shit about me? He wanted so much to be friends, and then when I finally agreed to be friends, he disappeared on me. Dropped me like a one night stand. I don't understand.

And yet, there is an up-side to the pity party. In all honesty, the guy I was with this last school-year, (I guess he's needs a name--how about Jerry?), anyway, I really did adore Jerry for the first few months. But after a few months, he bored me. He canceled on me 3 times in a row, right before I left for a month, and while we had regular phone conversations, he didn't keep up his end of the relationship. (He'd ask me to send him cards, which I did all the time, but he never sent me a single note, and I ended up feeling more like a convenience than a lover. The first few months, he'd bring me tiny presents. Never more than a dollar or two. But SO thoughtful, and then he stopped anything like that. Didn't even give me a card for Valentine's Day. It didn't help that I am a night person, and I like sex at night; he was a morning person and only liked sex in the morning (early in the morning--like 5 am!), when I was typically cranky and asleep. Even if I came to bed with him when he went to bed, he sort of knew I'd sneak out and write after he went to bed, and after a few months, sex stopped at night from him and I've never been particularly ggg in the single-digit hours.

Oh, and he was another Republican!!! He watched Fox News!! And he wanted to have sex while Glenn Beck was on. That is the first time I've ever said no to anything to someone I was already having sex with. I just couldn't.

He wasn't particularly adventurous as a lover. (Aside from the Glenn Beck thing--that is really twisted and sick, if you ask me.) He was considerate and kind, and would do anything I asked. And I'd wake up and he'd be just looking at me and playing with my hair, like he was delighted to be with me. That was lovely. But he never got nasty, never tried to possess me. It was sweet and loving, but never rough and passionate.

And I was wondering if the sexual side of me just died. But listening to Lady Gaga today I realized that it is still there. I don't know how to ever trust someone enough to bring her out to play.

Last year I cauterized the wound, which I had to do. I really had to. I wasn't actually suicidal last year, but only because I didn't want to hurt my family. That was the only thing that consistently stopped me from doing something too stupid. Like a teenager, last year, I lost perspective. But I suppose the xanax stopped the immediate bleeding and I now I need to deal with the underlying infection. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I refuse to go on the kinky websites. And when a guy gets too dominating too quickly, I cut him off. I have to find someone to awake that side with again. I wish I knew how.