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Good People, Bad Week
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Good People, Bad Week  I’m not writing this for sympathy, or to depress anyone, this just seems to be a good place to say something and deal with it. I’ll understand if no one wants to read it. Today would have been my twentieth wedding anniversary with Sarah. I was madly in love with Angelique, I loved Sally. I was in love with several women over the years, but Sarah was my soul mate. I know many of you don’t believe in such a thing, and true soul mate relationships are rare, but for however short a time I had one. She was the Yin to my Yang, the female half of me. We were opposites in so many ways, but the things that were different about us complimented rather than complicated our relationship. Then too, Sarah had been in a miserable marriage to a controlling bastard who on top of everything else used a cultish religion to oppress her. It didn’t help she had been forced to have sex by an older man in college and forced by her mother to give up the that resulted even though she didn’t want to. That gave her mother a hold over her she never had before and believing she was taming her wildness she pushed her into a marriage with her first husband; a sexless, friendless, empty marriage to a cold manipulative German national who blamed her because she couldn’t ‘cure’ him of his innate<b> homosexuality. </font></b>A gay friend told me later he cried for her when he met her ex. Sarah wasn’t looking for anything more than an affair, an end to that sexless part, when we met. That lasted almost thirty seconds into the first kiss, which was five minutes after we met. It took a while for her to get up the courage to go the divorce route, I didn’t press, I didn’t have to, she was so horny she told me she had to get up in the night to masturbate just to get through until morning. She was masturbating four and five times a day and it wasn’t doing the job. I’ll admit to a touch of manipulation there. I just let her libido do the job. Things didn’t go easy. He contested the divorce and dragged what should have been cut and dried through the courts for months. If he had simply signed the papers he would have gotten half of everything. Instead, because he canceled her health insurance while she was in the hospital having a major back surgery, the court gave him the divorce court death penalty. He lost 75% of everything. He didn’t even get one of the cars. All he got was a piece of undeveloped lake property on a failed lake development. The courts even let me come take care of Sarah while the divorce was going on since her mother was 86. We stipulated to adultery so he couldn’t drag me into court. We admitted everything. As Sarah’s lawyer cautioned her if her husband’s attorney asked if she was having sex with me, just say yes, not Hell yes. Maybe it’s because I had to be everything to Sarah in that period that we bonded so deeply. I was lover, husband, father, brother, , nurse, doctor, best friend, even mother to some extent. What I didn’t understand was that I was as dependent on being that for her as she was on me. It took me a little while to understand that she loved me even more than I did her, and that her love was more unselfish. I didn’t know then that I needed her more than she did me. I wasn't fixing her half so much as she was saving me. I had never wanted a quiet domestic married life. I spent a lifetime avoiding that. I was a freelance in more than my work. I could always pick up and go when needed. I had been a vagabond, gadfly, even adventurer of sorts. I had cluster headaches from the time I was seventeen and my odds of making it to thirty had been slim and for fifty weren’t good (two to one against me --- a third of sufferers commit suicide from the pain, another third die of cerebral stroke) so I chose instead to do risky interesting things rather than take the usual domestic route of and home and nine to five job and risk leaving a young wife and behind. That should explain anything some of you may have been wondering about including why I tended to meet so many public women and not the girl next door. You date the people you are used to, and the people you are around. But with Sarah, from the first kiss, the only thing I wanted was a life with her. That was all the extraordinary I needed. We fought and argued like anyone. She was impossible and I was worse. But even when she had done something so exasperating I couldn’t even grasp it I was still happier with her being miserable than happy alone being content. And we had a remarkable sex life. Sarah was one of the two most orgasmic women I have ever known, and far and away the easiest to get there. I could literally look at her and she would have an orgasm. I walked up behind her once while she was at the sink in nothing but one of my shirts, and slid my hand between her legs just barely stroking her pussy and suddenly had to catch her as her knees went water and she had such a strong series of orgasms I had to hold her up until she could catch her breath. That wasn’t me, that was her. She had a wonderfully dirty and generous mind too. She wanted to make up for her sexless years, and she did in spades. I won’t say how many attractive women she brought into our bed, including one that had been my girlfriend ten years earlier in Europe, it was a gift to me since she never did much with any of them save my old girlfriend she had her one and only girl crush on. She was endlessly inventive, playful, and naughty. I don’t think I woke up without a blow job at least more than twice a week. We had sex almost every night when we went to bed if we were both well, and often as not sometime in the afternoon and again mid evening. She watched gay porn so she could learn how to give a better blow job. I probably had the kinkiest and most inventive sex of my life with her. God knows what she would have done if she lived. I came in one day sweaty from mowing the yard and she led me straight to the spare bed room, stripped me, tied me spread-eagled to the bed, licked me all over sweat and all, than proceeded to blow me and just as I came she shoved little round cocktail ice cubes up my ass prompting the hardest and most intense orgasm of my life. I literally never knew what she was going to come up with. We made love in the dark in the back yard in a fine warm summer rain, on an air mattress in the sun-room during a raging thunderstorm and both came when lightning hit a tree in the backyard. We did it in a friends bathroom at a party, in an elevator at our accountants office, on a concrete picnic table in broad daylight on top of a mountain in a state park, in the storage shed, behind the storage shed, in the lake, the pool, on the hood of the car, twice on the washing machine (she loved the spin cycle), in our coatroom on her silver fox, chairs, the dining room table (no, not on the table cloth or during dinner), once when she surprised me under the desk in the office and blew me when I sat down to work, in the Galleria Mall in Dallas, in a mall parking lot, just off a walking path on a small lake in the city, there were times the bed seemed the most unusual place we were having sex. We didn’t set out to do most of those. She just got too horny to wait. At times it seemed like she undid my zipper and pulled my dick out for sex more often than I did to pee. In self defense I taught her how to have an hour long orgasm to get some sleep. In late March one year, a few weeks after our anniversary, Sarah began to have headaches. They thought they were migraine, but decided to do a CT scan when a doctor noticed she had lost partial vision in one eye. We did the scan then went out for breakfast. When we got back the phone was ringing off the wall with a dozen messages to get back to the doctor immediately. We headed for the office quickly as we could. That was the last time Sarah was ever in our home. If you have ever seen the Bette Davis film Dark Victory you know what she died of, a glioma, in her case a glioblastoma multiforme, a brain tumor. She had only had it six weeks they estimated, it grows and kills that fast. They scheduled surgery, but it was too big and there was too much bleeding into the brainstem from removing it. Six days after the diagnosis, the six longest and worst days of my life, I let them take her off the life support and she died in my arms. If it was possible for that to be worse, that was 1995 the week of the Muragh Federal Building bombing. It was not a good week to be in a hospital in Oklahoma City, much less to have a devastating loss not related to it. You would be surprised how little compassion people have to spare, and it is much more rewarding to spend it on a public tragedy that makes them feel big than help someone who doesn’t tie them to a famous event. So called ministers and grief counselors told me I would be fine, there was no reward for helping someone who didn’t lose anyone in the Federal Building. You’ll understand why I don’t cheer when I hear how helpful the people are in this state when bad things happen to neighbors. They are much more compassionate when their charity and compassion comes with a public face. I’m sorry to say, but if you ever lose anyone when another general tragedy is happening you will understand what I’m saying. I don’t begrudge the help people got, only that somehow my tragedy wasn’t public enough for the local professionals in compassion. Yes, I’m a bit bitter on that count. I haven’t much use for them as you can imagine. If you have a tragedy in your life make sure it is a public one they can take credit for helping and nothing boring or ordinary like the job they are supposed to do every day. Somehow I didn’t kill myself as I planned when I knew she wouldn’t live. Of course her doctor recognized the signs and drugged me out of my skull for a month. Plus my parents watched me twenty four hours a day. I didn’t know it at the time, no one did, too stoic for my own good, but I was in deep shock and the start of catastrophic depression. It was only fairly recently they realized I have mild PTSD from those six days. Today would have been twenty years together. I have missed her every day since. To be perfectly fair I will always miss her. Even if I fall in love again, even deeply, she is a part of my life I can’t push aside. As you might think that hasn’t helped me in meeting people. They aren’t competing with her, she’s at a disadvantage, she’s dead, but I can’t pretend it never happened. Her death is as much a part of me as waking in the morning and going to sleep at night. There is no escape, and finding a woman that trusts I can really love her or even be an FB or FWB isn’t easy. I don’t really understand why a man who has had one bad relationship after another is more attractive than a man whose relationships were all successful, but it is quite true. You virtually have to lie about having been happy in another relationship, and I won’t do that. It doesn’t help that I met Sally, we married, were relatively happy, and she died suddenly which threw me right back where I was when Sarah died. Then that stupid block of snow and ice fell off the roof and I woke up four months later. What a stupid way to almost get killed in Oklahoma. Canada maybe, even Pennsylvania, but Oklahoma? So if I slip and I’m a little down once in a while, a bit pessimistic, a shade dark, I hope everyone will bear with me (many of you I wouldn’t mind if you were bare with me either). We all have our dragons to slay, mine is just a bit more cruel than most but no worse than any of yours. I hope eventually to meet someone who is willing to put up with my bad points for my few good points, but if that simple task seems a bit Herculean to me at times this is why. There is a point where believing you will find someone and be happy is a sort of faith, and I have lost any semblance of faith in myself or anyone else. I’m struggling to reclaim it, but the odds aren’t on my side. If I was just twenty years younger I could at least get away with the whole Byronic Heathcliffian thing. Who wants an old Heathcliffe --- even the cartoon cat one? I just want to thank all of you who are so kind, and brighten my days regularly. I promise once past the next month or so I’ll brighten considerably and be my annoying self. Sorry, but as some of you know, this is a good place to vent the stuff you can’t say to anyone or no one wants to listen to. I’m well vented now I hope.  Lust brings you together, love keeps you there, sex keeps the mechanism lubricated.  |
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Just felt like a safe place to get it out of my system, cheaper than my psychologist, and no one charges by the hour here. Lust brings you together, love keeps you there, sex keeps the mechanism lubricated.
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Wow now this is a story. Good.. bad and ugly. Always remember the good times you had with each women. People might be gone but their memories will never be forgotten. hugs V ty for sharing I know it must have been very hard to write. Actually writing about it is cathartic to some extent, and I'm pleased to say I got through it much better than I could imagine. A psychologist once told me that I might be happier if my entire life didn't sound like a good novel. I can't disagree. It's a bit like the Chinese curse, may you live in interesting times --- may you live an interesting life. My mother and her sisters were all prone to drama, thankfully my mother was the one also prone to comedy so I developed some defense strategies. Right now I'm between chapters so to speak, but sooner or later the drama will kick in again. My mother's family abhors average and normal (my father's too really), and I'm a true member of both sides. Normal people are named after family members who were farmers, lawyers, businessmen --- I'm named after my great grandfather, the gunfighter and Texas Ranger. My dad held three world records in sports for twenty years, my mother and one of her sisters were Miss Dallas, my grandfather was a technical advisor on the Clark Gable/Spencer Tracy movie Boom Town ... my dog was a quarter wolf ... Uncle Sam sent me to Oxford, and my first wife danced at the Crazy Horse in Paris. Honestly, it all seems perfectly normal to me. Isn't everyone a diplomat and private investigator at sometime in their life? I do try to remember the good times, but I'm a novelist at heart, the drama drives the plot, not the happy ending. Lust brings you together, love keeps you there, sex keeps the mechanism lubricated.
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Wow now this is a story. Good.. bad and ugly. Always remember the good times you had with each women. People might be gone but their memories will never be forgotten. hugs V ty for sharing I know it must have been very hard to write. Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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