I never understood why a break-up is called… a break-up. When you end a relationship with someone, for whatever reason, it’s the curtain call, the series finale of train wreck that had to come to an end before two people kill each other.
However, 9/10 of us will go back for seconds, thirds, and sometimes, even fourths. (When the sex is that good, it’s hard to keep track). In the heat of the moment, ex sex is a safety net for women who are not looking to increase their, “number,” but is the pain that is similar to, Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have had that medium number 2 from McDonald’s last night, worth the multiple orgasms from the night before?
I’m so angry that I could bang you!
This past week I had sex with my ex five times. And all five times, it was mind fucking blowing. I mean, holding on to the sheets for dear life because I was convinced that I was going to hell for allowing this to happen. Deep down, 95% of me still has feelings for him, and the other 5% got bit by the competitive bug, and I was convinced that I had to do whatever I could to keep, “The Other Girl,” on the back burner until she fizzles out.
Yes, I just said there is another girl in his life, but at the end of the day, it takes two to tango. Obviously we still have this over powering physical/emotional connection that has put us back on this rollercoaster ride of tears, fights, and the kind of sex that can break a bed.
Kris: Just to make it clear, I’m not looking for anything serious.
Me: ::rolling my eyes:: I don’t think either one of us is in a position for anything right now. I am going to California in a few weeks, and you have shit to deal with… and yeah, you are kind of dating someone else.
Kris: It’s nothing serious, and I’m allowed to date. I’m keeping my options open, you can’t say anything.
He was right, I couldn’t say anything. At the end of the day, regardless of how we feel about each other, we aren’t together. So, apparently, this was the que for us to rip each others clothes off and fuck like bunnies. Hot. Naked. Sweaty. Bunnies.
I won’t apologize for what has happened over this past week, but I also won’t say it was one of my greater decisions. After both nights, I woke up the following mornings, thinking to myself, Fuck, this isn’t just sex with anyone. This is sex with someone I was in a relationship with for two and a half years. Someone who made me feel like I was on cloud 9 on day one, and by the end, made me want to punch holes on the walls. He is dating someone else, I’m going away in a few weeks, hoping to escape from all of this aggravation, and I just added more to my plate. Oh, great, I have four hickeys on my neck.
This experience has really made me wonder if there is any truth to the saying, “distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Since we broke up in October, I’ve rebounding with a teenage crush, I’ve dated, I’ve had sex, I’ve gotten drunk at bars and made out with random guys, (most have turned out to be crazy stalkers)… but nothing compares.
Maybe I haven’t given myself enough time to move on. Maybe I’m confusing the idea of love and lust. Or Maybe, I found my, “Once in a lifetime.” My mind and hormones are confused, but the heart feels the way it feels. I’m in no means to jump back into Nicole and Kris Part 2, because no relationship stands a chance if it left off in such a toxic manor from the first time around, but I’m also not closing the door to the idea of us one day having a future together.
Bottom line is, it’s probably best for me to keep my legs closed, and for him to keep his dick in his pants until we both have a clearer idea of what is going on.
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