What Divorce Is Like So Far

It’s hard to write about divorce without ending up using clichés, so forgive me.

Although there’s a lot of sadness between Sweetie and me, it feels like all of the tension is gone from us. After the drama of breaking the news to family and friends, we settled into what I hope is a grief-muted version of our future friendship.

For sleeping arrangements, we take turns for who gets the bed and who gets the foldout couch. For the most part, we’ve stopped snuggling, even during snooze-alarm time. We still walk around naked in front of each other and she’s still beautiful, maybe more beautiful now that I know she’s got a chance of being happier some day. We got a second air-conditioner so that all of the sorting we need to do can be done in relative comfort.

There aren’t any more reasons to fight, so our time together is punctuated by sad kindness. She still listens encouragingly about everything and still sends luck when I go out on job interviews. If I’m going to aim for independence, I guess I might have to get out of the habit of calling her whenever something electronic isn’t making sense.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but most of what was toxic between us seems gone, and so is a lot of my anxiety and fear, replaced most days by a clearheaded sense of forward motion.

Once I realized we’d both be free to pursue what we really want, I stopped feeling envious of the happy couples around me and started to be inspired by them. In fact, seeing my best friend Angel Face and his new partner in full-on NRE adorableness was part of what prompted me to make the decision. I know love is a long way off for me, there’s so much to take care of first, but most days I’m pretty sure I’ll get there, and it makes it so much easier to just let everyone around me be what they are.

Although most of the time it seems like everything is moving itself forward, sometimes it does get overwhelming to think of how much has to happen to get us safely and happily to the next life. I’m laid off from the school district right now and I try not to get freaked out about how urgent my job search is. I’m pretty great at job interviews but it’s hard not to think about all of the other teachers who are out there looking too.

I look forward to being on my own, having my own apartment, remembering how to rely on myself. I see glimpses of the life that I want, it isn’t too far away, but I know I have to honor the heartbreak too. It was a relief to let go of the struggle, but so sad to let go of the daily life of us. I hope there really are parts of it that we can keep.

I do get scared that I won’t find a job, that I won’t be able to get us where we need to go.  For the past twelve years she’s taken care of us financially, but I’ve always been the one motivating us, pushing us forward, and I think that’s still true.

I can picture my own apartment, plants in the bright windowsills, a new bed with flowered sheets. I want to be there so badly but it still feels selfish, it still feels like something can make us stay here. I want to be in the new life so badly, safe and settled in and ready to heal.

Letting her go (and letting go of the idea that I had to change for her) has helped me to appreciate her and what we had, and the friendship that we eventually will have. I’ve been walking through the world knowing there’s always someone to take care of me, and that’s both a good thing and a bad thing. I’m interested to see what I can be without her over-protectiveness, without her backseat driving, but I’m grateful for how much love and care she’s given me.

This is the biggest cliché of them all, but I did this so that I could learn to love myself. I just need the strength and resources to get us out of here—I need the universe and hiring committees and landlords to cooperate and get us through, to help us to do this big loving thing for each other so that we can both be healthy and free.

Today I decided to just stop, rest, let myself feel all of the complicated things. (And watch way too many episodes of 30 Rock) I’m gonna try to do that as much as I can.

Tomorrow we’re driving up to my sister’s to hug the niece and nephews—I wanted to make sure that Sweetie knows she’s still a part of my family. My mom says to bring as many fireworks as possible, and I couldn’t agree more.

Real Date/ Car Sex With Steampunk Guy Part Three: Thanks, Pal

As I was on my knees next to him kissing him in a fit of post-panic second-wind lust, his hand went up my skirt and inside the back of my underpants. “Hmm, let’s see, how’s your ass doing?”

“Yes. Yesyesyes,” is how it was doing. This time I wasn’t self-conscious, just gave over to the sensation of it and tried not to exclaim too loudly, but jeez, goodness, he was hitting the spot. Let us now praise the summer of my ass.

He told me to face away from him and sit in his lap so I maneuvered myself behind the passenger’s seat and did so. Car sex with a guy is just as awkward as I’d imagined it would be, but also just as hot. I sat down and pushed his cock into my pussy and groaned and sighed. It was hard to get a good angle to push back against him but I stopped caring about that for a little while because oh my goodness his finger was in my ass, further and further in and oh the catharsis of it, the absolute happiness. He pushed into me hard and I bent all the way over and braced myself against the passenger’s seat, hugging it, almost bent in half. Jesus Christ, I was thirsty and sweaty and tear-stained and newly divorced but this? This was exactly right. Sometimes I’m awesome at life in spite of myself.

I pulled away to take a breath and my head got pushed down to him again—more of him being too big, pushing the limits if what my throat could handle, making me feel full and debased and whoreish and scared and wonderful.

He put the seats down so that I could lay down on my belly the way I like, held my shoulders down and fucked me, the car bouncing cartoonishly, the whole world back-and-forth, sweat and fireflies and hazy suburban stars.

Afterwards it was too hot to cuddle much so we lay back and chatted. His hand wandered over to my boob and it felt so good that I almost reached down to finish myself off again (I did that when I got home. Twice.) (Note to Steampunk Guy: More good old-fashioned feeling-up, please. If it’s not too much trouble.) but he was getting his clothes back on. He helped me find my very damp underpants and I wriggled back in to them and lay back down. My sweaty hair was hanging off the end of the pulled-down seats. I was all flushed and content like I’d just been in the ocean. I asked for one more hug and he laid on top of me and smushed me instead-perfect.

Then we drove around. This was a town he used to live in. He drove me past his old barracks and told me about the family of ducks that used to live behind his old apartment. When we stopped at a convenience store for water and Junior Mints, I realized I was having trouble walking and that my hair was a spectacular mess.

I told him the story of why I’m protective of my voice, but it didn’t hold much power in that moment. Now that I knew I was capable of fighting back, of a well-placed “Fuck you,” I had a little more faith in myself and the trauma of all those years ago seemed like the tiny part of my life that it is. Thanks pal.

Awesome Thing I Wish I'd Written

Heard this at the local erotic reading last night and it made me so happy.

Real Date/Car Sex With Steampunk Guy, Part Two: A Hand Over My Mouth

We didn’t go make out in a park. After a little more dawdling around, he pulled the car (a little SUV, I guess) onto a quiet side street. He left on the air and the radio. (Top 40. Making out to One Direction is probably the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done.) I told him that I love being spanked in cars. I snuggled up to him and he pulled up my skirt and obliged. He still felt abstracted and I wasn’t sure he wanted me, so I goaded him into hitting harder and harder.

We kissed and he pulled me to him by the hair. My legs were already splayed open and his hand went between them, stroking the already-damp crotch of my panties and then going inside, pushing his fingers up into me.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled open his pants, pulled a condom on and grabbed the back of my head, pushing me down towards his cock. I was happy to have him in my mouth, even as he thrust all the way into my throat and I gagged and fought for breath. He pushed my head down so hard that it hurt, hands in my hair, kneeling down in front of him behind the driver’s seat. This is the good kind of humiliating, filthy in just the right way. Writing this makes me want his dick in my mouth even more, in a fantasy world where I could taste it.

Hands still tangled into the back of my hair, he pulled me up to kiss me. I straddled him and put my arms around him, wanting to be as close as physics would allow. He moved aside my panties to put himself inside me. This is a move I’ve fantasized about for as long as I can remember, and it did not disappoint. He has a way of pulling my fantasies out into the real world, and I hope he’d proud of that.

I pushed into him and felt a rush of both relief and hunger. I wanted all of him. I wanted to eat him alive. I held on as tightly as I could as we thrust into each other, and, forgetting that we were parked on a quiet suburban street in front of people’s well-manicured lawns, I let out wails of pleasure.

The bad thing happened so fast—his hand over my mouth, a limit broken. And I was PISSED.

“Fuck you.” I huffed, pulling the hand away and hoisting myself off him and onto the other seat in one swift flutter of movement.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot.” I could tell that it was a genuine mistake, not something he’d done to hurt me. “It’s just, you can’t be that loud…”

I sat and cried, aware of how squishy my bare ass was on the seat, having teacherly thoughts about Clorox wipes. Sobs of panic came out and I felt defeated, like every guy-story has to end this way.

He was being apologetic and asking me if I was okay, but he has also still stroking his cock. I wanted to be the one stroking it, I wanted to be all over it, but I felt like all I could do was go home. “Thrift Shop” came on the radio and made me laugh at the not-awesomeness of the situation.

I asked him to hook my bra for me and when he did, something shifted. Something about the heat and softness of his hand on my back made the story change for me. I pulled him toward me and disappeared into kissing him, ran my hand down his belly to what I really wanted. I could decide where the story went next, and it was going to heat and decadence and not tears. I didn’t have to be afraid of a hand over my mouth any more. In fact (not to reward bad behavior, but I have to tell the truth) I’m kind of attracted to it.

Next: Long live the summer of my ass.

Real Date/Car Sex With Steampunk Guy, Part One

Real Date/Car Sex With Steampunk Guy

Yes friends, I’m sure there are many very deep and soul-searching paragraphs to come about my ongoing divorce process, but I hope you don’t mind if I indulge myself with this awesome sex story first.

I have to admit, Steampunk Guy listens. After our last couch-date, I’d asked if we could do something out in the world. By the time a fortnight rolled around, I had so much going on that I would’ve gladly stayed in again, but it was a nice surprise when he found an evening and asked me to meet him at a gastropub midway between my house and his. I should probably stop being surprised when guys I'm fucking treat me decently, but really it did kind of knock me out.

Much as I enjoy putting on clothes that only stay on for ten minutes, I loved picking out an outfit that would stay on. I was excited about the idea of kissing him out in the world and more nervous than I’d been for the previous two times.

Bless the suburbs and their parking lots, because any activity I do not have parallel park for is a good one. He looked so cute sitting at the bar waiting for me, a little dressed up as usual in a buttons-down shirt and blue old-timey vest, reading a book. I sat down next to him and kissed him hello. He put his hand on my leg and squeezed, digging his fingers in. I felt giggly elation and animal warmth. My pal.

And then he took the wind out of my sails a little, worrying that we wouldn’t work anymore now that I’m single-ish. He’s worried that I’ll need him to be a crutch during the divorce process, but (still high on the relief of deciding and doing the right thing for Sweetie and myself) I’d never felt less needy in my life. I was certainly a lot more self-possessed than I’d been a fortnight ago. It’s the first time in my adult life that I’m Not Looking for Something Serious  and it’s scary, yes, but also kind of exhilarating.

“We’ll see, okay?” He said ominously.

I could have gone with the little twinge of rejection I felt, gotten sad and gone home right then, but I’m proud that I didn’t.

“I’m not really interested in proving to anybody that I’m not needy.” I said. I told him I don’t expect husband guy to be along until I have time to heal, and that I sure didn’t expect it to be him. He still seemed wary (in the short time since making the decision to divorce, this is only one of the varieties of divorce-cooties responses I’ve experienced) but we Muppeted on to other topics.

He’s been reading me (Even posts that are not about him! Be still my heart!) so I set out to try and find out some paragraphs-worth about him. He told me lots of endearing stuff about family and travel—enough stories to make meaningless sex kinda tough to pull off.

After we were done with drinks and dessert, we went on a little walk around the neighborhood. There was a gorgeous sunset and the fireflies were just coming out. The fireflies gave me a stabby feeling for Sweetie—it’s hard knowing how far I am from being ready for something that deep again. That was actually the second bad Sweetie-pang of the night. The first was when I realized we wouldn’t have our pre-date rituals anymore. No more “Kiss me before I put my lipstick on.” No more Sweetie programming my destination into the GPS. It’s not gonna be easy.

Pangs notwithstanding, I liked walking along with Steampunk Guy, holding hands until they got too sweaty. He chatted to me about the books he’d been reading, something with paleontology and the lost city of Atlantis. I listened in a wine-fuzzy haze, wondering what would happen next, if the end of the street would be the end of the evening or if I was somehow gonna get into his pants. I’d asked if we could go to a park and make out like teenagers but he was being so much of a pal that it was hard to read the situation. I couldn’t tell if he’d already phased me out for the divorce-cooties, and I was ready (but also not ready) to graciously let him go.

Next: I get into his pants.

Important Heart Updates!

1. Sweetie and I are divorcing. It's sad and hard but the prevailing emotions for me are relief and hope. We called our families and they were very kind and understanding.

***If you're a close friend of ours and this is how you're finding out, I'm sorry. Give me a call if you want.***

2. Mr. Sweetheart (with the help of Ms. Sweetheart's insistence that he talk to me) said he was sorry until I listened. He's one of the few people to make it past one of my breakup letters! We talked for a long time and our official status is now "Friends Who Will See What Happens."

3. I have a date tonight with Steampunk Guy and that makes me happy. I'm grateful to him for being such a treat. And for getting me out of the house! Yay.

Song of the Week: Bulletproof

Sometimes I write a million angsty paragraphs. Other times, I karaoke my heart out to a bunch of my adorable queer friends. Weirdly, life is still pretty awesome over here.