SEX

That's right, I said it. Sex.

Last night I went through old journals of my "dating" days. And today I spent most of the afternoon & evening reading a book I just got called Loose Girl, a memoir of promiscuity by Kerry Cohen, a true story about her life. Although our lives were different, the feelings we both had (and have) really hit home. I am now left deeply saddened...

Saddened because I feel that part of me creeping up again. That lonely feeling, the emptiness, the gaping hole in my being that I desparately need to fill... with something... someone... as if having sex will make someone want me, want to be with me, love me...

*cry* It's so fucking humilitaing, these feelings of inadequacy. I look at my friends and their marraiges, and envy what they have. They see my "freedom" and envy my life. What they don't see though, are long nights, lying in bed alone, wishing for someone, anyone, to take away the lonely empty feeling inside. They don't see the tears on my face, in my pillow, my stuffy nose, my lips, now bright red from crying, my eyes bloodshot... they don't see that in my waking hours all I really want to do is go back to sleep, to go to my alternate life, where I'm happy and fulfilled. They don't see that I fill my waking hours with work and activities so that I don't have to admit to myself how lonely I really am.

The sad part is that I KNOW that having sex with someone won't make me feel better; it won't make someone want to be with me, want me, love me... but my heart aches to be loved. My heart literally hurts. When I am loved, I am someone important. Can't you see that? When I am loved, I am important; I am worthy.

I think back and recall my dating antics. Man, did I find some weirdos! Soon it became kind of a game with my significantly younger non-married friends to give each weirdo a fitting nickname based on their "unique" qualities. The first one given a name was "Drunky McGayerson". Many others followed, and included men with whom I never met in person. There was "diaper boy", "bondage guy", "best guy ever", "second best guy ever", "used to be best guy ever", "fat boy", "creepy man", "vampire guy", "[para]medic", "cuddle buddy", "RoBo", "the guy who says 'baby' every other word", and "Mr. Michigan" who I later found out actually lives in Africa. I slept with so many men I kept a calendar of my "conquests".

Soon I gave up on meeting Mr. Right and decided to focus on myself. This is when my timeline gets fuzzy. Everything blurred together. I don't remember what happened first...

I reconnected with a former high school classmate/former boyfriend. Neither one of us remembered why we broke up. Independently we each blamed ourselves. And we each thought of the other quite often in the last twenty-four years. I was vulnerable. He was married. His wife, amazing. Yet another reminder of what I did not have... what I wanted. He was kind, loving, soft spoken. He listened to me without judgement. I felt alive. And I fell in love. I fell hard. It was amazing. It was awful. I longed for his touch, to feel his lips on mine, to run my fingers through his hair, to hold his hand... But he wasn't mine to have. I was in love with him anyway. And he with me. We texted and talked--a lot. I also talked with his wife. Sometimes I'd be on the phone with one of them and instant messaging the other, at the same time. She trusted him implicitly.

I decided again to focus on myself. I got more involved in the gym and joined their "Look Good Naked Bootcamp." It seemed appropriate and somewhat ironic. Because of my hectic gym schedule, I stopped sleeping with random strangers, although I kept in touch with "best guy ever", "second best guy ever", and "cuddle buddy" as back-ups, because afterall, they weren't "strangers" so they didn't count. I "hooked up" with them each once more in the two year span of "bettering myself." And of course I was still talking to my former high school flame. And his wife.

After five months of intense boot camp, I was fried. Four months later I turned 40 and threw myself a party. Three months after that I had a complete emotional and mental melt-down and began therapy and attending ACA meetings, each once a week.

It was during this breakdown when I called former flame's wife and, through my sobbing, told her that later that day, I was telling him, her husband, that I could no longer see or speak with him; that I was in love with him and that wasn't a good thing. She consoled me; said she understood; and then she thanked me. She said she would be there to help me get through this. I was beside myself. She really is amazing. She's a better person than I. And she has the love of an amazing man.

My transformation began. Slowly. I had so much to say. I thought I'd be in weekly therapy sessions for the rest of my life. Once I realized I could trust him with my deepest and darkest "secrets", everything came rushing out. Anger I bottled up when I was a third grader at Roosevelt Elementary. Sadness I felt at names my father called me. Confusion about m y recent actions. My fear of being abandoned. Of being hurt. Fear of the future, of the unknown. Fear. Fear of not being good enough. The fear I felt the morning my father died. The utter emptiness I felt immediately following his death. Embarrassment of the things I did to keep a man, any man, in my life. The humiliation of knowing that what I was doing was wrong and not listening to myself. The humiliation of being that needy, that desparate, that alone... that pathetic.

I let it all out. I let go.

Then I met someone.

He treated me with kindness and respect, always. He knew about my recent past with other men. He still treated me with kindness and respect. His words were sweet, endearing, caring...

When I saw him, I didn't have that longing desire to immediately rip off his clothes. Instead I was extremely nervous. This feeling was different. Unfamiliar. I'm not used to being treated nicely. As odd as it sounds, it's uncomfortable; it doesn't seem natural. So I revert to sex. I *know* sex. It's after one in the morning. We lay in bed together, him spooning me, holding me close. I reach my hand behind me and find his rock hard cock. This, I think, this is familiar. I am in control now. He wants me...