Slut sandbox (on being the worst OW… ever!)

Me?  really… the worst–  EVER?  please! 

that’s so ridiculous!  i can’t even wrap my brain around the idea.  and why me the worst?  because i don’t beat around the bush?  because i say what i mean?  because i want what i want?

truth be told, i’m a pathetic OW.  i couldn’t even seal the deal.  couldn’t TAKE what i so desparately wanted.  couldn’t “even the score.”

and why?  NOT becuase i didn’t want Mister, Mister enough… but because I thought more of someone else than i did of myself/my needs.

if sacrificing MY NEEDS, for the good of someone else, makes me the WORST OW ever… than GUILTY AS CHARGED.

(but, hey, you’d at least think i’d have gotten some really hot, hot sex out of the deal… )

Mister, Mister

I was hoping to see you tonite at the Violet Festival (that is, until H spilled his beer down the front of me).  Maybe tomorrow? 

(i know i can’t… )

Mister, Mister

Ok, so I lied.  I didn’t actually delete all your e-mails.  I kept one.  The very last one…
 
Today, while re-reading it, I got to thinkin’:  if I was able to inspire you to be good, maybe– just maybe– I could inspire you to be bad.  ‘Cause who knows… maybe a little badness is just what you need.
 
Besides, you know what they say about goodness:
“Goodness is its own reward… for more tangible outcomes, you need to try badness.”
 
And you know, it’s not just me that has options.  We could, after all, both opt to be bad.  C’mon, it’ll be so good… and tangible.   

Mister, Mister

i dreamed of you.  very early this morning.  in my dream, it was summertime.  back when we were seventeen.  I phoned you.  at home.  your mom answered the phone.  said you were at football practice.  i asked her to tell you that Elle had called.  she said she would… (and then i woke up).

i always wake up before you call… (just like real life).

Mister, Mister

So unfair.  so f*cking unfair.

To tease me with, “I have always felt you are my, the one that got away.”  

And then (in practically the next breath) state, “but lose my email address, because I promise you, I will not respond.” 

(to say I’m hurting is the understatement of the year)

Mister, Mister

i made you smile.  just a little… right?

Mister, Mister…

Funny, that I should get a comment from C (see comment– first post below). 

I thought he gave up on me months ago. 

Last I heard from him was, “I agree.”  Not quite the response I was hoping for (’course, I was pretty firm with him). 

BUT, didn’t he realize that he was supposed to fight for me?  Wasn’t the correct response to be, “aww, c’mon baby, let’s just go with what we’ve got going here”… or something to that effect?

Why do men always seem to let go so easily?