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Looking Back on Lovers







Fragonard's Le Verrou {The Bolt}


"You're superficial," said a guy during my twenties when I refused to sleep with him.

"You're a princess," said another during my thirties when I refused to sleep with him.

"You're a whore," said most of the guys during my forties when I refused to sleep with them. I never understood that because isn't a whore, by definition, someone who has sex with someone for money?

"You don't have a spiritual bone in your body," has been the catch-all phrase from men in my fifties when I refuse to sleep with them. I guess calling a woman a whore when she's scratching 60 is kinda weird so they reverted to this. I don't understand what spirituality has to do with fucking unless these guys believe that fucking me is a sublime spiritual experience.

Whatever the case, when I do fuck a guy, he should be thankful. Especially since my 'No's outweigh the yesses. Even more so, I'm quite the seasoned individual after almost 40 years' experience with quite a few guys who deviate outside the bell curve of normal in every imaginable way.

I learned to accommodate myself no matter the guy. It doesn't make the guy a better lover, hell no. In fact, almost every guy I slept with has been pretty bad except for three guys. As long as they feel they were good lovers is what counts. Even though that was a HUGE leap of faith for me.

I'm still coming to terms with my last relationship. It's three months now and the dust is starting to settle. With time and removal of any brainwashing in the form of constant and daily texts, emails and iPhone chat, I've no idea with whom I had a relationship. I don't remember what he looks like outside of his huge cock. Even that, I barely remember except it was hard, harder than granite, rendering the sex quite unpleasant.

Usually, I remember certain characteristics of every man with whom I had a relationship, not just their sexual organs. Many of them taught me something good. Except this guy. It could possibly be that I continue to be upset, reviled and disgusted by his betrayal which effectively erased almost everything about him from my mind except how he betrayed me. And that huge, hard cock.

He's the Real Nowhere Man:


He's a real nowhere Man, 
Sitting in his Nowhere Land, 

Making all his nowhere plans 
For nobody. 
Doesn't kave a point of view, 
Knows not where he's going to, 
Isn't he a bit like you and me? 
Nowhere Man, please listen, 
You don't know what you're missing, 
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command. 
He's as blind as he can be, 
Just sees what he wants to see, 
Nowhere Man can you see me at all? 
Doesn't kave a point of view, 
Knows not where he's going to, 
Isn't he a bit like you and me? 
Nowhere Man, don't worry, 
Take your time, don't hurry, 
Leave it all 'till somebody else 
Lends you a hand. 
He's a real Nowhere Man, 
Sitting in his Nowhere Land, 
Making all his nowhere plans 
For nobody


His betrayal had nothing to do with another woman or man. He was loyal to me in that regard. However, he didn't tell me who he was until I was emotionally involved, down the road. He should've told me from the very beginning that he was a sexual deviant who enjoys being tortured especially on camera. Which might explain why his cock was so hard. I imagine having his urethra stretched, his cock and balls burnt, beaten, tied up and whipped could be why his cock was so hard. Probably toughened it to withstand pain. I'm amazed he had orgasms without being tortured.

Perhaps the lesson I learned is that I'm mentally healthy. People can be more fucked up than I, with my fertile imagination, could ever imagine.

And so concludes another chapter.




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