By daisychain
Excerpts from a Journal
June 20
I am a very normal girl. I wouldn’t get a second look. I am shorter than average. I carry a few extra pounds. I feed my fear and my anger and any other strong emotion that breaks through my medicated equilibrium. Usually chocolate. Add in my lamentable addiction to fancy Starbuck’s coffee drinks and you have a recipe for waistline disaster. At this point in my life, it isn’t a huge issue.
I am married. I have a beautiful daughter. She attends an excellent preschool. We live in a nice home in a golf-course neighborhood. My husband plays golf on the weekends and my daughter and I do social things with the other golf-widows and their children. We put the little ones into their jogging strollers and go en masse to the neighborhood playground. We smile and laugh as the little ones play and we talk about appropriate toys and all of their phenomenal emergent skills.
Picture perfect. But to pull an old adage “looks can be deceiving.” I go through the motions. I appear happy and content, but inside I am crumbling. Because I have a secret. This isn’t my dream life.
The fantasies in my head are different. The man of my dreams is intelligent, caring, handsome, and a paraplegic. He makes me laugh. He kisses me. He snuggles on the couch with me. I read while he watches football. In the bedroom, we are indulgent with each other and I revel in the way he feels in my hands. I love the feel of his mouth, his tongue on me. Lovemaking is complete and we each are satiated by its end.
This man has been in my dreams from the time I can remember. He has grown up with me. He has been my playmate, my friend, my lover, my partner. The only problem is that he exists only in my imagination. And I have never told anyone that he is there.
I have been able to keep him hidden. I have lived my life as was expected of me. I have achieved the American Dream. And I am miserable.
For some people, it is blue eyes. Others like redheads. For me, it is a man who cannot walk. So what does that make me?
A devotee. At least that is what I have learned on the Internet. I have spent the majority of my life thinking I was an absolute freak. I know now that while I may be a freak in the eyes of many, I am not alone. And I am learning to be comfortable with who I am. That is a good thing.
But there are always two sides of everything. So as I am coming out of my shell, becoming comfortable with my sexuality, in my mid-thirties, no less, I find myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this American Dreamworld I have built around me.
The question becomes: where to go from here?
Can I continue to indulge myself in my fantasies while sleeping beside my husband? Do I venture into the world that could lead to the fulfillment of my fantasies? Do I stuff it all down inside again? I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to be miserable anymore.
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September 6
I met someone on the Internet. It started out innocently enough. Questions on a message board led to personal messages led to IM. The best part of my day is chatting with him, learning who he is, sharing the minutiae of our lives. I sit in front of my PC like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for our conversations to begin. When I see his name blink on my screen, the smile on my face could light the house. Mid-thirties and I am acting like a lovestruck schoolgirl. With a man I know only from a photo and the words he chooses to share on the screen.
I am starved for attention, affection, caring. Kind words and the barest hint of interest are an aphrodisiac to me that will keep me coming back for more and turn me into the most loyal of lapdogs. He fills that need. He makes me smile and laugh and feel special. I do the same for him, or so he says.
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September 27
Messaging with a cute para who knows how to talk to me went the only way it could. Cyber-sex. His words are amazing! I sit in my desk chair, staring at the screen, imagining what he says he is dong to me and I feel that delicious throbbing. I can feel his hands, his mouth on me and I get closer to orgasm than I do at my husband’s touch. When I go to bed after our chats, I have to touch myself to release what he has built in me. He is the man in my fantasies now. He is in bed with me when I have sex with my husband. It is the only way I can cum.
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September 29
If I thought I was miserable before, it was nothing compared to now. Now my head, my heart and my libido have gotten all tripped up. My husband knows about my fantasy friend. My friend knows about my husband. I have been up-front with both of them, thinking to ameliorate my guilt. It isn’t working. Now I have stars in my eyes for this man I only barely know. I never thought I would find this type of connection. But have I really found it? Is it all in my head?
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October 4
He wants to meet me! I am already trying to figure out how to make that work. I want to be with him. I want to feel his body under my hands. I want to experience the kiss I have imagined as so sweet. I want to experience every inch of his body with my hands, my tongue. I want to know him. I want to do to him the things we have done now in text sex. I want to feel his hands, his mouth on me. I want him to bring me to that edge he has brought me to so many times with only his words and I want him to take me over it. I want to fall deep in the bliss I know is there.
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October 8
It is all planned out now. I wanted to meet him at Halloween. Always my favorite time of year, but I am a mom and I do have to take my daughter trick-or-treating. And I want to be with her to see her all dressed up and share her joyous smiles as she goes from house to house and fills her pumpkin with treats.
So I will meet him the first weekend in November. We decided it would be best to meet in a neutral location away from where either of us lives. We are meeting in San Francisco. I have never been there. He loves the city, travels there on business at least twice a year. I am more excited about this than I have been about anything in a long time. It hurts me to leave my husband and my daughter to go indulge myself, but I know this is something I have to do. My husband knows it too and he agreed. I am not doing any of this in a clandestine fashion, which is remarkable. Except maybe for my motives. My husband thinks this is just a sexual fantasy I need to get out of my system and that after having a weekend of sex with a paraplegic, my devotee needs will be fed and I can come back to him whole and happy. I feel it is more than that. I am not one to wantonly have sex with anyone. If there were not a deeper connection there, I would never have entertained this little tryst as long as I have. I know I am building a relationship. And the implications therein are more frightening than I wish to admit to myself.
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October 15
Our chat has changed. Now that we know we will be meeting each other, we seem almost more reserved. We are planning out the way we will spend the weekend. And it isn’t all sex. There are things he wants me to see in the city. Places he thinks I will enjoy. He wants to share them with me. Build memories outside of the hotel room. Like a real couple. Go out to dinner. Sightsee. Delight in each other’s company then revel in each other’s bodies when we do settle in to the hotel room. Romance. I so need it.
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November 3
The time has flown by in the normal course of being a good wife, a good mother, and a good employee. I come alive at my computer at night. And tomorrow I fly to San Francisco. I am nervous.
As it has gotten closer, my friend and I have gotten more involved. My husband and I have gotten less so. I know he is regretting his decision now to let me do this, but I have no intention of canceling. I NEED this. I want this. I will have this.
My stuff is all packed and I have explained to my daughter that mommy is going away for the weekend to meet a friend. She wants to come, too. I know her tears at the airport tomorrow are going to rip me apart inside, as will that look in my husband’s eyes. But I am in too deep now. No way out.
My husband comes to bed after I do, after I have finished my chat session. He reaches out for me and pulls me close. He tells me he loves me. I tell him I love him. It is no less true today than the day I married him. I love him, but I need more. And tomorrow I will have that more.
We make love and for the first time in months, my friend is not in my head. This is about my husband. I do not cum, but he does. He sleeps with his arm around me. He hasn’t done that since the early years of our marriage. Hanging on tightly? I don’t know.
I do know that I have a return ticket for Monday and I have no intention of not using it. For whatever happens this weekend, I know my duty to my husband and child. Is it possible to love one man and be in love with another? Or am I just in lust?
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November 4
I am writing on the plane. I am more nervous than I thought possible. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? We have exchanged photos. I know who I am looking to meet, just as he does. What if I have built him up in my head to be something he cannot be? What if I cannot live up to what he expects? What if, what if, what if?
I know I should feel guilty for leaving my family and I do. But I am thrilled at the thought of meeting the man who has become my cyber lover. To make him real.
I allow my mind to drift as I float above the clouds. Thinking of what will happen when we meet. If the sparks aren’t there, I still have a weekend in San Francisco, my own room and an idea of what would be fun to do. Or I could just exchange my ticket for an earlier return flight. Whatever happens, I will be okay.
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November 5
I only have a few minutes to write this down. I came back to my room to shower and change clothes before breakfast. It will be my second shower, but I am not sure the first one counts because it wasn’t about getting clean. It was all about getting off. He is everything I had hoped and more. Smart and funny and an amazing lover…. Monday will come too quickly.
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November 7
I can recount the whole weekend now. I want to capture it all before my memory fades and I have to stuff all of these emotions down out of necessity. I would like to recount every detail, but that may be more than I can handle. The images will remain in detail in my mind, his sweet smile, the sound of his voice, his laughter, the way he smelled, felt, tasted….. I don’t need to write it all down.
I am waiting for the plane that will take me back to my husband and my daughter. Back to that American Dreamwolrd. But it will be so much more difficult now to smile and keep up my picture-perfect appearance because I have tasted, touched and felt that my fantasy world can be made reality.
I couldn’t keep tears out of my eyes when I said goodbye this morning. I didn’t want to leave him. I don’t want to leave him now. But that was the agreement. One weekend to meet and to see what would happen. What happened was amazing. I have never felt so connected, so loved, so desired. I have never wanted to give so freely of myself without thought of return.
After I got checked in o the hotel, I changed into a blue (his favorite color) dress that skimmed my figure and high heels (which I never wear) to complete the picture. I wanted to be beautiful for him. He told me I was. And then he showed me that I was to him.
He was waiting where he told me he would be, at the precise time. His plane had arrived earlier than mine. We both are from the East Coast and although my body told me it was mid-afternoon, the clock and my stomach said lunchtime. We had agreed to meet for lunch in the hotel restaurant. Talk a little. Get a feeling for each other face-to-face. Decide if we wanted to spend anymore time together.
I would have found him easily enough even if he hadn’t been the only patron in the restaurant in a wheelchair. He looked up as I walked over to him. His smile was shy and matched my own. The excitement I felt when seeing him log on for chat could not compare to what I felt in that moment. He looked like his photo. His hair was maybe a little longer, a little curlier. The look in his eyes welcomed me and I leaned down and kissed his cheek as if it were the most natural thing for me to do.
“Hi.” I said.
“Hi.” He answered.
I took my seat. There wasn’t the initial awkwardness of a blind date. The awkwardness came only from being unfamiliar with his actual presence. We already knew each other well and just as soon as I got used to him being so close, to the intensity of his hazel eyes, the sound of his voice and his laughter made me relax. He is a wonderful person and there was no doubt that I would happily spend the rest of the weekend with him and would gladly share my time, my bed, and my body with him before I left San Francisco. And so it was.
We spent the first afternoon sightseeing and talking. He showed me his favorite places. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. People looked at us like we were a couple. I liked that. I would be pleased to be half of a partnership with him. He was a great tour guide and companion. His sense of humor had come through in text as wicked and sharp. In person, it was even better.
As a lover, I couldn’t have imagined anyone more attentive. He made me want to give more than I got. It was a wonderful feeling, to want to please someone so much.
First we kissed and made out. His kiss was as sweet as I had imagined and made me want so much more. Then we undressed each other and explored each other’s bodies. I am a small person and have always liked being with smaller men. We fit each other well. I took great pleasure in touching him, learning him with my hands… feeling the muscles of his arms and chest, running my hands over his stomach, feeling the way he fit into and filled my hands. I caressed and explored his thin legs, learning exactly where his sensation stopped and taking full advantage of the reaction I got when I caressed the sensitive area.
He explored me in the same manner, with gentle hands. He made me feel beautiful with his touch. I was not self-conscious with him. Not embarrassed or ashamed. I reveled in his body. He enjoyed mine.
Hands were replaced with mouths and my lips learned his body in the same manner my hands had. I gladly took him in my mouth and worked him until he came. I swallowed his essence, learning his taste.
Then he went down on me and I have never reached an orgasm so quickly or forcefully. Amazing.
After that, we lay in bed together and talked and laughed until we were ready to go again. Actual lovemaking was sweet and thorough. I got to ride him. Then we talked some more until we were both too sleepy to be coherent. We slept spooned against each other. I woke up smiling.
We tested out the shower the following morning. I knelt at his feet and gave him the hand job I had promised. The look of bliss on his face will be in my memory forever.
We then did touristy stuff and more talking for the majority of the day. I had an absolute blast with him. We took a nap together late in the afternoon, had a late dinner, then another night spent exploring and pleasing each other.
We slept spooned again. I think the thing the really stood out to me by then was how natural it all seemed. How comfortable I was with him, just being myself, and how comfortable he seemed to be with me. Nothing was forced. It just all fell into place and we fit.
Sunday we did more sightseeing, but our moods had started to dampen a little by late evening. The stolen weekend was coming to an end. We would spend one more night in each other’s arms, then what? Plan another meeting? Be cyberlovers? Let each other go?
We left all of those questions unanswered. I will see him again. I can’t imagine my life without him now. But I am not sure what it all means. I do know I am going to have a difficult time in bed with my husband now. My lover will always be in my head. He knows how to please me. He knows how to make me feel beautiful and special and like I belong with him. And I do. But I am going home to a place where he is not.
The airline is calling for final boarding of my fight. Back to the American Dreamworld.
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November 24
Thanksgiving. My husband’s family is coming to our house on Saturday for the family Thanksgiving dinner. I know I have so much to be thankful for, forgive the cheesiness. But I am miserable. I was right. I am having trouble resuming my “normal” life. I am now in daily phone calls with my lover. In addition to chat and email. We can’t get enough time together. I don’t know what I am going to do.
January 1
Happy New Year to me. I am spending it alone. In my own apartment. My daughter is with her dad. We have been separated since before Christmas. It was a miserable Christmas for us, but we managed to shield our daughter as much as we could. She is with my husband during the week and me on the weekends. I didn’t’ take anything from the house. I just left. I couldn’t stay in my husband’s bed anymore. It wasn’t right.
But I can’t move into my lover’s bed either. For several reasons. I need to straighten myself out, figure out what I really want. I am certain I have fallen in love with him. He says he loves me. But is that enough? He is beginning to grow impatient. I know he wants us to be together and I want us to be together, too, but that presents a new can of worms.
I don’t want to move out of state, I don’t want to fight for custody of my daughter. My lover doesn’t’ want to move here. I have no easy answer for this situation. And as a result, I am alone. No husband, no lover, no daughter. This is not what I expected.
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May 15
I am moving to be with my lover. I guess he isn’t really my lover anymore. He is my partner now. I have never been so in love with someone. So I have that happiness now. But it has cost me. My divorce has not been particularly pleasant. My custody arrangement is less than satisfactory. I took very little away form the marriage except for my car, my clothes and a few personal belongings. Half of what was in the bank accounts and half of the consumer debt. I get to see my daughter over the summers and on holidays. She will grow up with a new mommy. My now ex-husband has met someone new. He seems happy. I am happy for him.
I will sleep in my boyfriend’s arms tonight and that void will be filled. We will be happy tighter. But the picture of my daughter in the locket around my neck will be a constant reminder of a life that I lost.