BFFBC with a penis

Am I repeating myself again? I tend to that. I just can’t believe I never thought to look at it like this before! 

When I hung out with BFFBC I always wished she had a penis. Not because I was attracted to her. (She was my sister-in-law almost, perv.) (Also, I asked if she wanted to try being a lesbian with me and she wouldn’t go for it.) 

BFFBC and I had a lot of fun together. We balanced each other out and taught each other another life view. We were each other’s witness, each other’s plus one, we went on road trips, went to movies, we hung out a couple of times a week and most weekends. That’s a relationship. The only thing missing was the sex.

Of course, I was always tragically love struck over someone. Usually poor unsuspecting fella who thought we were fuck buddies. Lol. 

But you know what? In many ways that was the happiest time of my life, when I truly found a home in me. 

I think in some ways I over corrected. Or maybe it’s just that I had more things I needed to learn. (I hope I always have more things I need to learn!) I thought I had it all figured out but I was kind of still trying on my new wings, testing them. I flew down the wrong path but was able to course correct when I met Unionguy and saw there was a better way. (Not to say Unionguy is the way, just that he showed me there was another way I didn’t try before.)

Anyway, the reason I got into this was to say that realizing I could consider him like BFFBC with a penis has helped me put some of this love and adoration into focus. When I remind myself it’s kind of like “Oh, right. That I can handle.”

I love BFFBC. I love Unionguy in the same way. I also like it when he touches my vagina. I like it A LOT! But, when he’s not sexing me, he’s kinda like BFFBC, with a penis. Fantastic!


See what I’m talking about?

It’s not my fault! The man is a witch, I swear! He’s got some stupid psychic power that says ‘🎵she’s starting to pull away!🎶’ and he’s all like ‘well, damn, I better get on that!’ And he asks if he can call.

I get nervous, of course. He’s going to call it off. Or he’s going to say it’s over with her! Maybe there’s something wrong with his mom. Maybe he’s really sick, like something bad. Call already, dammit!

Oh, hey, how’s it going, he says. Instant calm. And we talked for over an hour and now I want to marry him again. Not really. Yeah, sort of. 😝

The BFFBC analogy worked well, though. We talked and laughed. Told stories. He told me about how wonderful he is and I agreed. I told him how wonderful I am and he knew it all along. It was nice. Fun. Funny. 

He’s a good friend. That’s enough. 

Like my BFF but a man?

He’s BFFBC with a penis. Not that he’s like BFFBC, it’s the same kind of relationship. Texting about your day, something funny happened, this is what’s going on in my life. 

(Note to self: But he can’t give you that. He has other people to do stuff with too. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t like you more than anyone else.)

I’d rather us be like me and BFFBC now. Hey how’s life kind of stuff every now and then. Also the penis. Always with the penis, you young kids these days. 

My relationship breakdown in one sentence, courtesy of The Energy Bus

The problem is  (I say that a lot lately, don’t I?) sometimes the people who take your energy are the very ones who used to give you energy. 

And how fucking scary would it be to spend the rest of your life waiting for everyone to steal your energy, or make you feel wrong for having it? Especially when you were raised with the understanding that no one is allowed to see it until they really really loved you, and even them you don’t show some things. 

People pretend, anyways. They say one thing and do something else. I grew up believing in everybody! Everybody! And with the absolute knowledge that they believed in me too. But people pretend. Always. 

That’s what I believed. And I think I got together with men by pretending I didn’t know we were pretending. (Pssst! I know it’s hard to follow but basically I was the only one pretending!) (Know what else? I wasn’t pretending! At first.) (Yeah, I’m stoned again, bite me 😉)

I’m going to stop pretending that this is a love story. It is a friendship with the added benefit of sex. It’s fun. Maybe we’re not feeling it anymore. Maybe it has run its course. I’d be okay with that today. I want to stop being disappointed all the time. I deserve more than half a relationship. But I also deserve to have sex. I feel as though I’ve written this a dozen times before. Please bear with me, I’m slow.

Actually I recently figured out that I am kind of slow when it comes to receiving instructions. Huh.

Written in a notebook sometime in the spring of 2010 to a female online friend

Okay. So, I’ve been throwing what you said around in my head for a couple of days and I think I’m ready to answer. Although I don’t think this is going to be something you want to hear.

It’s very important to me that I don’t judge others. I understand that we all have our own moral and ethical guidelines under which we live. I cannot questions someone else’s beliefs because I feel everyone has a right to their opinion. I didn’t talk to you before I dumped you because I didn’t want to judge you. And this is going to feel like a judgement. But you asked. I will answer.

When you first told me that you were crushing on a married man, a little red flag went up but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt that you’d only take it so far. I’d hoped that your relationship and flirting with him would give you the confidence you seemed to be lacking. I hoped he would teach you that you were worthy of a man of your own.

You might have suspected that I have a pretty strong belief system. It’s important to me and there are certain lines which I will not cross. These are lines that I expect my friends to also not want to cross – based on their own beliefs, not mine.

So when I told you the story about the married guy who kissed me, you replied that I was your hero because I made out with someone while his wife – someone I told you was a friend of mine – was in the same house.

To be honest with you, I threw up in my mouth a little when I read that. My image of you and who you were got a huge kick in the pants. I decided to let it slide, hoping that was just weird supportive girl talk – which I have never understood. Why would you support me in such a terrible deed? I could understand overlooking it, casually commenting maybe, but to say that I was your hero meant that you think it’s a good idea to screw around with a married man for real, not just flirt or play but that it was awesome that I was screwing his wife over, too. Red flag? Big. Red.

Your very next communication with me was about how you sent your very dirty story to a guy that you knew I liked. It had nothing to do with the specifics. I know you can totally justify doing it. He’s a writer, you wanted his opinion. And he’s a charismatic guy, I get it. But all I was hearing was that given half a chance, you would fuck me over too. You would have no problem stepping on me to get the admiration and adoration that you so desperately needed. No matter that I was already giving it to you myself. You couldn’t respect me and that’s not something I desire in a friend. It’s that simple.

I know, judgemental. Told you. But let’s turn the table for a moment. We told each other who our crushes were, we checked them out. How would you have felt if you knew I  actually contacted your guy. That I flirted with him even though I flirt with everyone? How about if I sent him a sexy story about apples and sex? Now, how about you were married to him and I was downstairs kissing him?

Your choices are yours. I cannot choose your path, nor do I want to tell you what to do. But I sure as hell am choosing my path and I don’t want to spend my time with someone who could fuck me over so easily. I deserve better. That’s your answer.

Blasts from the past

Last night I decided it would be fun to read through some of my old doodle notebooks, have a little visit with Past Me. There were a few interesting entries that I would like to share. I think mostly because they were written when I was trying to figure myself out and was very specific in my ideas and ideals. Now I just live them so they don’t get explained as often. Or something. Whatever. Ima write old stuff. Read it if you want. (I think these old notebooks are making me cranky. Because I need an excuse, yes?) I will tag them “Past me”


Something in our conversation tonight really got to me. But, for the life of me, I can’t understand what, how or why. And I don’t want to think about it right now- which is odd in itself. 

I went into this confidently because I trusted that I would pull back if I needed to. It might have started. I hope not. Only time will tell for sure.