Stop drinking your calories.
Stop looking for things you can’t possibly have from people and things who can’t possibly offer it to you.
Stop hoping for salvation and rescue.
You’re a witch.
We’re just going to throw you over the edge – you drown that’s ok… you’ll find peace. You float and we’ll just hold you under that little bit longer and hope that no one notices.
He said thanks for coming up – for doing the long drive. That he wanted me to leave satisifed. For the first time I said that I needed him to realise that just being in his company was worth the drive, the rest was bonus. I wanted to go because I didn’t just want to set the precedent for only seeing him to fuck. If I had decided that because we “couldn’t” that meant I should stay away… if all we do is hook up…. I want and need more than that. I do genuinely enjoy his company. Walking with him is good for me – moving and just making small talk and getting out of the rut of just being still.
We fucked anyway and it was good. I came as he quoted Shakespeare and we laughed. He makes me laugh. And for someone who spends hours and hours alone, in quiet solitude, the sound of my own laughter is foreign. It tumbles out of me and I don’t recognise it.
I’m setting up a space for A to fuck B while he watches. I’m going to the pub. It ripples through me – this need to please and provide and make him happy. A will be happy because I’ve set him up with a new plaything. S expressed that he wanted to watch B fuck another man. And she’s excited… so everybody wins…. well almost everyone.
I am trying to be excited about it – trying to generate some kind of sense of enthusiasm. But really, I’m looking at erasing myself from my home so it can be used for their fantasies. Not entirely sure how this works for me – other than getting my boys to feel good, treated and special. And maybe one day one of them might extend the same to me.
But that’s the thing about being a witch isn’t it. You close yourself off so that no one knows how to actually meet your needs. When you have no needs of your own save those of others.
G joked that he liked to wash hair. I joked along with him, but the truth of the matter is that it’s one of my most simple of fantasies. For someone to dedicate themselves to me. To do things that are just nice for me because I deserve nice things. Not because I’m a good lay, or so they can get off. But because I’m worth doing something nice for.
Vanilla fantasies…. the oversized white shirt. The apartment high in the buildings of the city. Fresh coffee and high threadcount sheets. Sleeping in. Being woken with a kiss and a coffee and the thought of having nothing to do or no one to be beholden to – to spend the next few hours (the next ten minutes?) not being myself. To be treated. Spoilt. Someone else’s centre of attention.
So I am a duck. I keep my head above the water line out of sheer desperation and need. I love him. Stupidly and simply and with more genuine honesty than I expected.
And I’ll never share that. Not because I think he won’t believe me. Or that he’ll run like I feared in the past. But because he doesn’t need that from me. Our friendship is far too important for me to ruin it with love.