And It’s a Brand New Day

Years ago I watched “Behind the Music” with Alanis Morissette. Being a champion and forerunner into what I call Angry Woman Music, I’ve always paid attention to her interviews and lyrics. And she toned her anger down after “Jagged Little Pill.” So when she said she used to believe you had to suffer to be an artist, it struck me. Because that’s what I always believed, too.

She said she no longer believed it. I scoffed. And that’s why I’ve not been doing a lot of writing lately. It’s not that I don’t suffer now. Actually, that’s not true. I struggle. Suffering, I’ve found, is optional.

My bff, my pseudo boyfriend, tells me misery is a doom loop. I believe him. But there’s still a bit of me that discounts what Alanis said.

But I’m going to try and prove her right. I’ll do this by continuing to write, continuing to practice my positive thinking and see if I can still flow.

I’m fairly sure that I can do whatever I set my mind to now. I not only believe more in myself, I have others, whose opinion means the world to me, who believe in me, too.

I’ve always been averse to letting people down. If that works in my favor in this case, then … I, too, can be just fine, fine, fine.

And I’m On Hiatus

Obviously. I will return. I always do.

What Women Wish Men Knew

I have a muse. He is the recipient of my “wisdom.” So I’ve been trying to articulate what women, and by women I mean me, want in a man.

Part 1:

We’re all little girls inside. That’s a truism. That’s what I read tonight. I saw a list of things women wished men knew about us, and that’s one of the few I really agree with.

And being a little girl can make us a bit clingy sometimes. We don’t like that about ourselves, but … on the other hand … we’d be distant if we didn’t like you. It’s a Catch 22, you see.

If we didn’t like you, we’d play you. Because we drop that game pretty fast when we realize we care.

Little girls fancy strong men. And that is the story. It’s the key. Because we end up deifying you, just like we did our daddy.

When we lay our head on your chest, we feel secure. When you are strong, you make us stronger.

We believe in you, like it or not. It’s a big responsibility. But, if we love you we do remember to show it.

We don’t want love poems. We’ll write them to you. We don’t need flowers, that’s too easy. We want your approval. We want your respect. And we want to be kept a little unsure, although we’re pretty good at talking ourselves into that.

We want to be your confidante. We want you to trust us with your life. But we’re afraid of that, too. Because late at night, when we wake up and feel your presence, we know it’s our life in your hands. And we sleep better knowing that.

Late at night is when I drop my guard. And I don’t just get honest to you, I get plain honest. I may over think, but at least I think. Just sayin’.
This is my secret self. You’ve met her. She’s kept behind a wall most times though. She’s a bit shy and plenty unsure.

This is Part 1.

And I’m Not Finished With This Yet

I wasn’t yet divorced when I met my eventual second ex. And I was rebounding hard obviously. But I’m admittedly co-dependent – whether it be friends or men.

We talked for a couple of weeks. And we had our first date, which turned into me practically living with him. It’s funny, as I write that I see the sickness there. And I probably did at the time, but … what can I say … I didn’t want to then.

I idealized him, sure. I created him in my own image. And when he told me he was into S&M, well, I thought I knew. In my naiveté, I didn’t rely upon anything more than my reasoning and supposition. In retrospect that was a mistake.

But to his credit, he was kind and smart and funny and assertive … three of four qualities my first ex didn’t have. He was a bit edgy, I thought. A non-conformist …. and I was “in love.” He loved me. He loved me through the pain of my divorce and he loved me through me playing Solomon during my excruciating custody battle. And … he loved me.

And … that’s what I thought I needed. So, in return, I was willing to do whatever he believed he wanted, for the greater good. I just didn’t realize what that would entail.

The end of it all came a few years later when I got the ultimatum – submit to him wanting to submit to me – or get the fuck outta his house. I didn’t make a choice which turned into making a choice after all … and I ended up locked out of the house and the neighborhood and my security and my life.

I rolled over and took it like a bitch. Like he was. And I didn’t even see it til recently. Because, it was during that period that I lost my grip on reality, the one I tenuously hold to now.

Life became a series of getting fucked up, easing the pain, shutting out the thoughts, losing the dreams and eventually losing myself and many of those I love.

And I Remember Why

“I had a good time hanging out with you at the bar that first time,” he told me tonight.
I’m not surprised. I’m a fun person. But … with him? It’s more than hanging out.
Here’s what I remember.
We talked ALL day on a Monday. I think it was a Monday. I know we texted at first, but he called me.
I was shopping for my frenemy.
I asked him what HE was wearin. Thought it was my business. And he laughed. And we talked the rest of the day.
And every day afterwards.
It wasn’t even a week before I met him. And that was too fuckin long.
So I drove to HIS town and waited … in the casino. And he took the upper hand again.
I remember what I was wearing. And I remember what HE was wearing. And I remember what game I was playin at the casino when he was suddenly behind me.
I wish I could remember what HE said. All I remember is HIS presence.
But, a few minutes later we were on the elevator together. A few hours later, we were in bed together.
It’s difficult to explain the best sex of your life, but that’s when it happened for me.
I’d honestly given up hope of it ever happening. But there … in that room. With us. Something magical happened.
And I’ve never been the same since.

And It Starts At The Very Beginning

It’s hard to believe it’s been 4 ½ years since I began. And how much I’ve learned along the way – about myself, about men, about wives and about human nature.

More than four years since I used my gift for words and, in essence, became Emma Bovary. But really a living, breathing and loving version of the character. It wasn’t the first time I’d had an affair, but, at the time, I never dreamed it would become a way of life. And it would set me on a course of self destruction from which I don’t know if I’ll recover.

From the time I finished watching Dr. Phil that afternoon in my own living room … to the time that I sit here effectively homeless and still loving my married men, it’s sucked everything I have away. It took two marriages, my children, my homes and my freedom.

Or at least the psychological warfare and inner conflict did. But for a writer, the journey to self discovery makes a much better story. So I took one for the cause.

So what I have is my story, but the feelings are universal in nature. And it’s time to come clean about it all. For the first time. And in doing so, I hope to heal. I refuse to return the lessons I learned, though. And the three I met who fundamentally changed me.

It begins and ends with me. But my men are the product of who I am today. I call them my alphas. And I’ve been looking for them my whole life. I just didn’t know it at the time.

And I Am Ready To Go Public

I’ve spent the past four years hunting. And I’ve not hunted animals … I’ve been hunting the alpha male.

It’s taken me through two divorces and a few heartbreaks. I’ve thrown away my marriages and may lose my freedom trying to find the perfect species. And also trying to both elucidate and figure out why I’m doing it.

I started with a web site. One devoted to hooking up married men and women. And, more than four years later, I have quite the contacts and the so called black book, but that was never what I was looking for.

But finally I perfected my hook. I began trusting my instinct. And soon I found them. And I ultimately figured out what set the alpha apart from the pack.

Now I am akin to Jane Goodall.

I am educated in the ways of the alpha. And I’ve done the fieldwork.

I hesitate to share my findings, but they are the gold standard for both every man and every woman. And I discovered along the way that I am priceless to them. Because I am an alpha female.

I never found my happily ever after. And the “happily right now” became too much work, too much heartache. So I did the same thing these married people did. I redefined my relationships and I settled.

But I’ve settled for the most wonderful alpha men around. And that’s what I was hunting for. The alpha in word and indeed.

I’ve used my experience to not write a memoir, but instead write a manual. And although I believe these secrets shouldn’t be shared with everyone. They could be used badly or incorrectly, but I need the money. And I’m damn good at what I do.

I have a three-page outline, with solid and written ideas for follow up. Every man I talk to … and there are many … say this is true It damn sure should be. It’s almost killed me.

And Then There Were Two

At the core they’re almost the same. Both former football players. Both fierce competitors, both loving dads, both haunted and changed. But there are differences, too.
And one of them is the perfect one, the other flawed. I love them both. But chances are, I can only have a small bit of one – for a short period of His time, even.
I feel like I have a full-time job with my boys, albeit unpaying. And it’s one I love … the hours are interesting. The benefits substantial. The pay, nothing. The emptiness … all consuming. The pain … sometimes intolerable. But, for whatever reason, I love them both.
I don’t lay eyes upon them. I see them in my memory.
I don’t TALK to them. I do it on IM.
They are as real to me as the people in the room.
They are my compare and contrast. They are married … one fairly happily, the other not. Both determined to stay … especially for the children.
So where does that leave me? Ummm … nowhere. But I love them and I’m addicted to them and I serve them, in words and writing and adoration.
True One was AWOL yesterday. He was present. And that worked well, because I devote every bit of my energy to which ever one is with me … internet-edly.
But as He and I’s conversation was coming to a close yesterday, it was the True One on my mind … where he’d been. Why he’d been away.
Part of my balancing act is to try not to be possessive. I’m their pseudo mistress, I don’t get to be possessive. The role is about sharing. But I have to restrain myself. And sometimes I’m successful, sometimes I’m not.
Yesterday, while noticing True One’s absence and waiting for Him to extricate himself from a client, I sent the former a message … asking what he was up to. Didn’t hear back.
Later, after being mind fucked by Him, I wrote to my other again, telling him I was afraid … of falling in love again. With Him. I tried to keep it light. Said I was fearful of falling into the looking glass. Said I was blaming him, for no apparent reason. And he said, “Go ahead. I can handle it.”
Words every woman wants to hear.
I can handle it. At the end of the day, that’s what I want … that’s all I need. Someone to handle it and a soft place to land. But I need an alpha to keep me company.
Today I’ve talked to them both. I know what their fears are at work. I know they both sought me out to tell me.
I’m their therapy, they are my life.
How’d I get lucky enough to have the best two in the world? I dunno. But I hope it doesn’t kill me.

And He Dared Me

If you know me in the least, you know I can’t turn down a dare.

“Text me if you dare,” he wrote me. And I responded, fast, that I didn’t have His number anymore. I do now.

“It’s me,” I wrote Him.

This wasn’t the first time … I initiated it. I wrote to Him a few months ago and He told me that I was it. I was His only mistress. And as comforting as that was, I took no real comfort in it.

Instead I lashed out at Him.

This is a problem with me. There are few who have the ability to get under my skin. And He’s number one on the list. So I was doing myself and Him a favor by not having his number, when I was feeling weak. When He was at the tip of my fingers.

And I lashed out to make Him jealous. But He called me on it.

“How long did that fling last,” He asked me … the one He I taunted him with. Well … that’s complicated. Because it’s only really been intellectual and emotional rather than physical. What I didn’t say was that my True One called off the physicality before we were in too deep.

But what He read was not indicative of that. I didn’t bother to tell Him that the True One saw the fire and backed the fuck away from it.

“He close?” He asked me. And I wasn’t sure if that meant geographically or what. But … geographically, he’s pretty darn close. But that doesn’t come into play.

Yes, dear. I wanted you to be jealous. You caught me. But you knew that, huh?

This was all precipitated when I got an “interview request” from my married people site. I’ll try to write about that at some point. But I wouldn’t do it. That site is done for me. I can’t take the duplicity.

I forwarded it to a few. And … He responded. And I was thrown. And today I wrote Him more … telling Him I believed I imagined what we had. Because there was no way it could be real.

But He came close to confirming it when He said, “It wasn’t all just sex.” Yeah. I don’t drive hours for just sex when every man I come across lately is DTF. It wasn’t just sex to me. But to hear Him elucidate gives me pause. And makes me realize I’m on a slippery slope.

And none of those lends itself to a good well being. But … as the day comes to an end and the weekend does, too, I’m better. And I don’t know if it’s because He got in touch or not.

I know it’s certainly a contributing factor because even as I read His texts coming in, I was smiling. He’s always been able to make me smile and laugh … as well as all those other passionate emotions, both good and bad.

But I promised myself I wouldn’t read too much into it. I won’t over think it.

Instead I’ll just be happy that I can smile again. And I hope He smiles, too. It’s been since September and we were on good terms.

He told me today I went bat shit. He’s right. But only for a few … like my children and my dearest friends.

And most especially when it came to Him.

“I’m glad we are talkin,” He said. Me, too, baby … me, too.

And btw … thanks for fuckin the writing back into me.

And They Are My Religion

Men are pigs and women are psychos. Truer, simpler words have never been spoken and it’s really all you need to know in the end.
But we get so caught up in analyzing and over thinking and complicating that we forget this most basic of truths.
“Men are like dogs, feed us and fuck us and we’ll be happy,” my lawyer and my friend told me. Yet women still spend time trying to figure out what it means. And … yeah … I’m no different.
It’s part of the reason I keep notes and most of the reason I shouldn’t. I don’t need to remember what they told me. It’s fuckin crystal clear.
I need to study the way I respond to it, so I can alter any kind of incorrect psychosis in the future. And … it’s embarrassingly and painfully obvious when reading through past conversations with both Him and his successor.
I’m a psychopathic moron. You’re welcome.
And you’re a pig. I just have to remember to feed you – and what I feed is the ego through my uncontrollable need to deify.
And they are my religion.