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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.