Mlle. Hovary is lonely and driven to blog about it. Please extend a warm welcome back. The prodigal daughter returns. Why?
I’m in love with this guy who isn’t my boyfriend.
I have sexy dreams about him in a way that does not happen with boyfriend. The other night I dreamed I was going to jog past him wearing nothing but a tshirt and underwear. As I got closer, I had second thoughts and wheeled around so maybe he wouldn’t notice. But there he was, and he waved to me. I waved back, tried to act casual, and jogged home. I hoped he was watching me as I ran past.
In another dream, we cut right to the chase. I kissed him and melted a little on the inside. We took off our clothes and fucked. He was seated and I climbed on top of him. It was awkward, and the lights may have been on. It probably wasn’t that good – no foreplay. I just wanted him, bad.
He is nice, smart, shares my politics, has cool hobbies, volunteers with me, blogs intelligently, and is tall and cute in a geeky way. And, most importantly, he is also in a long-term committed relationship.
I wish he had some gaping character flaw so I’d know any relationship we had would be doomed. Aside from any unrequited affections on his part. Maybe he doesn’t put out. I’d probably be unhappy even if I managed to steal him from his lady friend. Fantasy is by definition unattainable, and the object loses its appeal if you succeed in attaining it. The Life of David Gale taught me that.
Maybe a little fantasy is helpful. Keeps the old juices flowing. I was never especially creative in grade school, but boy do I have a good imagination when it comes to lusting after men who aren’t interested in me.
When I was on the rebound from dating a douchebag a few years ago, it seemed like a great idea to date The Nice Guy. I think I made the safe choice. Boyfriend is very sweet and would be an excellent partner if I wanted to get married and squeeze out kids.
But I also want someone who won’t want to keep his hands off me, who can’t wait to get me home at the end of the night. I know I need to step up my game and slut it up to make things easier, but it is exhausting. Not everyone is as effortlessly stunning as Mlle. Nottibits always is. There is also nothing worse than getting all dressed up, so to speak, with nowhere to go.
I am tired of making responsible adult choices. Perhaps it would be wrong to swing over to self-destructive choices, but they sure look attractive. I am grasping at any romantic straw to feel like sex and romance are not a farce.
What to do? All suggestions are welcome.