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I broke up with Andrew. Long story short, he was ignoring me, and I no way was going to put up with that, good sex at Thanksgiving or no.


On Tuesday I had dinner with my sister and a guy from a different class, who we’ll call William. William and I also stood in the 30°F weather talking for an hour on Monday. It was so good to get to connect with someone. I don’t know whether he’ll end up being anything more than a friend, but he seems like a good guy.


 

Yesterday, I had one of the most intense experiences I’ve had recently. A guy I know—let’s call him Telemachus— Mac for short— came home with me, we got gloriously stoned, and he read me his poetry. His good poetry.

It made me so fucking horny, I could barely stand not jumping him. I mean, pot AND poetry? Jesus, you had me at hello.

Maybe I should have jumped him? I don’t know. It’s definitely what a true slut would’ve done, but I’m not there yet. But I have class again with him on Friday and if nothing happens then, I will be severely disappointed.

I was still so horny hours later that I texted my ex-boyfriend, Chance, and after telling him what had happened, basically begged him to get me off.   I sent him some pictures of me fucking myself and my ass with a dildo he bought me, as an incentive.  He obliged, very happily.

Andrew is coming to visit for Thanksgiving.  He’ll be here for a week.

Normally I would just be happy about this.  I should just be happy about this.  If I were normal, if I didn’t have this relationship with someone that I just can’t get out of my head, if I weren’t basically a cheater.

But instead I’m worrying, wondering if he’ll go through my computer.  Biting my nails over the fact that he might discover something I don’t want him to see.   View full article »

Why?  Why yet another blog?

The long and the short of it is, I needed somewhere to speak openly and honestly about my sexual exploits.  My raison d’être and my boyfriend, both prefer that I not speak about them publicly. I can’t help it. I have to tell someone.

The name “Platonic Ideal” comes from a compliment that the man I’m obsessed with (Raison) gave me.  He told me, after I sent him some particularly evocative photos, that I had the Platonic ideal of fantastic tits.

These Forms are the essences of various objects: they are that without which a thing would not be the kind of thing it is. For example, there are countless tables in the world but the Form of tableness is at the core; it is the essence of all of them. ~ Theory of Forms – Wikipedia

It’s the best compliment I’ve ever been given.