Dirty little secrets

I’m pissed. 

 

Pissed because nobody gives a shit if I hurt, and that’s why it’s ok to interrupt my healing.

 

The healing that I always hope is done and over. 

 

The healing I always feel I have accomplished.

 

Until she contacts me and I am hit with the sick realization that the pain is still there and it still feels like a mule kicked me in the heart every time I see her number come up.

 

I am furious that she feels the need to let me know every few months that she is still his lover. Wtf is the reason behind that? It can’t possibly still be insecurity this far into the game, so that just leaves malice and cruelty as the reason. 

 

There is nobody to scream to..there is no place to get help for the empty ache that’s in my heart.

 

J loves me.

 

He would give me the world. But that doesn’t take the hurt away.

 

Within six months of meeting me, he was ready to do all the things Roger wouldn’t, and I didn’t expect nor ask him to. He asks me at least once a day to make the legal split from my “paper only” husband and marry him.

 

He hated my husband from the very first time he saw me cry, and he quickly took up the idea that I deserved way better.

 

He has been trying to rescue me ever since he met me, with his immediate instinct being to protect me and restore my faith. That has yet to waver. 

 

He takes me to the movies and for long trips on his Ryker. He treats me to things he knows I would enjoy, like all six McDonald’s collector cups, which forced him to eat at least 10 filet of fish…and he spends a lot of his time making me happy, or at least trying his hardest to.

 

Every day he tells me to say the word and he will pave my way out of this life and into a new one. In the meantime, he has provided me with a place I could make my own permanently if I wanted to, because he didn’t want to take the woman he loves to a hotel where other people sleep. His exact words were…”I’m not taking you there anymore. I revere you.” 

 

He used that word…Revere. And that’s the right word for how he treats me.

 

He is absolutely faithful 100 percent. And he has generational wealth from his ancestors buying up railroad property.

 

He’s smart and driven.  He’s got lots of free time cuz he really doesn’t have to work at anything other than financing projects, and overseeing their completion and sale. He would spend all of that free time with me if I let him.

 

The way he treats me makes me feel beautiful and valued. He is always concerned about my feelings and he approaches everything in a calm manner. Until he doesn’t. When that happens, you want to get out of the way because he is a formidable force to be reckoned with. But he would never raise his voice to me.

 

He takes complete care of me, emotionally. He is every single bit my daddy even though he is 5 years younger than me. 

 

Parts of that are wonderful, like the part where he dotes on me and calls me his good girl. When I was with Roger, I held HIM in my arms and I know the love he felt because I feel it when J holds ME the same way. 

 

He is the first man I have let touch my whole body, even my flabby mama belly that I am self conscious of at times. Or maybe he’s the first man that wanted to, idk. I feel 100 percent comfortable being naked in front of him. I feel sexy and wanted. I never feel like I have to hide parts of me for fear he may be comparing me to the skinny wife he had or someone else he’s sleeping with. I even let him rest his hands on my love handles when I drive his bike and he wraps his arms around my waist. And I don’t think “omg he’s touching my fat rolls.”  Instead I lean back and kiss him because he makes me feel unconditionally loved. Belly and all.

 

I knew he loved me when he said he never wanted to do anything to make me stop wanting him. I still know, because he cannot hide it.

 

But Roger could not hide it either and I believe he loved me. He did a lot of the same things J does. I’m pretty sure that is part of why I allowed him into my heart, because some parts of him remind me of Roger. 

 

The first time we spent the night together, I texted him for directions from the parking lot and I swore his response came directly from Roger. He told me what door to use, how far to the elevator and which way to turn at the end of the hallway and I had to compose myself before I went in because it was so familiar it brought me to tears.

 

I remember that night. I felt so scared and alone and I was forced to be brave and vulnerable and fearless if I wanted love. And I DID want love, because I wanted ANYTHING that would make me feel less broken and more human. I just wanted someone to care about me. The right someone. 

 

In turn, I care deeply for him. Often, he wraps his arms around me and holds me like his baby and he pulls me onto his lap or into his embrace at every opportunity he can find. Sometimes when we watch TV, he rocks in his big leather chair with me on his lap, and he absentmindedly kisses my forehead and runs my hair between his fingers while I scroll on my phone with my head against his broad chest and my body draped across his long legs.

 

He’s been my comfort since day one. He knew I was wounded and needed that and he has always been that way towards me. Tender and loving and daddy like. He spoils me rotten.

 

So…what’s the hold up, you ask?

 

What’s the problem?

 

Well…

 

The problem is ME.

 

Along with that daddy role comes a certain measure of control that he has over me. It creates a dangerous dependency, and even though it feels good to be taken care of, there are parts of myself I cannot let him see.

 

What I mean by that is there are things about me I have to hide

 

Inside parts. That he doesn’t know about.

 

I’m NOT his good girl.

 

At least, not as good as he thinks I am.

 

Oh hell who am I kidding…not even CLOSE to as good. Maybe like, 30 percent as good, or something like that.

 

I have a wild streak and that fucker is a mile long.

 

And he’s so…predictable. I’ll be damned if Donny is gonna be right by saying he was too boring for me. 

 

Men greet me with “Hey, Trouble!” so often that I took to Google for an answer as to why and what it told me was not flattering. It means they foresee themselves getting into trouble with their wives/girlfriends on account of or along with ME.

 

And I have secrets.

 

And you cannot be the best partner to someone when you have secrets. You cannot reach your full bonding potential if you have to keep secrets. Once I asked J if his wife went to church with him and he said yes. Then he added, “she did it because she liked living for free in my house” and I immediately shot back “Did you make that a requirement?!” And he quickly backtracked, but I heard what he said and stored it away.

 

I’ll be damned if anyone is going to make me go to church. Ever. Even if they do tell me I’m sexy as hell at least once a day.

 

He chucked the Baptist preacher gig when he met me and followed me into the dark so don’t be pulling no bait and switch cuz I don’t own any clothing that covers enough of me to wear to church. I don’t even know where to BUY clothes for church. I may spontaneously COMBUST in church cuz God don’t want me there. Sexually, he does not remind me of a preacher, so that one is hard to reconcile in my mind.

 

I could tell Roger ANYTHING.

 

We were best friends. When we had something happen in our lives, good OR bad, we ran to each other first. Sometimes we laughed so hard in bed and on the phone that he would have a coughing fit. And I would pee a little.

 

He would talk me into something, and I would never just begrudgingly agree to it to appease him. I’d go in with an adventurous heart and knock it out of the park. Surprise him by surpassing his expectations.

 

And I was never afraid to put myself out there and play along and give it my all. And if I was, I popped a Xanax and made memories despite my fear, because we made each other feel alive and we complemented each other with our big personalities and our big hearts and our mischievous spirits. 

 

He was my partner in crime.

 

I did not have to hide parts of myself.

 

We could have changed the sexual dynamic between us. Our relationship could have weathered that storm. We could have found excitement in less harmful things than what she offered him.

 

I don’t know why he didn’t love me for the spirit inside of me. Or why he couldn’t make me an honest part of his life. He had no children to worry about hurting, just a very independent wife he said made him miserable.

 

Just like I said, a shiny penny always gets dull.

 

When that happens, they end up on the ground and countless people step on them while going about their day.

 

Some are lucky, and someone looking down sees them, in spite of having no shine to reflect the sun.

 

But most people DON’T see the penny, and all it takes to make it shiny again is for one single person to bend over and pick it up and give it a good buffing. All it takes is one person that sees the value in the penny under all the grime.

 

A thousand poor people probably walked right by the penny.

 

Maybe there is something to be learned from the wealthy guy that bent over and put it in his pocket.