The lie of the land

Every time I think that the dust has settled, I go and boot it all up in the air again. For a woman who dislikes uncertainty I seem to manage to create an awful lot of it. People talk about bad break ups - I'm wondering if another, possibly facetious, definition might be splitting with someone and then spending a weekend in bed with them.

I'd like to say that I couldn't help it, which in part is true. We have a lot of chemistry. Oodles. When we met up last Friday, it was the most natural thing in the world to reach out to touch him, then kiss him. One thing led to another, as these things do - then it was Monday morning and I was, sadly, with regret, leaving him in my bed and heading off for work, wondering (hoping) when the next time we might see each other would be.

I'm not even going to try and pin the tail on where we are right now, for a start, I have no idea. Secondly, that line of thinking was what wound me up in the first place. I think that, for once and unusually for me, I've done enough analysis, enough sifting through the grains and it might do me good to just take a bit of time and not try to put things into boxes. Certain things are still true. We want different things out of life, in the long term. Some of our goals are the same - kinky sex and exploration, friendship and love. The practicalities are the killer. And so I'm not going to go out and hunt for them. I'd like for the weekend to not be merely a one-off, but again, I'm trying not to count my chickens. Taking it a day at a time. Pick your cliche. Still sad though - sad for the happy ever after that I wanted, that could-have-been scenario. I don't know if that will ever go away, whether we do keep seeing each other or never see each other again.

My head has certainly not settled or wrapped itself around what happened, never mind what is happening. My own sexual head space is rather strange. For example, I have a lot of kinky thoughts, but they are rather abstract, either they involve me and nameless, faceless entities or they are just bits of bodies - fists wrapped tightly in black PVC so the fingers can't move, red marks on pale skin. I know that for the moment, private, intense play with anyone else is certainly out - the thought makes a bit of me curl up inside. A part of me wants to go out clubbing and shake it off, but I'm not sure what my reaction would be without my long-time wingman. Which again, is a little sad, but for the moment I think the best thing is further confinement to barracks - and see what happens when the world turns.