May 242010

My main chat partner during the boring work days  he’s not really been around much lately. Pressures and stress from work and home coupled with just being too busy have ended with him uninterested/unavailable to talk much and frankly I think he’s depressed. It absolutely kills me that I can’t help him. I have advice, but he won’t take it yet. I care about him a lot and I hate seeing him this way. I also miss him and see the friendship fading a little in some ways.

So yes…I was finding myself lonely and bored and thought what the hell. I’ll go hunting for a hook-up (or, used to) therefore why can’t I hunt for a penpal, a chat buddy? And so, I did. In true Lilly fashion I was very forthcoming on what I wanted and didn’t want. I told a little about myself and asked for the same in return. After all, what fun is a penpal if they’re incapable of composing a proper paragraph?

Did I find what I was looking for? I found some idiots who didn’t read, of course. I found some that just didn’t appeal to me. I found a few that seemed promising at first and then…meh. I found a couple that held my interest. Nice to talk to, we had some things in common…

But then they fell to the wayside as I somehow found myself in limbo….waiting on the friend to respond. For he’s the one I prefer to talk to, even over the “new friendship energy” of others. By the time I realized that our conversation had fizzled out an hour ago and he wasn’t going to respond to me, I was pretty down in the dumps and no longer felt like answering the emails of my new penpals. Then my trips started. Washington state, and then a trip a few states away for side work, home for 3 weeks and then gone again for a weekend of work, and just now back home. With all the traveling, the prep for travel and recovery from travel and the site design jobs I have, I lost contact with the few that had some potential.

I guess I’ll keep trying. It’s not like I’m looking for a replacement. I just don’t want to rely on him so much, I guess. I don’t want to have to keep reminding myself that it’s not rejection, it’s truly not me, it really is him.



Nov 272009

She always was able to lose herself in a good book. Her vivid imagination painted the scene, conjured up the voices, simulated the emotions. It was a blessing and yet sometimes a curse. As was usual when reading an erotica book, she was able to imagine herself in the scenarios being described. Her most recent acquisition of erotica was no different and she couldn’t deny the throbbing in her cunt. That night, her mind instinctively included Him in these thoughts; but the moment she consciously realized what her mind was doing, she shook it off and kept on reading.

“Must not do that anymore”, she said to herself.

But oh, the pull of her mind, it was too much to deny. She surrendered and let her imagination run free. Just one more time.

As her orgasm built she could practically feel His hand on her throat, his lips at her temple, could almost hear the filthy words he would have uttered at one point. It had been a long, slow climb with an expected grand finish.

The orgasm, however, surprised her.

It was not her cunt releasing fluids and climaxing with pleasure. No, there was wetness but it was not in the right place. As her weak and confusing clitoral orgasm diffused, the tears pouring from her eyes suddenly came into focus.

Instead of the built up sexual pleasure releasing, the blocked heartache released. She let the tears do their thing, she let herself be lost in the emotions and the purging. The  painful, heavy lump in her throat had to be dissolved. She silently wept in the darkened bedroom; tears for the lies she had told herself, tears for the fantasies that would never see the light of reality, tears for the loss of him, tears for what she wasn’t able to give him. Bitter anger for never managing to be “more” than the ghosts of his past; self-defeat for not managing to be enough of……anything, really. So much wrong, not enough right.

When the tears stopped of their own accord, she acknowledged to herself: “That was the last time”.

The last time her fantasies would include him.

The last time she would long for him.

The last time she would cry over him.

She put his shoes away; in a box, in the closet, underneath a stack of junk. Chin up, deep breath…..walk away.

Sep 102009

How long does it take to move on?

How long until you stop comparing potential “replacements” to what is being replaced?

How long until you can reclaim that thing, or that subject, or that place as yours – the way it was before they claimed it with you….

Before you let them in to it, whether in open arms or edging along the wall…..

How long until you stop seeing the replacement as a poor substitute?

Finding faults and cons, not pros.

There’s this pair of shoes sitting here, left behind. Big shoes to fill, so to speak. They’re not perfect shoes; there’s a few scuffs and a squeak that comes from the left heel when walking. These shoes are unique and one of a kind. I don’t think they can be filled by anyone but their old owner. They can’t even be borrowed for a little bit. And since I am seeing that similar=poor substitute, it’s time for a new style.

How long until I’m able to move them? Not to be gotten rid of entirely, but put away so that it doesn’t look like they’re sitting and waiting (I’m not sitting and waiting). The shoes are going to stay where they are for the time being, I guess. A little longer, a slow and gradual move. But I’m not ready.

Not yet.