After it all, I now feel nothing.

After a year has passed since I met him.

After six months of being with him.

After six more months of not seeing him, I no longer care.

I contacted SP a while ago. I didn’t post about it then, because I was embarrassed that I was back in touch with him after all I had said and with how things turned out between us.

A party came up – a type of swingers thing. I’ve never been to one, and was eager to go. I decided to email SP and invite him. I made it clear, what it was I wanted:

“I can't think of a better way to end a fun evening than to be lying handcuffed on the bed and have you sliding your cock into my mouth, before you fuck me hard. I am wet now just thinking about it. We had some great sex together: it would be nice to spend a night fucking each other again”

I explained why I was inviting him:

“I would like to go with someone who I know I'll have fun with, who I enjoy having sex with, and whom I can trust, not because I want anything more than that from you. Accompanying me to this event would involve having a laugh and enjoying having no-strings-attached sex with me all night long. Nothing more: there is no catch.”

I meant what I said.

I felt I was past the point where he could hurt me emotionally, or where I would feel uncomfortable having intimacy with him. I was ready for whatever happened, whether he said yes or no.

But I didn’t expect this:

“I know it’s not very clever of me but I spend my weekends with P these days and don't want to jeopardise what I have there.”

P is the 19 year old that he was fucking whilst he was seeing me. Hearing that he was now spending his weekends with her made me think one thing:

Cunt.

That’s it. Just Cunt.

The people that know me know that I hate that word. That I use it rarely, and only when I see that someone truly deserves the definition.

SP does.

You see, back when we were seeing each other, it truly messed with my head that he was fucking a teenager. I went through the typical self loathing and doubt that women being cheated on go through:

Is she prettier than me?
Is her body sexier than mine?
Is her pussy tighter than mine?
Is she better in bed?

And,

What does she have that I don’t?

Stupid, I know. But I couldn’t help myself from questioning why he wanted to be with her – surely I was enough for him?

And then I realised, it was far less to do with me, and much more about him: here was a 38 year old man – an alcoholic – incapable of being having a meaningful relationship with a woman of his own age. A man so shallow and so lacking in self-esteem, that he had to have sex with a woman half his age to feel better about himself.

I’m not denying that it may be a buzz for any older man to get a teenage girl into bed (and that most men would leap at the chance if it fell into their lap), but knowing SP and how shit he actually felt about himself, I know it was more about his feelings of worthlessness than about his sexual prowess and his abilities to pull a young woman.

And I got over the self-loathing I had at the time. I realised I was beautiful, I was sexy, I was good in bed – and I had a tight pussy (15 years of doing Kegel exercises certainly pay off when it comes to the ability to clench a cock well). And being a woman closer to his age, I could offer him intellectual stimulation, emotional understanding, and loving acceptance. A teenager lacks the worldly experience to be able to offer anything like that.

So rather than feeling angry with SP for cheating, and being so emotionally immature, I felt sorry for him instead. I knew he had problems, I was aware of the issues, and I tried to accept his baggage and work at a relationship.

It didn’t work out.

I documented all of it here over the last year, boring myself in the process: it most certainly was time to move on.

So even though I sent SP the invite to have sex with me, I was half expecting him to turn me down because he couldn’t cope with seeing me again – my emotional maturity may have been too threatening for him. I was even ready to hear that he was seeing someone else; in fact, I was actually hoping that he was. I had hoped that he was pulling his life together: drinking less, being healthier, meeting a good woman and falling in love again. That would have made me happy for him. I wanted the best for him.

But hearing that he is not only seeing P, but spending his weekends with her made me feel angry: he didn’t even give up his weekends for me.

And his stating:

“I have never been very good at lying so I cannot look her in the eye and come meet you for the night.”

is like a slap in the face: he lied constantly to me about shagging her, seeing her the same day as spending time with me. Plus, though I thought it possible at the time, you can rule out the likelihood of him being in something more meaningful with her, than he was with me:

“I am fully aware that the age difference alone means it will never be a relationship but it is certainly a lot of fun for an old codger like me.”

So, I don’t even feel sorry for him anymore: I think he is pathetic. And disgusting. And totally shallow. And I am glad I am not with him. And I am glad that I haven't had sex with him again.

Receiving his email suddenly put it all in perspective: I have absolutely no desire to be with someone like him. He is no longer attractive to me, emotionally, mentally, or sexually.

And just like that, he was out of my mind. The thought of masturbating whilst thinking about him again makes me feel quite ill. I don’t find him appealing at all. I don’t have feelings for him. And I don’t care about him as a mate anymore.

Or to put it simply: I just don’t give a shit.

This is a shame: I like to stay friends with my exes – some of my good male mates are people I have been intimate with - I love them to bits. But I have no desire to ever see or speak with SP again – I wouldn’t be mates with a man like him, why should the fact we fucked each other change that?

So, like a spring clean where you get rid of old books and cds that you never read or listen to, I have cleared out my head of all SP material. I no longer want to recall the first time I did anal with him, or when he gave me 20+ orgasms. Thinking about these events don’t make me feel sexy anymore: I have moved on from that. I want to forget this part of my life.

And I have. I feel - free. And happy. I have learned from this experience and grown as a person. All good.

But it would still be great if I could just delete these memories like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and sell the data removed from my brain. It'd be a much neater way to close this particular chapter in my life.

Plus, given the wealth of sordid material in there, I’d make a fortune I bet.