The Real Me?

Things with Mr. J2 are still going along well. Swimmingly. Fabulously. Fan-fucking-tastically.


We’ve been officially dating for three months now, but I think we have decided that our ‘anniversary’ will be when he first messaged me, so Halloween it is!

I can’t say it enough – he really is the nicest, sweetest man I’ve ever met or known.

His only fault is perhaps talking too much about his ex, but really, how can I fault him for that? The fact that he is open with me and talks about what went wrong in his relationship can only strengthen ours. He, like I, learned from the past so that going forward he will not make the same mistakes.

He tells me when he is struggling. I know it happens often, but I try not to take it personally. He misses his FAMILY, not necessarily his wife. He tells me over and over how happy he is to have met me, how amazing I am, and how much he loves me.

And the sex is still freaking hot. Last night we had another table episode. He was out-of-town with The Boy at a one day hockey tournament, so when texting, we pretended we were high school kids going to a party at our friend’s house and the parents weren’t home. When he got home, I was wearing a catholic school girl skirt (which after 25 years still fits, thank you very much), knee-high socks, heeled Mary Janes, and a white blouse tied at the waist.

The dining room table didn’t stand a chance – and neither did Mr. J2.

2016-02-21 21.03.17

But I digress…

Everything is amazing with us. We talk a lot. We still have lots of sex. We cook together. We love just hanging out together. And last night even after we cleaned up the mess from the photo… we crawled into bed and each read our books for half an hour or so.

Peacefully. Companionably. Happily.

Our habit is to live together every second week – when he doesn’t have the kids, I arrive on Saturday (Sunday this week due to the hockey tournament) and I basically stay until the following Saturday morning. I plan the meals and buy the groceries (since I would be doing this for myself it doesn’t cost much more to do it for the two of us), we clean together, fold laundry together, watch television together, cook together, do dishes together….

You get the idea.

And, of course, we sleep together.

I’ve noticed in the past that the person I was later on in my relationships was not the person that I started out as. At some point I would start to feel taken advantage of (for money, or my time, or for my car and the ability to drive people places) and so my personality would alter. I would be less inclined to offer a ride somewhere, or to bring food over, or to help out when needed.

So far – that hasn’t happened with Mr. J2.

But I am afraid it will.

I don’t feel that way with him – I don’t feel taken advantage of. I don’t feel used. In fact, for the first time, I truly feel appreciated for my efforts.

He tells me he appreciates me – all the time.

He tells me how amazing I am – all the time.

He leaves me little love messages on my car when it snows – all the time.

He tells me I am beautiful – all the time.

And he tells me he loves me – all the time.

The weeks I don’t see him are lonely for me. I go home, open my laptop, sit like a lump on the sofa and surf the net while watching endless episodes of TV shows.

When I am with him, we hardly watch any TV. There’s not a single show right now that I couldn’t live without seeing – with perhaps the exception of The Big Bang Theory.

So who is the real me?

A) The person who picks up her man after work and does the groceries and cooking for him all week; who cleans bathrooms and folds laundry at night for a family that isn’t hers….

Or B) the person who sits like a lump in front of the TV all night?

I really hope it’s A. When I am cleaning with Mr. J2 on Sundays, I enjoy it. I enjoy cleaning his tubs and scrubbing his toilets. Because I know he appreciates it.

He appreciates me. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep telling me. Or telling me how happy he is to have met me. Especially when The Ex brings things up or tells him that she’s ‘struggling’.

But I stay out of that. He shares with me what she tells him, and for that I am grateful. But it’s not my place to tell him how to deal with her. He will deal with her the best way he can.

All I can do is keep being supportive. The more time goes by the more he sees how unhappy he really was in his marriage and how toxic The Ex is – and how refreshing and wonderful and uncomplicated I am.

Because I am wonderful. And refreshing. And uncomplicated.

I’m just me.


Spicing Things Up

So last week I was sick. Both of us were, actually. Mr. J2 caught the same bug I did, although not from me. (I lay the blame on his son who we jokingly call patient zero.)

No, we didn’t play hooky from work – we both were legitimately sick. I’m still battling it now, but he’s much better.

We spent two full days together, just lounging. We had a lot of sex – although we decided to forgo kissing until we were healthier, and both of us were having a difficult time with that part of it. We both love kissing so much that to have it removed from our lives felt a little unnatural.

And a little dirty if I am being honest. But in a good way.

We still talked. Cuddled. Held hands.

And had some mind-blowing sex.

We talk so much about everything. We talk about moving in together, about money, about how we feel, about past experiences, about how good the other person makes us feel.

Is this normal? It’s new for me, to actually be with someone who listens to me and who talks to me.

I overheard him talking to his brother one night while we were sick. I was upstairs in bed trying to read, and he was downstairs on the phone. I wasn’t trying to listen; the house was completely silent, and, well… sound travels.

He told his brother about our plans to move in together. Not the actual plans, as we don’t really have any yet, but that we had talked about it and would likely do it in the fall. I heard him say, ‘it might seem forward after only a few months but it feels so right. It’s so different when I can talk to someone about how I am feeling and I know they will listen and not judge me. I can just be and not worried about the reaction I will get when I open my mouth to speak”.

Then I heard him say something to his brother that I said to him earlier that night. I had told him that one of the reasons I think it’s working out so well is actually because he only has the kids half-time. He is able to spend a week being Mr. J2, and not Dad. He misses them, of course, but in that time he can focus a little more on being a man. Focus on his needs and wants and not putting his kids first all the time.

I was really surprised when I heard him tell that to his brother, and that I was the one that had said it. He listens. He absorbs.

And I do the same with what he says. And one of the things he had said was how in his marriage he spent a lot of time begging for bad sex – and his wife was selfish in that way, as most women can be, which I just don’t understand. I guess they were just a bad fit sexually. No, he doesn’t have the largest dick I’ve ever seen, but with some experimenting, we’ve learned how to make it work really well for us. He makes me squirt, which no other man has done with his dick before, only manually. So obviously he is doing something right.

Like I said, we’re just a good fit.

But pleasing each other makes us happy. And I really enjoy making him happy. So when we were talking about stuff and I happened to mention that I have a trench coat and high boots, he immediately jumped in with the image of me not having anything on underneath.

But I went one step better. He was at my place last Wednesday afternoon and I excused myself to use the washroom. Instead, I put on a set of garters and bra (which he told me he loves), the boots and the trench. Then I went out to get him and asked if this was the look he had in mind.

The expression of surprise and joy on his face was worth a million dollars to me. Not only is he always so appreciative of my body, but just the fact that I went that extra step to please him meant so much more to him.

That’s what I don’t want to forget. To take things to the next level with him. To not get lost in the same routine that couples get into. Brush teeth. Get in bed. Light low (he likes lights to see me). Hug. Kiss. Touch. Naked. Fingers. Teeth. Penetration.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Definitely not. But with him… he makes me want to take things up just a bit. To keep the spice around.

So that Wednesday, after he snapped some photos of me in the trench coat and boots, I led him to the bedroom and did some naughty things to him.

For most of it, I kept on the trench and boots. For the rest, the garter belt and bra remained.

I didn’t orgasm. That wasn’t the point. The point was for him to lie back and enjoy everything. Curtains open and sun streaming in. A beautiful blonde (his words) there to service him in every way possible. For him to just let his mind go and his body do as it pleased.

And I loved it. I felt powerful. I have often wondered why so many women withhold sex in their marriages to  ‘punish’ their husbands. Do they not know they are denying themselves as well?

He’s still talking about that afternoon. And the next night as well, as I had to see if I could do the same thing to him two nights in a row with the same results.

Turns out I am very, very good at it. I have a talent for it.

I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose this joy I feel when I am with him, pleasing him. Because I know it’s the same for him.

I’m already thinking about this weekend and how I can spice it up. We had talked about the dining room table being a good height for me to lean on – if you get my meaning.

So I am thinking a tight pencil skirt… thigh high stockings, a tight blouse, plunging bra…

He makes me want to do this. The way he looks at me… the way he touches me… for the first time ever, a man actually makes me feel beautiful, inside and out.


Sexual Revelation

I try to keep things PG or G-rated here, because… well, this isn’t the place for it.

I mean, even if we were friends I wouldn’t really go into too much detail of my sex life.

I’d talk about it, sure. Drop some bombshells. But get into the nitty-gritty?

Nope. Not gonna do it. Wouldn’t be prudent at this juncture.

Suffice it to say my sex life is pretty good.

But I was starting to wonder if this… thing… with Mr. M. was just about sex.

I mean it would explain why there’s been no meeting of the family or friends, right?

On Monday after work, Mr. M. stopped by my place. We’d been ‘sexting’ for most of the afternoon.

It got pretty hot and steamy.

It’s not the first time he’s come over after work (he works near my place) for a little ‘afternoon delight’.

This time I dressed for him, as instructed. The Librarian, complete with tight pencil skirt, heels, button down shirt and hair in a bun.

It was actually the first time I’d ever been somewhat dressed up when seeing him. Usually when we hang out it’s much more casual, but ever since he came over in his dress clothes and took my breath away… I’d hoped to do the same.

Mission accomplished.

I’m not a skinny girl by any means, but I’m well-built. Good assets and he was very happy with the assets, and with the outfit.

I believe his words were, ‘wow… look at you! You look… amazing.’

Yes, it did me good to hear those words.

So then we headed into the bedroom to continue our little fantasy… and each time we do (not the first we’ve sexted this way), I am always shy at the beginning.

I wish I knew why, but I just… get too shy. Even he commented that once I get into it the shyness goes out the window, but at the beginning of any role-playing or fantasy we do…


So this time he took control and ordered me to ‘kneel down’. And, well, that broke the ice for me. Let’s leave it at that.

I knew he had to leave my place early to meet his roommate to drive him somewhere, so we were kind of on a time crunch. Mr. M. left my place a little late, but not too bad.

And then the worst thing happened – I got into my own head.

I started to think that maybe it was all about sex. That’s why I haven’t met anyone else but his roommate… maybe he just wants a FWB (friend with benefits).

And so I got into my head. And that was bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

I start to doubt him, doubt myself.

I know it’s wrong but I can’t seem to stop myself. And it’s the stupidest thing in the world.

The previous week we talked a little more about things, and he mentioned that he didn’t even bother to load the app for the dating site where we met on his new phone.

In his words, “I’m not a player’.

And at that time I told him that I had made my profile invisible on the site. And I also removed the app from my phone.

So he’s told me in a roundabout way, that he’s not looking for anyone else.

But still I wonder. And doubt.

But… then Wednesday happened.

On Wednesday, just two days ago, I got a text from Mr. M. that said “I remembered my legs”.

Now that means nothing to you but to me it meant that he went to the gym and remembered to do legs – a small joke we have since he usually only does his arms and chest when he goes.

We texted back and forth a bit and then I mentioned that I was alone and that I had lots of food if he wanted to come by for dinner, even though I had already eaten.

So he did. He showed up around 7:30. I fed him, and we talked.

We talked right up until he left at 10:00 to head home.

And that’s when it finally hit me. This is more than just FWB. It’s more than just sex to him.

Even though we usually see each other once a week to do a non-sexy activity (movie, softball, hanging out), for whatever reason it took THIS WEEK for me to finally realize.


That this is more than just friends with benefits. That we can hang out for a couple of hours and enjoy each other’s company.

And so with this weekend looming, and me once again thinking he will be going away without me, I will be smart. I know that it’s OKAY. That just because he doesn’t invite me along – it doesn’t mean anything but he wants to go and enjoy some time with his friend and/or family. And that it’s OKAY if I haven’t met any of them yet.

Sooner or later it will happen. I just have to be patient.

Patience is a virtue… but I never claimed to be virtuous.