Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 34

Freddy came back (see blog 1-5). 4 months of cyber-crickets, then boom, the text. Hi there! How are you? I forgot how formal and perky and gentlemanly his texts were. I'm the paid editor, but he never has a typo. 4 months, Fred. You didn't want to fuck me on my period, remember? That's how you left it. So maybe a little less Doris Day in your text voice would be appropriate. 

Maybe Freddy did want to fuck me on my period. But since l didn't invite him over precisely when and under the terms he required, we'll never know. What is he, a vampire? I have to invite him in or he can't cross the threshold?

Freddy said he missed the great time we had. There were multiple mentions of the sex. He moved into the house he told me he was getting in June that I since assumed was a lie. He wanted to see me again. Freddy sent a Friday text at 7:30pm. If he isn't actually married, isn't that a single dad booty call?

It's too late to go out, Fred. Your youngest child is not in bed yet. Your kids don't know about me. Cuz I'm just a glittering bitch you twice fucked at her house after dark. Co-creator of stolen ecstatic moments set to your track coach stop watch. Until I accidentally accused you of a crime that did not actually take place.

Freddy says that's why he was silent for 4 months. He couldn't get over the shoe incident. I get that the racism implicit in my error may have hurt him in a way I can never fully understand or appreciate or make up for. But the bigger issue, I believe, is his pride. My mistaken impression of Freddy hurt his ego. My eventual disinterest in being his unpaid whore (even if the sex was arguably worth actual crimes being perpetrated against me) dented Freddy's sense of self. He lost control. In a confused moment, I mistook him for a small crime gigilo and he mistook me for a dick-starved divorcee with no dignity. Which I was. For a minute. The lust superceded the dignity. Then I got grounded. In the bathtub. Making friends with bubbly and perimenopausal bloating that provided a handy cock-block.

I told Freddy I was seeing someone. I did not mention that the someone was a delicious Drummer Boy 12 years younger than Freddy and 17 years younger than me. Freddy claimed EMPHATICALLY to be happy for me. Then he was mad that I would not see him again. Then he tried to get me to text EMPHATICALLY that I did want to see him again. Freddy texted me a picture of an Adderall bottle to prove he actually has ADHD and wasn't just telling me that he did because I did. The prescription was from June. I believe his oldest son, who may have been home this summer from college, has the same name as his father. Freddy Junior. I think the Adderall belongs to Freddy's son. Freddy must not remember that he told me he didn't take anything for ADHD and just got by the best he could. 

I'm an alien, Freddy. I may be unaccustomed to this ho-hum human world, but I am not actually full-time dumb. Like your others. I'm Sweet Ness the Hi Priestess. And that's why they come back, Fred. Even you. Even if it only plays out between the ears while you're putting it to #68; the 1 with a good job but a thin hairline; the 1 who looks like your mother and will put up with anything; the 1 with no job and endless time to fuck who has a bucket pussy that's not from birthing children; the 1 who cannot and will not ever be me.

After an interval of tiresome conflict, I eventually agreed to think about seeing Freddy again. Which he thanked me for and said he appreciated. I don't expect to be wooed by Fred. Number 67 is probably back in town. But then again, I didn't expect him to come back this time, either.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness