Controlled, But Too Much

A few years back I had this X. He was short (5’7″.)  He was mainly Italian.  He was older, but not by much.  His age was not something to joke about.   He lived w/ his mom, dad, and sister.  His hair was thinning.  He had issues w/ his eyebrows.   He lived 2 hours away from me.  Yes . . .  I met him on the internet, in a chatroom.  He was the one who started our conversing. He was the one who picked me.

Our relationship started sometime in the beginning March.  He had me professing love by the middle of the month.  Altho at the time, I only “liked him more than I should have.”  But he wanted to hear those 3 words.  So I told him.  It wasn’t that hard.  It was pretty easily done. And even w/out him saying it back.   And me not totally meaning it, at all.

We were talking on the phone.  Constantly.  I don’t remember a minute we weren’t on the phone if I wasn’t w/ him or at work.  And even then I was using work’s dime to phone him for an hour here and there.  Which, I do feel bad about.  I thought I had a good long distance phone plan.  5 cents a minute.  Not shabby.  (Not what I ended up thinking in the end. Er, middle.)   Sometimes while we were talking he’d have to go to the bathroom or get a drink.  Instead of hanging up, cuz I thought it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes, he’d set the phone down and do his thing.  This one time.  Oh, this one time, he left me sitting on the phone for 30 minutes waiting for him.  He said he got to talking w/ his sister.  Hmmm, must have forgotten about me.  I did mention, this was on my phone plan.  MY. PHONE. PLAN.  Not his.  If he called me, it was to tell me to call him back.  Because he was jobless at the moment and couldn’t afford to pay for LD.

I got directions to his house. Sorry, his parents’ house.  Which I wasn’t allowed to go to if his family was there.  I did say he lived 2 hours from me, right?  I only was there twice.  Met his mom, once . . . by accident, for a passing minute.   All the other times I was w/ him, it was at a hotel.  For the weekend.  Sometimes long weekends, if he made the request of me.  Or maybe I should demand of me.  And I paid for it.  It had to have a frig in it.  And it had to be an end unit.  I had to pay for it!  Oh . . . and I had to pay for the food. That we got delivered, twice a day.  And I had to buy him a carton of cigarettes.  Each Time!

You are noticing how much money I’m shelling out, right? And you are realizing, it’s not because I wanted to, but because HE. MADE. ME. DO. IT.  

This was his way of making sure I was his.  This was what he needed to make me know I was his.  There was no ignoring it, I was his.  As long as he told me what to do, when to do, and who to do it w/.

Oh, did I mention I had to change my email account.  Not just change it, but cancel it and start another one.  To his specifications.  And I had to change my phone number.  And the only person who was allowed to have it was him.  And he grudgingly let me give it to my family.

Did I mention . . . . I went along w/ all of this?

Yes, I did.  And I did it, because I thought I deserved it.  I went nights months w/out sleep.  I stopped paying my bills.  I started smoking 2 packs a day.  I drove to him.  I listened to what he had to say about his ex . . .

His ex was perfect.  And from Colorado, or somewhere out midwest.  She had the most perfect boobs.  They were big, but there was no sag. They were perky.

I have a friend who has a nice, BIG dick.   Bigger than his.  And I told him that.  Because he asked.  We broke up.   For about 2 hours.  We got back together because I cried and begged.   (My friend still has the bigger dick! So pppfffffttttt!)

I didn’t mention it, but he wouldn’t come visit me.  In the beginning it was because he would never lower himself to be seen where I live.  Then it was because he didn’t have a car, because he had some mad-mom-in-a-minivan hit him.  (He got put on Oxycodone.   He loved them. I didn’t.  Worse woozy feeling ever, but w/ a dull pain behind it.  No thanks.)

This is just the icing.  This is what I didn’t like about him.  This is the controlling part I abhor when I look back on it.   I ran up a $3000+ phone bill on him for 6 months.  I bought him a $250 air conditioner.  Plus some football paraphernalia.  I paid for motel rooms at $60 a night, I bought food at $25-30 a meal. I bought him $25 cartons of cigs.  I paid gas money, tolls, oil changes, etc.  I even got cable TV so we could watch shows together.  All in all, I wish I never got w/ him, he wasn’t worth the monetary value.

. . . to be continued . . .

I Stuck My Tongue Out at Him

It’s the funniest and most embarassing thing I’ve done to him.  I don’t know why I did it.  It was just something I did.  My face turned bright red.  I laughed my ass off for a good 5 minutes.   I guess it was seeing his shock at me doing that.  Plus what he said next, “I could say something, but I don’t want to get in trouble.”

In trouble?  With whom?  And why?  Would he get in trouble for saying his mind? Because it’s a work place?  Would he get in trouble w/ me?  Would his wife not like somehow finding out what he said?   I don’t know.  All these thoughts came into my head, because if someone stuck their tongue out at me, and I was even remotely interested in him, I would have said the usual, “Don’t stick it out, if you don’t intend on using it.”  I kinda wanted to beg him, plead for him to tell me, but I didn’t want to be let down w/ his reply.

Ever since the day I wrote a blog about the Older Man, it seems as tho, HE KNOWS!  I can’t be quite sure.  But he just might.  Or else he’s bouncing sexual innuendos off of me more. He’s been letting me kow he’s been horny forever, it sounds.  He’s the one letting me know that sex is always on his mind.  He’s been flirting of a sort.

He said he’d take me w/ him when he moved (at work.)   He said his day just isn’t a good day unless I’m there.   And he keeps asking me about baking pies.   (Ah, so his alcohol induced fog isn’t really shrouding his memories of what I was doing that one night I was doing a favor for him.  And hell if I didn’t want him to make a move on me that night, too.)

 He’s offered to come over to my place and dust my ceiling.   He even said he’d tell his wife, or well, ask his wife if it’d be okay, if she had anymore cleaning for him to do.  (And it’s not like he does cleaning because he’s made to, it’s what he does…. He is domesticated and he made himself that way.)

Somehow we got on the topic of S&M bars/clubs.  I know I mentioned Cruising, it went from there.  And he  said that he saw a TV show about an S&M restaurant.  But it was years ago.  He said he wasted a few months on the internet trying to find the place.  He and his wife even went up to NY to see where it was.  Me being the nice person I am, told him I’d try and do some research for him.  I found some restuarant for him, but I doubt it’s even open anymore.  He said if he ever needed my help w/ research again he’d call me, then asked if I kept my window open so I’d hear him.  I was this close to giving him my phone number.  But I shied away because where I work, there are eavesdroppers everywhere, and I don’t need to be accused of anything.  I sorta like my job.

It’s interesting hearing about him and what he likes to do on his excursions.  His wife and him seem to like visiting those kinds of places.  Like in Key West.  And NY.  Jamaica.  Kinda makes me wonder exactly which one he is.  Is he the dominant one or the submissive one.  The way he comes across he’d definitely be the submissive one.  Altho, he’s said in not so many words he’s not.  But yet, I can’t see him bossing his wife around.  In a way he seems to be, not so much afraid of women, just not the kind of tell a lady what he likes or would like done to him.  He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who likes to inflict pain.   Or be assertive.   Maybe he’s just openly deceptive.  Hmmmm…..

This is where it’s kinda weird w/ our dynamic.  He seems to think I’m a sadist to the umpth degree.  He thinks I like doling out pain, that I do it on whim, w/out thinking.  It’s what I do.  I get pleasure out of it.  When I try to tell him otherwise, he just doesn’t believe me.  I know I put a good front up about things.  Like I’m mean. (Which I kind of am.)  But it’s because I haven’t found someone willing to put me in my place.

All I know is I’ll miss him when he moves to a different floor.  What am I going to do? Maybe I will give him my phone number?