I’m most likely a cliche, although I’d give almost anything for that not to be true.
My psyche still lives in my adolecent dreams of uniqueness and rebellion, but now I find myself here. Hopelessly in love with a women who adores me, lives with me, and presumably wants to have my child, and yet completely alone and lonely.
We don’t have sex anymore. We don’t show our love anymore. And we haven’t for years.
I look for ways to cope with this, ways to re-kindle the youthful excitement of knowing that you are about to share something truly special and possibly earth shattering with someone.
I haven’t had that feeling since I cheated on her — the single greatest and most miserable period of my life. All of these details will be fleshed out with during this blog’s existence, although I will obviously be circumspect with names, locations, and anything else bearing any clue as to my identity.
Save for now that I’m an online perv, searching out stimulation that minimizes my betrayal but brings me back to life from the 30 something malaise of love gone dead and awful choices. One thing should be clear though all of this — that should be clear throughout all of this. I love her. She’s done very little wrong that should push me away. But I’m lonely next to her. And I know I won’t get laid this week. And so without a some sexual release, I’ll continue to commit the measured, but very real, betrayals this blog will collect.
This will be my confessional.
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