I’m Still Not Over My Ex. Me Neither…

August 5, 2013November 27, 2024 notsosexinthecity

I’m still not over my ex.

I read a piece on Thought Catalog, where the writer said that she didn’t think she still loved her ex, but she also didn’t think that she was over him either. And that’s kind of how I feel right now about Big Love. In limbo. Not sure. Wanting desperately to move on but not really knowing how to go about it … or to drop the feelings of sadness, dread, and guilt that come hand-in-hand with trying to find new love after a bad breakup.

And I’m embarking on something new, exciting, fresh right now. It has the potential to be everything I need and everything I’m looking for. Things have gone from strength to strength, I couldn’t have asked for it to have gone better. But there’s still something in the way. It feels like I can’t open up to him. I’m doing a better job than I did with The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of or The Lapdog or One Ball, but I’m still not quite managing it. Jock’s breaking down some of those barriers, but there are still a few pretty hefty ones he’s going to need to contend with.

What does this mean?

Am I truly over Big Love enough to give Jock the chance he actually deserves? Or do I need to give myself more time to get over Big Love before embarking on a new relationship with anyone? Because I think I’ve dedicated enough of my time to him now. I’m ready to move on. My head is ready to move on … as is my body. It’s just my heart hasn’t yet quite caught up, and that’s the part giving me the hardest time. I think I’m only giving Jock a half-hearted attempt of me. A fraction of the girl I am and can be in a relationship. He deserves more. I want to give him more. How do I do that?

I feel good around him. He makes me feel good. He makes me feel a lot of good things — beautiful, wanted, safe. We make the cutest couple in the quirkiest of ways, something that everyone keeps telling us time and time again. I love the effect that we have, not just on each other, but also everyone around us. When we’re good, we’re infectiously good. Not that we’re ever bad, but, you know, when I’m putting in the kind of effort and interest that he actually deserves.

I’ve started to love just relaxing in bed with him, my head resting on his tummy, my hands lightly tangling up the hairs on his chest. Every now and then, I’ll plant soft kisses wherever my lips can reach. It’s become a safe haven, of sorts. Safe enough for me to fall asleep absentmindedly stroking his penis, which seems like an odd thing to do, but it happened. Not in an I-fell-asleep-during-sex way, but in a we’re-nice-and-relaxed-around-each-other way. And he left me like that, with my hand on his dick, not waking me up to finish the handjob or wanting something more. He didn’t even bat an eyelid. A few hours later, when we woke up at the same time, we were in exactly the same position. It’s like we’re completely in sync with each other. We’re both horny at the same time, no matter where we are or what we’re doing. Or we’re both feeling funny at the same time. Or cuddly. Or hungry.

We spent a wonderful day at the beach the last time we saw each other, and things heated up a notch once we’d returned to his place and found it empty. It was unusual for his house to be completely devoid of other people, so we made the most of it. He was sat on the toilet (seat down) trying to get sand out of his toes, just wrapped in a towel. I grabbed him, led him into the bedroom, pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. For four or five minutes, I gave him the ride of his life. It wasn’t long, or particularly intense, or even especially thrilling … but it didn’t need to be. We just needed each other, to be naked together and fuck, and come hard. And we did. Hot, out, empty-house, heatwave, sweaty, fuck-the-shit-out-of-me summer sex — and it was AMAZING. Daytime sex always makes me nervous, but not that time. Not with him. He’s doing something really good to me, especially in terms of body confidence.

But still, even with after all that greatness, I still find myself thinking of Big Love when I’m on my own in bed at night. And it’s not fair. It’s been a year and a half since I left, yet he’s still the man I compare every other man to. And the perfect penis that I compare all other penises to. And those kisses that drive me to utter distraction … Well, they’ve yet to be beaten. Jock’s kisses are awesome, yes. I love them. I want more of them. But … well, I’m still not over my ex.

I’m starting to think that Big Love might be the “core-shaker” that Charlotte once spoke about in Sex and the City. Carrie’s Mr. Big. I also know, however, that we have absolutely no chance of getting back together, so why is my heart still deluding itself? Why does he still shine so much brighter in my memories than he probably ever did in real life?