I didn't talk to her last night, rare, we usually talk before bed.
She did text me, though.
I texted her back, but she didn't answer after that.
We did talk, for about two minutes this morning. Nothing much, no discussion about last night.
"I'll tell you about it when I get home," she said.
"When I get home, lover," she said.
"You okay, Sara?"
"Yes, seriously. I'm kind of sore, but it's tolerable."
"You're thinking about me, I like that."
"I am, all day, all night."
"I like that, too."
"Monday, hon, Monday. You'd rather hear about it when I'm there on top of you, wouldn't you? After I unlock that? Not now."
"You'd rather spend today and tomorrow thinking about what might have happened, than hear now."
"Yes. Listen, he's getting out of the shower, I have to run, we're going to breakfast."
"K. Love you, Em, seriously, no matter what."
"Me too, hon, love you too."
I got to thinking. Maybe I have the best of everything. I'm still not sure if I like the fantasy or the reality. I don't know if she slept with him last year, but I tend to think not.
Certainly don't know if she did this year, but again, I don't know if I want her to or if I just want to fantasize about it.
I read blogs, stories, women with "fuck buddies." Women who date. Women who don't sleep with their husbands, etc.
I don't want that. Fuck, I love that woman more than anyone ever. She's my best fucking friend in the whole world.
I don't want her to date. How the fuck does that work. I honestly understand the fantasy. I don't get the reality.
Maybe I have the best of everything. She's gone to see him twice, both Memorial Day weekends the last two years. He came to visit once.
Evan really was (is) her good friend, she knew him for years before she met me. They did not date, though I know he chased her, screwed her.
Maybe this is best. A once a year get away for her, a once a year fantasy for me, played upon now and then throughout the year.
I could never handle her dating. Have no idea how men do that, save for fantasy.
This, I can deal with. She's mine. All year. In a way I own her as much as she owns me. She's mine, I'm hers.
He has no claim on her emotions.
They belong to me.
At most, he's a fantasy, a fling, something safe.
At most, he's a fuck, nothing more.
He may be less. Just a friend she likes to visit now and then, to get wined and dined and catch up and do nothing more than be friends.
I don't know. May not know.
She may fuck him and tell me she doesn't, but tease me that she does.
She may do nothing and tell me she does, to indulge in my fantasies.
Regardless, if she does, it is as "safe" as this can get. He's too far away to have an affair with, she loves me too much to do anything to hurt me.
Fuck, she loves me. A feminine boy, a sissy, a girlfriend, a lover.
He has no claim on her, even if he fucked her.
I don't know.
She may have.
She may not have.
Either way, the fantasy works for me.
Even in this stupid cage that has kept me aroused for the whole weekend.
Don't expect an update on this tomorrow. I'm hers tomorrow, not you all.
I'll update this week though, just not tomorrow.