The latter, calling her a “slut,” was, truly, intended admiringly, as a compliment. When I use the word, I mean, “a sexually self-actualized person who’s lucky enough to have a lot of sex.” I forget other people have different associations with the word.
The former, imagining her sexual prolific-ness, was, in retrospect, defensive. I don’t like being, or feeling, rejected. Especially by a woman. Especially especially by a woman who has sucked my cock, been fucked by me. There’s something more totalizing about rejection in those circumstances for me.
And Angela has, intentionally or not, left me feeling rejected. She takes a long time to reply to my emails; she declines to propose get-togethers as she declines proposed get-togethers; she offers, but then fails to deliver, various and sundry gifts; and – and maybe this is telling – she visits my blog a lot less than she used to.
The bottom line is, I’m hurt, sad. As I’ve written many times, I perceive rejection easily, and it stings, always. She owes me nothing, and has been clear that she’s busy with work. But still, I feel rejected, stung.
And interestingly, somehow where I go ISN’T to imagine either that she’s not rejecting me, she has been busy, or that she is rejecting me, but is chaste. No, I imagine – and write, here – that she’s being sexually prolific without me. I’m intrigued by this and, clearly, have some more thinking to do about just why I did this, what purpose it serves for me. (And, about why I wrote and posted this without getting her reaction first, as I generally do when writing about people who, I know, read this blog and will see themselves here.)
In any event, what I wrote rubbed her the wrong way. So much so that I may now have lost an opportunity – an opportunity I hadn’t yet lost – to have another adventure with her.
Angela, I’m sorry. (And also, regretful. They’re different, but both present here, in equal measure.)