…has been postponed. I promise I will have a real whopper of one next week for you. But today, I need to
rant bitch talk about something else.
Earlier this week, I received a private message from a reader who prefers to not comment publicly. Before I say anything else, I must make this clear to the writer: I know you didn’t mean it the way it came out; it was just an unfortunate choice of phrase. I am not upset with you, and I don’t want anyone reading this to criticize you. But the words bothered me, and I feel the need to set things straight.
They wrote, regarding my play partner situation: Congratulations on the replacement.
Understand this well: ST is irreplaceable. He is not a battery or a toothbrush; he is a man with whom I had a very special friendship for a long time. I have downplayed my feelings a bit on this blog because 1) talking about missing him changes nothing, and would probably bore/annoy people after a while; and 2) I don’t want him to read it and feel bad. But you know what? Screw it. I do miss him. I miss him fiercely. How could I not? Anyone who has been reading my blog knows how I put my complete trust, my body and my psyche in this man’s hands week after week. I can’t just turn all those feelings off. I’m not a damn faucet. I’m @#$%ing crying just writing this.
Now, regarding Mr. D — he is not a replacement. He is his own man, with his own merits. He’s not just somebody I grabbed to shove into the gap that ST left. From what I’ve seen in the short time I’ve known him, he is a good man, very kind and caring, and he wants nothing more than to make this work well and happily for both of us. A lesser man would have looked at the situation and said, “Nah… this is too much work. I don’t want to compete with the Ghost of Tops Past.” He didn’t; he pushed forward, determined to create his own place, his own relationship with me. And I like him. He’s not pushing or rushing me, he’s not trying to be anyone but himself. He has the confidence to know he doesn’t have to be anyone else. I look forward to seeing him again.
And I’ll tell you what else: I am damn lucky that Mr. D came along when he did. Because if he hadn’t, I’d probably be in the mother of all depressions right now. Not to dwell on it overly or have a poor-me party, but yeah, things have been pretty sucky in recent times. My mother, ST, John’s ongoing health issues, and now, all sorts of stuff with his relatives as well. Between his mother being in and out of hospitals and his niece getting married next month, there’s been a whole lot of extra interaction with his oh-so-dysfunctional family. And I’m sick to death of all of them. Why? Not because of how they treat me; they are all pleasant to me. It’s John whom they treat like a red-headed stepchild, the oddball of the family. Well, except for when they want something from him. His sister and niece were as sweet as pie when they asked him to contribute two cases of champagne to the wedding reception. And of course, John said yes. Because that’s what he does; he’s a giver. And givers often get exploited… but one would hope it’s not from their own family.
So yeah. I’m mad. I’m frustrated. I’m sad. Fuck stoicism and trying to be cheery and sexy and fun for bloggy entertainment. This is the state of Erica, right now. However… I’m also hopeful. I have a lovely new friend. I’m starting work with a new client next week. And Shadow Lane is at the end of the month — I need a spanking party like you wouldn’t believe. Not just for the play either; I need hugs. Lots and lots and lots of hugs, from my dear friends whom I only get to see once or twice a year. These gatherings feed my soul.
(inhale, exhale) Onward. Thanks for reading, as always. Have a great weekend, y’all.