This would be so much easier if I were really turned on. I repeat it a million times a day. Every time I look at him and the pit of my stomach closes thinking about him on her, I repeat to myself that I should just push a hand down my pants and force myself to come.
Probably I’d end up vomiting, but maybe that would be the first step to wash my brain.

I am afraid of being chattering with him, and not being able to talk about anything else. Moreover, this is still something that occupies my head completely, from when I wake up to when I fall asleep.
Some time ago I liked this kind of fantasies: having always something to think about in the dead times of the day was reassuring, and I almost waited for my free time to do so. I would fantasize and cradle myself listening to music or staring into space  or a particular detail that I used as a springboard to dive into my mind.
Now it’s as if everything was reversed, and my entire life has locked itself up in dead moments when this thing doesn’t drill my brain.

With the passing of the days I try to understand how I can stop feeling overwhelmed in a corner, choked by dust. I realize that as long as it’s just sex, I don’t win anywhere, I’m just the girlfriend he leaves behind the door in order to be with her. If sex is what she wants, well, she gets exactly that, and satisfied by it she goes on with her life feeling no shame at all.
She is exactly in the position where I used to be in all my other relationships. I was the one “arrived last” and I always had to roll up my sleeves to make sure that I was the only thing the X boy could think of. My task was to oust those who were already there (not  talking about existing relationships necessarily, I hardly took boys already in a love relationship). She’s there. And perhaps for the first time I feel really bumped because I know what her intentions are, because I wasn’t born yesterday and I’ve been there first.
She has no real possibilities, it’s true, but the idea that she DARES still bothers me.

In my fantasies he’s at a party which appear to be like a debutante ball, and talks with this or that girl. If there is one in particular, she’s in love with him and tries in every way to be desired by him. One dance follows another, he’s having fun. I always imagine myself isolated, perhaps in the garden adjacent to the hall. I imagine him noticing my figure under the moonlight for a single moment, and suddenly he can no longer see anything else.
This is the kind of “eclipse” I wish to see. I wish everyone could feel that shadow that suddenly becomes longer, as if he was the spotlight that looks away.

With her craving his body, whatever she wants is in her ability to get. With or without me making noises and scalping. This is the impasse.
She’s attacking something close enough (the physical side) to put me on alert, but far enough away to have it without me complaining about something real. If she was in love and craved a deeper relationship, there she would receive all the walls on the face that I would like. But perhaps not even those, because for the sake of “We must keep her so I can’t say something that could make her go away,” she would receive ambiguous and inconclusive answers that would raise her hope of having time to try, and from my point of view they would reduce my figure to a poster that anyone can choose not to look at.

The day before yesterday there was their call and I asked him to be able to listen through earphones. She had such a flirtatious voice that I wanted to shout to put off that beautiful mask, because her sluttiness was already clear to the world. After a few befitting and some openly horny answers from her (are you really drooling over MY boyfriend?) He orders her to start masturbating and then goes away for another phone call, leaving me with her, groaning in Dolby Surround.
After he returned the call didn’t last long, and I spent the time in my usual apathy,  the perfect barrier for when I have “sessions” to bear.

Friday there will be a party, and she -sassy as ever- initially asked him for me to be there, so she could thank me for helping her with the paper (see initial posts) and then confessed that she was “curious.” She later recanted because she realized that she should pretend nothing happened with him, and after asking him to remain with her the whole night (has she already forgotten that I should be there too? What the fuck) she began to ask him to see each other in private early next week.
So, probably next week there will be a meeting, and I begin to do mental gymnastics.

In the meantime I try to get rid of the guilt that I feel every time I try to keep those wonderful daily routines that he and I had for months. Was it watching a movie, an anime, reading a book, learning a new thing, taking a walk, visiting a church … whatever it is, as soon as I feel relaxed, a part of my brain makes me alert and yells at me because I shouldn’t sit so much at ease while there’s an intruder in my house. It’s like having thieves in the house and continuing watching TV while they empty the safe.
My tears have passed the phase of Shock, Anger, Injustice, Abandonment, and now land on Nostalgia, where I miss the good times that I can’t touch, now that there’s this twig stuck in my rib.

How dare I be happy? If I’m quiet and composed how can she notice me? How can I scare her and make her understand the danger if I don’t wake up and growl? How can I make her feel a worm If I go on with my life exactly as if she wasn’t there?
If I were in her place I would have hundreds of ways to take advantage of my conspiratorial condescension.
Am I giving her more cunning than she really has?