I felt again that feeling.
That desperate one, the tight of the stomach and the loss of breath.
All due to 24 hours not particularly easy: yesterday I had to wait for him until 3 in the morning; I could hear him only an hour (just enough time for me to relax a little and start speaking) and then he fall asleep; I stayed up until an indecent time; today he showed up at half past 4 in the afternoon because he had no money; tonight he’d have had to be there for me at 11pm to finally have a chat but he has to go out with friends so I was offered an hour on the phone before he goes out (bartered for the 4 days he’d have had to be away with them in August, but honestly I’d preferred by far to have that call with him).
Chasing after him for more than 24 hours, knowing he was doing other things and that I was prevented from talking with him, with PMS advancing and the loneliness of the house without him, I felt again that anxious feeling.
So much so that when on the phone he told me he had to go out with his friends, my brain reacted as in early June when he used to tell me “Tonight I’ll try to do something with her.” A particularly masochistic part of me even asked him if I had to stay awake for him, just to hear him say “I don’t think I will come back anytime soon, I hope to be there for 3am”.
I imagined that out with his friends some girls would try to pick them up, that where they will be some girl will notice them, and perhaps even approach them.
I tend to stray too far from this side of cuckqueaning, lulled too much in that side made of calls, text messages, photos, movies and books. I forget that there is the part where he’s gone, the one where I have to wait and wonder how long will his absence be this time.
He’s just going out with friends, but for me this is a whole world. Each absence of him makes me think of the cuckqueaning; I’d dare to say that in some moments, the very betrayal itself is his absence. Not necessarily he has to go with another girl, he just need to get away from me to make me feel those feelings. With him ON some girl is certainly worse, I cannot deny it.
I’m trying to keep on striking while the iron’s hot, to keep alive the progresses made in these months despite Her disappearance and despite the fact that 2 to 3 times HE is the one disappearing. I’m hurting myself on my own in practice.
I am giving myself tasks to boil my Cuckquean side over low heat: I signed in a beautiful Italian forum for cuckolds, and reading of so many first-experiences made me realize that even in the male counterpart what passes into the mind is always the same thing for everyone. We are all on the exact same boat. Though I don’t know yet if the ‘turn on’ issue is easier for the male or the female cuck.
About being turned on, this morning I finally succeeded in masturbating imagining him with another girl. I don’t really know why I decided to try. Maybe I wanted to convince my brain that I could do it with a little effort. That it was not impossible, that it was just my CHOICE to exclude sex from Cuckqueaning. Because for some cucks (like me) it’s simply a matter of choice; not necessarily we start already wet thinking about our boyfriend or husband with another woman. Sometimes you have to learn to enjoy it.
I’ve tried it. It was a huge effort, it took me over 40 minutes (and I don’t recommend to no one 40 minutes of clitoral rubbing while completely dry, seriously), but eventually I did it, imagining something much stronger than him fucking a girl. Because if thinking of him in front of me fucking another girl was enough to make me feel some king of sensation in the lower abdomen, to trigger an orgasm I needed something more. That something more in my case was the french kiss, one of those limits that he has decided: one of those gestures he will NEVER do with anyone but me. Here it is, I imagined their mouths opening to make room for their tongues, and after a last great effort I managed to have an orgasm. Small and unsatisfactory, but that minimum of endorphins, which seemed to say “Oh, it’s finally over,” rather than “I liked it.”
For me it’s important. It’s a huge step. Almost annoyed by the road that I imposed to myself (no submission and no sexual approach), in a dynamic where I felt increasingly stifled and constrained by the course of events, I wanted to give me all the painful freedom I needed. Now I really have a choice whether to say yes or no to the submission, because I tried it. Now I really have the choice to put a hand between my legs and force me to come or not.
Considering the new and pleasant meetings that I have done in the forum; the commitment to take more care of this blog (which is giving me great satisfactions, especially for the visits that I’m getting: really, thanks); the adding of new pages to enrich the cheating topic; the constant self-analysis exercises to bend over to the total freedom I want to have…it is not an easy period, and these 24 hours were really impossible for me.
Despite the unfriendly and often aggressive mood, I’m really loving myself. I feel sorry for him that willingly or unwillingly ends up being pulled into the midst of all my rants, and I seriously think that he’s seeing a very little of the beautiful I have in me. But I see myself. I’m seeing myself.
I feel like Atlas, I’m holding up the entire Earth planet.
I’m feeling under my skin all the strength I have.