O-Ren: “You didn’t think it was going to be this easy, did you?”
B.: “You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did.”
They say the Holidays are the hardest when you are the mistress. He’s with his family, you don’t hear from him, and your body still longs for his embrace but all cuddles go to those entitled to receive his love. Who have first right to claim his free time. It’s true. The holidays are the hardest. Especially with the memory of your date so fresh. In the past I could have blogged an erotic story to ease my suffering; a handmade afterglow by reliving the greatness of our sexual encounter. It helped me to process the intensity of it. The boundaries I gave up, willingly, consciously, in order to fully experience what he could give me: the fulfillment of my darkest fantasies. It is always after those sessions I yearn for him most, when his marginal communication is a hard landing after being intimate.
For a while we switched to smaller dates, and daylight. The dates became more frequent and never caused the same withdrawal as our nightly encounters. Nor did they invoke the insatiable need in me to be held, to be comforted. Encounters that were neither remembered for their pleasure, nor for their disruptive backlash. They merely scratched the surface of what we were capable of so perhaps it was no wonder they stopped. We never talked about it, but I imagine he too preferred the agony of a guilt ridden heart, to feeling barely anything. I know I did. A message with an emoticon was the last thing I heard from him, before he dropped out of conversation.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” I had asked.
The silence was deafening.
I started writing erotica about him, as a medicine for those mornings, nights and absent minded work-hours after. I had experience writing erotica but mostly fiction, although I sometimes used real lovers and myself as characters. For non-fiction, I blogged in a diary format. It contained sex but was never that graphic and allowed for enough space to have a real relationship. At least that’s what I told myself. In retrospect I needed the diaries to mold a lover into someone more “deserving” of my adoration. I compensated for everything he wasn’t and covered up for things I didn’t like. The diaries carved out with words someone I could unconditionally love. And to complete my betrayal I omitted the times a fantasy was fulfilled, simply because I was not ready to share them with the world. I left the best things out.
But with Big everything was different. I never wanted to write about sex with him. I never even wanted to have sex. I never set the intention: “Hey, let’s go have the best sex of my life with a married man with children, and then write about it.” I didn’t do that. But I have been entirely intentional going on a sexual odyssee when I gave up a relationship at 34. I went to a sexual therapist to work through my fears and started dating for the first time in my adult life. Finding the perfect lover was my holy grail. And I pursued it with the same vigor other women go after babies or husband material. From that perspective, when my holy grail turned out to be married with kids, of course I was not going to veto it. Especially not on moral grounds because morality was of no use where I wanted him to go. This brazen, taken, cunning man was the key to every fantasy I cherished. Eight years since I started my quest; I had found him.
Finding him turned out to be just the beginning. I wearily tested the waters, and ended up naked and doing things a savvy business woman could have made good money of. I planned our first time real sex, and was baffled by his sexual stamina. Over, and over, and over. I was in my period. How many men in their 40s have the energy to wear you out on days like that? He did. Every date I thought I knew what would happen, he surprised me taking it further. I can’t say he “pushed” me, it wasn’t anything like that. It were things he or I had brought up in conversation, and I pictured him a bucket list. A sexual menu I hoped he could prepare and serve. If anyone had been pushy it was me as I had put him under pressure most men would find intimidating. Not him. And since all fantasies required him to be in charge, it was a miracle he always effortlessly regained control and positioned himself as the one in charge. I was cleared from all responsibility.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked as he sent me out only to re-enter his “doctor’s office”.
“You figure it out,” he answered in a domineering voice. “It’s your fantasy.”
Had he hesitated, the session would have started off on the wrong foot. I would not have trusted him with the role, and would have been weary for moments I had to cue him what I wanted. That one line You figure it out indicated that he was not my buddy or my confidant. He was now a stranger, one step from being a doctor. He shut me off, because he knew distance was the key ingredient of the fantasy.
And it worked. Brilliantly.
With Big everything I learned about men – they’re not always hard and entitled to have their own insecurities- didn’t apply. Someone joked I was dating a Porn King, and that nailed the kind of performance he would deliver: an outstanding one. But it also indicated he was not going to be there for me after. I would be alone. The insecurities that creep up on every woman after having sex – Does he love me? Does he love me enough? Why isn’t he here?- were amplified because the sex had been more intense than ever. As was his absence. I needed him more than any man, and he was available the least.
And that’s when the erotica came in.
Three months into our affair I started writing. We had had our months of drama. Every time we had sex it escalated into a break-up, with me needing him, and him withdrawing. But since he was obviously the dream partner I had been waiting for eight years and because he refused to be manipulated by me, our break-ups were neither permanent nor did they solve anything. They were just annoying. It was like a power struggle I knew I could never win. And losing was the best case scenario. Had I found a way to win, I would have ruined our sexual game because I would have taken his power away.
So instead of trying to get him to do what I wanted, I started writing. For one year I wrote our most memorable sessions to erotic stories, on my LS Harteveld blog. Then 2016 came, and I stopped. I would focus on my books, took all erotica and all diaries down, and emptied the blog of anything I wanted to print.
It wasn’t just because I was creating real books; it was also because I had become uneasy with the material being public. Where public meant: not being paid for 😉 In February I had a coming out. My LS Harteveld readers now knew the name of my yoga studio, and my yoga students knew my pen name. The two worlds had merged. Which was a good thing, but I didn’t need transcripts of ground breaking sexual sessions available online for free. Not anymore.
But in my attempt to Go Pro clearing out my blog, I forgot writing erotica online had served a purpose: to be there for me when I needed to process some pretty intense stuff. It was my way to sieve out all the good, let go of all bad, and to work through the fears that had come up. I wrote the best erotica I ever laid eyes on – they’ll be published in July in a book called Big – and the public eye prohibited me to let it get to me. My blog kept me from breaking down.
I stopped writing erotica and this new blog, the 100 Day Tutelage of Hsi Lai, has already served its purpose as a sexual wellness adventure. I wasn’t supposed to return here. Processing everything that happened after he said You figure it out, was an offline job. The sweet memories of our role play would stay inside, mixed with all the fears, the self-doubt, and destructive emotional mayhem it brought up. I would grow stronger from dealing with it on my own. Unconsciously, I had probably taken down the blog because I wanted to step up my game. Because I was ready.
In the words of Kill Bill, the movie that inspired the title of this blog and every Chapter:
“You didn’t think it was going to be this easy, did you?”
“You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did.”
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