ode to ballet boy

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please note that I am  not  dating Sergei Polunin. Unfortunately.

So, all this posting about Benedick Cumberwad is making me feel a little bit guilty. I am pretty much in turmoil over that situation. But I am seeing someone new. Shout-out to you, ballet boy, because I’m pretty sure you’ll read this.

Awkward.

Why did I think I could write a blog about my dating life? In way too small Portland! If I’m lucky enough to actually connect with anyone they will find it. And read it. I know this to be true.

So I want to make it clear that while I may be in turmoil about the one guy, I am also pretty excited about the new one. He’s sweet. He’s adorable. He’s taking ballet. He is both nerdy-sexy and rock climbing, yoga taking, dance class aficionado fit. And damn good in bed. Uh. I like him.

I’m not one to think about someone else during sex. I never have. Not for one second. It’s just not how I work. Sex is a very pure physical, kinesthetic and sensual experience for me. Animal. I don’t really think much. I feel. So if/when I’ve had more than one partner I am never thinking one while fucking the other. Never ever ever.

I’m excited about getting to know this guy. I’m wishing it was Friday already. I can be simultaneously mourning the loss of, longing for an “opt back in” message, pining for a fucking harp toned text from one man while also counting the days until my next date  with another, with some butterflies and everything. I’m one complicated cunt.

Being sexless and alone was not fun. But drama is something I love on TV. I can turn it off or change the channel. I don’t know why sex has to create so much drama. While I truly want to find my one life partner I also know that I have the make up of someone who could have a husband and a lover. Like Tilda Swinton!

But if Portland makes me polyamorous please send an intervention team.

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