I loved making love with him. It was like making love to someone for the first time, every time. Unimaginable excitement and anticipation multiplied to infinity and taken to the depths of forever. And that is only a glimpse of what I felt.
Tonight one of my Match.com friends came to see me. We decided early on that our relationship was one of mutual satisfaction. He is always ready and stays ready as long as I wish. He should be able to � he�s 35 and a gorgeous man, physically and mentally. Luckily he adores older women and that twist makes him pleased to offer pleasure in a variety of ways � sometimes his way, sometimes mine.
It�s been five months since Bastardo left and I still want to � need to - be made love to the way we made love. No one will ever be him, but after a few drinks I can instruct and show and suggest sufficiently to close my eyes and almost pretend.
Perhaps I didn�t fall in love with the person as he actually was, but the vision of what he might have become. I only know grief is a strange animal that creeps up on you unexpectedly. And as much as I want to be done with the process, it is not done with me.
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