lovesugartits:

Some of yall have asked me how “Master & Bella” ended and I never really answered because doing so would have made me sad and kind of ~overwhelmed~ BUT for yall to get how Scandalous Last Night was I guess I will have to:

What may not be clear from “Master & Bella” is that it wasn’t just a sexual relationship. “Master” had become my best friend and because we spent so much time together and because I slept at his place every night and because I hung out with his friends I kind of convinced myself I was his Girlfriend. And when he’d mention his wife or hint at me someday “finding a boyfriend” I didn’t really care because I was so in love with him and so sure we’d somehow End Up Together. But soon I realized we wouldn’t because soon his wife moved back in with him so I had to stop coming over and he had to go out less and eventually I had to detach myself from him completely-not because I’m Rational (lolz) but because otherwise I’d basically be Brittany Murphy’s character in “Girl, Interrupted.”

The Drama started early last March. He invited me to a party and he told me his wife was coming but he didn’t say that on the way we’d pick her up in our Taxi or that she would have to sit next to me or how nice she’d look or how happy they’d seem together while talking about whatever or how fucking unbelievably unbearable it would all be for me. So when we arrived at the party I went off on my own because I couldn’t stand to even look at them and I had like ten shots of vodka followed by a nervous breakdown via crying hysterically in front of everyone and theatrically running away.

“How’s my little cat?” He wrote me on Facebook, after I’d been ignoring his calls. I spent all weekend crying over the fact that I shouldn’t be with him. I managed to not talk to him for about a week but I missed him so much that I gave up and we had sex again that month. I thought maybe I could be his “mistress,” as long as I just make peace with the fact that he won’t Leave Her For Me. But that delusion was broken as soon as I saw some new Facebook photos of them together and spent another day crying after which I was forced to Face Reality and stop talking to him, “for real.” So I wrote him this in a message and he said he understood-and to come back when I’m ready.

Weeks passed and I was still obsessing. He had totally changed me, sexually. Fucking other guys became so disappointing and whenever I masturbated I thought of him and all I could do to avoid that was to start watching porn. But the sex was the least of it. I missed his fucking face, his voice, going with him to bars. I kind of went crazy. I daydreamed of just running into him at a grocery store. He was harder to get out of my head than “Born This Way.” Like, I’d imagine him watching me doing things like drinking or studying or brushing my teeth or whatever because even that was comforting. I was sadder than ever and didn’t feel myself getting better so after a while I decided that if I’m going to suffer, there should at least be a Point. So I called him.

By summer we hung out a few times and though I usually cried afterwards I thought I felt pretty good. Talking occasionally was better than not talking at all. Meeting for “friendly conversation” was better than hoping desperately to see him on the street. I learned to not be disappointed when he didn’t grab my waist or try to kiss me. Though I was secretly still hoping for some Julia Roberts Romantic Comedy Miracle-until September.

When he told me his wife’s pregnant I basically felt like Justin Timberlake felt when Britney cheated on him or whatever. Like every hopeless, tragic feeling from that past year was stabbing me at once. I KNOW it’s fucked up to not be happy for someone who’s having a baby. Like, I AM happy for him now and I’m sure the kid will be really cute and stuff but at the time it just represented The End Of Hope. Like, it’s over, you know? Anyway upon hearing The Worst News Ever I was composing myself surprisingly well until his friend cracked a joke about how I could “be their nanny.” After which in my classic style I ran outside and sobbed on the ground until he put me in a Taxi and I fled away to be depressed for an entire week at my friend’s house.

But things changed after that.

Burning shit from ex-boyfriends is childish and only happens in Gossip Girl but I do believe that physically holding onto memories only proves that you NEED them. And there is something symbolic about getting rid of that kind of stuff. So that week (while crying, obvz) I deleted every email we had sent to each other, and every Facebook message I re-read. I took his Polaroids off my wall. I put away the collar I admit I kept displayed in my wardrobe (and touched sometimes like a creep). And I kind of forced myself to stop fantasizing about him which became kind of easy by November via all the great new masturbation material from my gross Stripper Prive’s. I was being productive, having fun and overall feeling Much Better.

And so we started talking again. And this time it was different. I still found him, like, Irresistible-I still couldn’t look at his hands without imagining them holding mine or grabbing my neck or touching my face or whatever-but we were able to hang out, without me freaking out. We even flew to Paris together for that porn party and I didn’t even cry! I was really OK! So Ok that last month I bought him a little gift for his baby. And because it’s due soon I thought I should give it to him now.

So we met last night.

“Is that your dinner?”

I chew on the celery stick from my Bloody Mary.

 “Yes.”

I make him sit outside in the freezing cold so I can chain-smoke. We talk about my school, his job and a future porn shooting. He buys me more drinks. I feel Cool. Like, I feel like we have a Cool Relationship. Like, We-Are-Adults-And-Can-Get-Past-Our-Sexual-Attraction-Friendship. I’m feeling proud of myself. And then he touches my hair. And I’m horny.

We go to a party nearby in the basement of a bar and he buys me more drinks. He slaps my ass when I dance and after our third whiskey he pulls my top off. Don’t take it seriously. By 3 am I’m wasted and very turned on and we’re going outside. He’s walking behind me on our way up the stairs and I feel his hand on my pussy. I’m wet. Outside it’s starting to snow. We’re going home and we walk together because his place is on the way. I don’t remember what we talk about while we walk, and I don’t know if I hold onto his arm. But I do know that when we get to the corner where he’s supposed to turn and when I hand him the gift he grabs my arm and he pushes me against the wall and kisses me. And I kiss him back.

I try to remember the last time I kissed him. It’s been over a year. We didn’t even kiss the last time we fucked. He slaps my face and I moan-he reaches under my coat and fingers me through my lame’ leggings. “I wanna fuck your ass,” he says, rubbing my clit. “I want you to,” I assure him. (DUH). He slaps me again and asks me if I’m ready. “I always am.” But now is not the right time, he tells me, which I think is funny. Because, with us it never is. “Where is my collar?” He smiles. Shit. “I can’t use it anymore,” I try to explain, “it represents too many sad things.” I’m worried he’ll be upset. “It’s ok, baby don’t use it.” The snow is coming down harder and I need to go home-though if he kept touching me I’d cum. With my thong soaking wet and jammed up my vag he sends me off on my way. “Ciao, Bella.”

As I stumble home I call my Mom because I don’t want to think-I’m afraid to know how excited and relieved I feel or how worried I am I’ll get hurt. I tell my her everything, and she’s silent. I ask her if she’s mad at me, and she says she isn’t. I ask if she thinks I’m a “Homewrecker” and she says I’m not.

She says I’m just stupid.