So following my two days of complete kinky fuckery, I have come to the conclusion that I am a little bit in love with my Number23 AKA My Mr. Grey from 50 shades. By a little bit, I mean a lot. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m always like this after our rendezvous’, around every two years or so, but this time I think I’m actually pining….. And it sucks.
Today is my first full day of being completely smoke free. I am quitting smoking. I wasn’t sad, angry, and stroppy or pissed off though; I was talking to Number 23 all day. To be honest, I think I’m still on a MAJOR high since our two days of full on kinky fuckery. Tonight however, as we are texting, I have realized that we have diverted away from the usual sexy stuff, and we are actually talking. He said that he felt good around me; being around me was good. Better than he ever remembered. Does this mean that he is thinking more like I am? Or am I just reading too much into this? Does good sex play havoc with the brain and make you think that there is more to the situation than there really is? Maybe the sex hormones are covering my eyes in rose tinted spectacles and I don’t even like the guy at all?! Well, probably not, but you can probably see where I am going with this.
I feel like screaming right now, metaphorically of course. On one hand, I have this amazing fuck buddy that I see every now and again, which is probably why the sex is so great. He gets me, he pushes my boundaries, and he drives me fucking mental. On the other hand, there is this guy that actually is the sweetest guy I’ve ever met with just the right hint of badass about him, that would probably rock my world if I ever dared to speak the truth. The thing is I don’t know whether this is a chance that I am willing to take. Is it really wise of me to sacrifice the best sex EVER for a relationship that may or may not work? We have been doing our thing for what, like 9/10 years now, and it works just fine. It would be stupid of me to make a mess of it all by saying something stupid like “I love you!”
So, I have decided to say everything I want to say to him right here:
Dear. Number 23/My Mr. Grey,
You are the most amazing man that I have ever met in my life. Not only are you so respectful towards women, it makes my heart melt, but at the same time, you pull my hair and slap my ass like no one ever before. You are also the right combination of awkward and hot, with a dress sense that on someone else would look ridiculous, but on you just works, and I LOVE YOU. I love you like a girl would love a pair of shoes that she found in the attic that she used to love years ago, and wants to love again. Bad metaphor, but only you really know how much I love shoes.
I have always known that you are the perfect guy for me. Really, everyone else has always known this too, which is why every guy I have ever dated has hated you with a complete passion. You are perfect in every way – you challenge me, you fuck me like a total pro, you spoil me, you make me work for your attention, and you have this amazing way of putting your hand on the back of my neck while we are walking along, which not only turns me on immensely, but also makes me feel massively protected at the same time. It’s like a small gesture that only we get.
I know you are never going to come across this, but in the small chance that you do, or by some miracle you decide you feel the same, please tell me so that we can stop scooting around each other like two sex obsessed teenagers with a serious kink fetish, and live the happy ever after we should have lived all those years ago when I married the wrong guy.
So for now, My Mr. Grey, I adore you. In every sense of the word. And not your graying hair, your funny dress sense, or the funny way you giggle when you fart is going to put me off. Now if only you would buck up your ideas and feel the same, we may both stop being so godamn unlucky in love.
All my love forever,