Monday, April 4, 2011


Spencer stayed the night, this last week. We spent the evening cuddled on the sofa, eating a gluten-free almond cake I’d baked for him and watching Doctor Who on DVD. Naked he came into the dark bedroom after his shower, carrying the iPod I’d given him for his birthday in one hand. Lines of white plastic ran from it to his head. He grinned at me self-consciously as he sang along to the song playing in his ears. I just laughed, shook my head, and reached over to shut off the light.

While I’d been waiting for him to join me, I’d been reading on my tablet. I set it down onto my pillow as he dove between the covers. Like a little boy, he pulled them over his head and continued to sing loudly, before finally curling onto his left side, facing away from me. “Oh crap,” I muttered. I slid out from the bed, grabbed my T-shirt, and slipped it on. “I didn’t lock the back door,” I said.

In bed, Spencer continued singing. He hadn’t even noticed I’d left. Well, I’d be back soon enough, I reasoned. I trotted downstairs, locked the errant door, and then stopped to refill the cat’s water dish and perform a couple of other tasks. It was a good five minutes before I returned to the bedroom upstairs. When I did, I found Spencer in the darkness, midway through a happy babble about a movie he’d seen on cable the previous weekend.

“Um, do you know you’ve been talking to my iPad this entire time?” I announced, as I lifted the blanket and slid in next to his naked body.

Obviously he hadn’t. He flipped around, surprised. “Maybe that’s what I wanted,” he retorted.

“Did you, now?”

“Maybe your iPad is better company than you!”

“Uh-huh,” I laughed, not buying it. I put the device on the table and plugged it in to charge. “You like snuggling up to a computer, huh? I always knew you fantasized about being with an android.”

“Oh yes,” he snickered, warming to the silliness. “Android sex is the best!”

“I knew it. You ride human dick, but secretly you wish it were C-3PO.”

“Oh, C-3PO! So hot! Boop-beep-beep-boop-bleep-bleep-booooop!” Apparently in the dark he couldn’t see my raised eyebrows. He could, however, hear the total lack of response I had for a few seconds, followed by the jiggling of the bed from my laughter. “Wait, which one is the little trash can?”

“R2-D2,” I supplied.

“Which one is C-3PO,” then?

“The one that’s not R2-D2. R2-D2 is the one who goes boop-beep-beep. C-3PO is the gold faggy one who sounds like Roddy McDowell.”

“Who?” he wanted to know.

“Oh, god,” I muttered, pulling the sheets over my shoulders.


“Never mind.”

“I’m not old like you!” he protested.


“Who is he? Who is he? Which one is C-3PO?” he begged, shaking me and pouncing on me beneath the sheets as if we were kids at a pajama party. Then we giggled and laughed like little boys until, not very long after, we fell asleep, warm and safe in each other’s arms.

This is the sweet, safe routine in which lately Spencer and I have fallen. He’s over here five or six nights week, occupying space on my sofa and eating large chunks from my refrigerator and pantry. We share meals together. He does he laundry here, and keeps his soaps and special foods and herbal teas in my cupboards. We watch television, and look at DVDs of dance, and play video games together. We go to the movies, and out to dinner, and to the bookstore together. He brings me weird desserts from the local vegan restaurant. I buy him socks, when I see his are full of holes.

What we don’t do anymore—and this is difficult for me to admit, a difficult entry for me to write, in fact—is have sex.

I’ve been reluctant to write about this shift in my relationship with Spencer for a couple of reasons. One is the simple reason that writing things down always makes them more real, for me. I’m unwilling to codify in writing some of my own weaknesses and failures, that way.

The other has to do with my blog readers. I only have a couple of detractors who are going to be filled with glee at the news, but there are going to be many who read the words I’ve typed above and think it’s the end of the world. What Spencer and I had was wonderful, they’re going to tell me. It was special, it was romantic and hot and it should have lasted and what the hell happened that it didn’t?

To allay those responses, let me say the following, with all heartfelt sincerity. What Spencer and I have is wonderful. And special. It has been romantic and hot. We both knew from the very, very beginning that it wasn’t going to last, however.

As for what happened—well, I’m going to be as honest about it as possible, though the narrative isn’t going to show me in necessarily the best light.

I wrote once about a night I spent with Spencer in which we both seemed not to be connecting. The sex we enjoyed a couple of times after that rebounded back to normal. But then we had an evening in which neither he nor I seemed to be at our best. We’d been out to a bar with my friends the night before, where he’d performed a couple of karaoke songs. Over dinner, Spencer told me that my bar nemesis, a short rotund little dwarf who keeps stealing and butchering my songs, had hit him up online that morning, feeding Spencer lines about how beautifully he’d sung and asking him out on a date sometime.

“Why, that little. . . !” I growled.

“You aren’t my boyfriend.” Spencer announced loftily. “We didn’t pick out china patterns together. You don’t get to be jealous. Ever.”

“No?” I asked, jealous despite him.

“No. You’ve got no hold on me,” he said, spearing his sushi and dipping it in in his little plate of wasabi and soy sauce. “You’ve got no hold on me whatsoever, married man.”

It felt like a slap in the face, frankly, but I couldn’t argue with it.

That night, he came to bed, luminous by moonlight in the dark. “You really are so beautiful,” I told him, in all honest admiration.

“Uh-huh,” he snapped. Then he said, “I know you only say stuff like that because you just want to stick it in.”

You know, if I had to direct the scene for a movie that followed, it’d be like a cheesy episode of some family show—Blossom or The Brady Bunch—in which the hero keeps hearing the echos of the day as he tries to get his job done. There I was in bed that night, with Spencer’s beautiful ass in my mouth, munching away, and all I could see was the memory of his face, lip curled and sneering. You’ve got no hold on me. And then, over his other butt cheek, another vision of him, disdainful. You only say stuff like that because you just want to stick it in.

Was that really what he believed? Was that really the way he felt about me? Try as I might, I couldn’t get my head into the business at hand. When the time came for me to do something, my dick didn’t cooperate. For the first time in my life, I honestly couldn’t get it up.


Somehow I played it off. I made it an ‘All About Spencer’ night and thought I did a fairly good job of covering up my inability to get an erection. The next night, though we were in bed again. While we were making out, my dick swelled to its usual proportions. Well, that’s all right then, I thought to myself. Everything’s back to normal. With a gladsome heart I began pushing all of his usual buttons—butt eating, dirty talking, and nipple stroking. My dick was still rock-hard when I growled at him, “You know I’m gonna fuck you with this big dick tonight.”

I remember the moment well. He was on his back, legs in the air, when he replied in quite a normal voice, “I wouldn’t call your dick big.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Well, it’s slightly above average, maybe,” he said. “A little. But it’s not big. You could say, you know I’m gonna fuck you with my slightly above average-sized dick tonight, but I wouldn’t push it with big.”

I settled back on my heels, confused. Why in the world was he ruining the moment with this shit? “Do you want it or don't you?” I said, trying to keep the same lusty spirit.

“Oh yes, sir, fuck me with your slightly above average cock. No wait, give me your toy-sized cock.” He seemed mightily amused by that phrase, and started laughing uproariously. “I crave your toy-sized cock.”

It was then I realized that I’d totally lost my hard-on again. And nothing I tried brought it back.

I honestly thought something was wrong with me. When I tried to masturbate, after that night, I found myself thinking about my two erection failures—the only ones I’ve ever had in my life—and hearing all Spencer’s hurtful words in my head. (And yes, they were hurtful. Even if they’d been jokingly intended.) Then I’d find myself losing whatever sexual arousal I’d been able to muster. And I was afraid—deathly afraid—to attempt to engage in sex with Spencer, just in case all I encountered were more reasons to think that something was very, very wrong with me. I wasn’t even having erections in my sleep.

There was a period of about two weeks when I thought something physiological had gone awry in my body. I thought my time as a top man was over, kaput, finished. The second of those two weeks coincided with my trip to New York at the beginning of February. And all that time I had this battle warring in my head. Half of it was simply convinced I’d never fuck again, that I was sick and impotent. The other half was more rational and tried to reason it all away. I was tired, and stressed. I was over-thinking my failure and letting it fuck with my dick.

By the end of the week, I had gathered up enough nerve, and courage—it took both—to meet with that muscle man in his Manhattan apartment. I banged his ass just fine. No erection problems there. When I returned home, I reconnected with Scruffy and fucked four loads into his hole. Definitely no issues with hydraulics with him.

The next night, confidence riding on the crest of a wave, I responded with fervor when Spencer kissed me for the first time in bed, since the last time I hadn’t been able to get it up. When our lips met, my dick was rock hard. Oh yeah, I thought to myself. This is going to happen. And again, everything was going right . . . until the moment he whispered, “I want your dick in me. Your toy-sized dick.”

And poof. It was gone, yet again.

I broke down that night in frustration and anger. Spencer held me while I raged. When I was done, he said, very softly, “I like you for more than just your dick.”

Since then, the issue of sex together hasn’t come up. We cuddle. We sit on the sofa and watch TV with our feet or heads in each other’s laps. We sleep naked together. We just don’t fuck. As an option, it doesn’t come up.

If I’d attempted to write this entry at the time it was happening, it would have come across a huge mess of self-recrimination and fear. I haven’t had, I’d like to say, a single instance of erection failure with any other person I’ve been with, since. Or by myself.

I think the distance has given me a lot of time to evaluate exactly what factors were in play. For weeks and weeks—the entire time I was sexually active with Spencer—I slept with no one else. He was everything to me, sexually. I masturbated only twice during that entire time period; every other load, every erection, was for him. I poured all my sexual energy into one receptacle. I was deeply in love with him. I still love him very deeply. I know that Spencer was doing the same. He masturbated on his own, but all the sex he had was with me.

And frankly, I think it scared the crap out of him.

I know that Spencer has been very frightened of losing me when I eventually move away, from the first night we met; I know that even more, he feared loving me to the point he’d find me an indispensable fixture in his life. Every time we fucked—every time we made love so beautifully and so well—he was more and more at risk of needing me to a point at which he feared he could never let go.

I think I am the very first person in his young life of whom he’s known that he would eventually have to let go. And instead of doing philosophically, or giving in and going through worse suffering, he began to push me away.

I’m not entirely free of blame, here. We both conspired in the sabotage of my confidence—he pricked at my vanity and distanced himself with words. I deflated myself with my old enemies, worry and overanalyzing. I elevated him to a point in my emotional well-being that simply jibes had the power to leave me impotent. My instinct would have been to talk it out endlessly, to lay all the issues on the table and let him know exactly what was bothering me. But you know, I didn’t. I won’t. He was right about something: we aren’t boyfriends. We didn’t pick out china patterns together. One of the great things about a casual relationship such as ours is that we aren’t required to have the great big talks that tie us together further. He’s free of that obligation. I’ve got no hold on him.

Which is what he wants.

My philosophy would be balls-to-the-wall, all-in, no holds barred. If he’d let me, I’d love that boy as hard as deeply as I could, all the way to the moment I had eventually to tell him goodbye. It would hurt like fuck when we separated, but it would have been worth it.

My philosophy is not Spencer’s philosophy. He’s never experienced with anyone what we shared. He’s frightened. He wants reassurance that in two months, or three months, or six months, or a year, when I finally move out of this state, that our parting will be as painless as possible. He doesn’t want to live his life with a story that begins, Once I knew a man with whom I was very much in love, and he had to leave. The story he wants to tell himself begins, Once I had a friend. . . .

I know that he will still hurt when I go. But if a polite lie is what he wants, I will give it to him.

I love having Spencer in my life. I like our evenings together, the cooking I do for him, the meals and the entertainment we take. I love our conversations, and nights out. I like having his warm body in my bed, next to mine. These things are all great and good and wonderful. They don’t speak of any kind of failure whatsoever. Nothing positive is ever a waste. It’s all to be relished when it’s happening, and cherished to heart when it’s gone.

Yet when I think of how passionate, and how sweet, our union used to be, my heart aches. For his sake, I pretend not to notice that void I dreadfully miss. If this detente makes it any easier for him in the long run, though, I will give it to him freely, and gladly.

And he will never know how much, sometimes, it kills me.


  1. I feel for you and Spencer. Your post has awakened a decade-old heartache. I fell madly in love with a co-worker a month before I had to move back to Virginia to care for my dying father. We had agreed to continue the relationship long-distance, and eventually I'd move back to Vermont after my father passed away. Unfortunately, in his mind he had already lost me. Each time I drove up to spend a weekend, he'd be a little more distant. I ended the relationship when he refused to come to my father's funeral. It was especially painful to lose my father and my first love within two days. I had my first date with him, first kiss, and gave up virginity to him.

  2. Krysm,

    That story tugs at my heart. It must've felt at the time like quite a betrayal, to have him refuse to come to your dad's funeral.

    From his perspective, I imagine that he felt as if going to such an event would have cemented your status as a couple, and that sounds as if it was something he was determined not to do.

    Painful for everyone, all around.

  3. Thank you so much for sharing this with us, as painful as it may have been to write. I was wondering why the barrage of "hot fucks with Spencer" stories had stopped, and now I know. I am glad that you two still have a friendly relationship, however. I wish you the best with him, and with any other sexual partners you take on. :) You're a great guy!

  4. Lucky,

    Thank you. I appreciate it.

  5. If Iwere to guess, I'd think that Spencer is being hurtful as a defense mechanism. Hurting you before you hurt him. And he sounds a bit juvenile still.

    I'm sorry that the relationship has soured a bit. That sucks.

    And fuck him- your cock IS big!

  6. This one made me sad, Rob. It reminds me all too much of a very similar "extra-marital" situation i'm currently in with a much younger guy.

    I love him to pieces and I know he loves me. But at the same time I make no bones about the fact that I'm not leaving my man of 6 years over it.

    He's gotten so attached and now I fear he's starting to pull away like Spencer. Though there's a part of me that hopes he will, cause then it won't be my actions that cause his hurt.... tho in reality I suppose it is my actions.

    :-( Love your posts... even the ones that make me sad.

    I hope it all works out for you and Spencer in the end. And by that I mean I hope you're both able to get over each other as quickly and painlessly as possible... when that time finally does come.

  7. CB,

    I think I agree with you. He's young, though. I wouldn't say the relationship has soured. It's very sweet, else I wouldn't still be enjoying his company.

    But hell yes, my cock is big! Maybe I shouldn't be offended by the 'toy-sized' thing, considering the enormity of his toys.

  8. Buck,

    I understand that feeling all too well—the hoping that someone will pull away so that it doesn't have to be you who does it. I haven't exactly had that with Spencer, but I have in other relationships.

    I'm sorry to have made you sad. That wasn't my intent.

  9. Thank you for this post.
    Halfway reading through it had I a revelation:
    I'm in a similar situation. I am you and he is Spencer (though he is older than me). I love him more than anyone before, and I've been wondering what's going on.

    Thank you for opening my eyes.
    I wish you strength and happy moments.

  10. Donnie,

    I hope that opening your eyes might move you to more clarity in your own situation. And if clarity leads to action—all the better.

  11. When you said that you were working on a tough entry, i'm not sure what I expected. I'm sorry to hear that this type of transition is going on. It sounds tough, big hug.

  12. Rob,
    Great post, but the last line brought me up short. Did you mean "how" much? It now reads: He doesn't know much, ... sorry to do typo on you. again, great post. martin

  13. I know how hard it was for you to write this entry and to open yourself up for the comments to come. You already know my thoughts about this—but what kind of friend would I be if I didn't rally 'round here and now? I'm betting (hoping) you'll get nothing but warmth and support from Breeder's Readers. You have both from me.

  14. I think he's come to the realization that when you leave you'll pick up where you left off with your family, but he will be left alone to pick up the pieces and start over.

    I can see putting up an emotional wall for self-protection, but he's being mean the way he's taunting you. He knew the situation from the get-go. For him to demean you like that really isn't very cool.

    Were I in your shoes, I don't think I'd be seeing him anymore. But I'm not in your shoes.

  15. Richard,

    Thank you! You know I appreciate it.

  16. Martin,

    Thanks for the catch, and thank you for the support.

  17. Mr. Throb,

    I appreciate your rallying. I think you're winning that bet, too.

  18. PDQ,

    We both had that realization from the start; I remember writing about it on our second evening together, when he let me know he'd keep seeing me against his better judgment.

    So I do understand he's doing it for his self-protection.

    As for the taunting, I'd hate to think that, after all the things I've written about him in these pages, these would be the ones that anyone remembered. Taken as part of the whole, they're very specific and minimal compared to everything he's given me over the past months. These specific things did play into the breakdown of our sexual life, but they aren't him. They shouldn't be seen as the sum total of his character, or the way he interacts with me.

    I'd feel badly if anyone thought that the case.

  19. I just wanted to say thank you for sharing this 'not easy to write' post...but one of the joys of reading your blog has always been your ability to speak to the humanity, and emotions, and desires that accompany us in our sexual travels.

    And sometimes, as you have so poignantly and courageously shared here, the heart aches...when circumstances, and differing needs, and desires frustrated by life's realities interfere with our best laid (pun intended) plans to navigate the sexual/emotional realms without doing harm onto ourselves, or others.

    You and Spencer obviously share a beautiful connection, and it's been a vicarious thrill ride to read about...thank you for having the courage to share some of the more challenging moments as well.

    Consensual sport fucking, anonymous hook-ups, hit-it-and-quit-it hotness, and sex-only fuck buddy relationships are ALL to be honored and celebrated, as this blog so masterfully illustrates....but when the heart truly becomes activated, it's "a whole 'nother ballgame entirely".

    My best to both you and Spencer, as you navigate the new territories unfolding.

  20. Dennis,

    Thanks a lot. One of my goals in writing is of course to celebrate the joys of fucking in all its forms. With the joys, though, come occasional pitfalls, and of course oddities and weirdnesses.

    In this case, there's a little bit of heartbreak as well. I think it's important to document it, painful as it is to commit to paper.

    i wish I'd been able to compose your second paragraph. It's lovely, and succinct. So lovely and succinct that if I'd thought of it, I wouldn't have had to write out that entire damned entry.

    Thank you, sir.

  21. Rob,

    It's always a little sad when a love affair begins to come to an end. What you shared WAS and IS special, whether he wants it to remain so or not. I'd be willing to bet that with each day he comes closer to losing you for real, his heart breaks a little. The digs at your manhood and sex, just ways to make you hurt as much as he's hurting inside. Those cruel, harsh words, I bet, would never have left his lips if he knew that you were his and only his for the rest of your lives. But that he only gets to have you on an "on loan" basis, it would be hard to reconcile the feelings of abandonment I'd feel knowing I gave up a chance at having someone for good, for the chance to be someone's 2nd life choice. And that's not a dig at you, at all, just the sad reality of the situation. I am Team Rob all the way and wish only the best for you. I just wish Spenser could be that for you, as he seemed to fill your life with such joy.


  22. Joe,

    Thank you, my friend. It's tough to say that our love affair is at an end, however. I still love him; he still, I think, loves me. We spend a lot of our spare time together. We laugh, we play, we're affectionate. It's just the fucking that seems to have ended—and as sexually-driven as I am (and as this journal is), fucking's really not everything that's good in life.

    I know you didn't mean what you said as a dig. It's just the reality of the situation, as you said. And it is sad.

  23. Of course I don't see them as the sum total of his character. In fact it seemed very OUT of character based on what you'd written about him in the past.

    It would be no different than you fucking with his head by repeatedly denigrating his skills as a dancer because you wanted to start distancing yourself from him. You'd achieve your goal no doubt, but you'd hurt his pride and affect his self-confidence while you were doing it.

  24. This is one of those times when, as I'm write, I'm particularly conscious of the limitations of typed words stripped of nonverbal clarifiers. And I know that anything I think, or say, is distorted and constrained by the fact that I am understanding your experience "at a distance" with only very limited data to respond to. And with all that said, here's my thought:

    I think that Spencer's choices lately have very possibly been deliberate attempts to relieve not only the chains of love enmeshing his own heart, but those enwrapping yours also. Maybe this is conscously (or nearly so) a gift he is giving you both - a way to morph the nature of the relationship while change is still possible, before physical separation and distance free-frame whatever-you-feel-at-the-moment-of-parting into something that would otherwise make the yearing too great, the loss too immense, the intensity too overwhelming. I choose to think that Spencer is doing the best he knows how to let you both hold on to what can be always held on to (the friendship, the companionship, the connection, the concern) while letting go of that which must fade (the constant and intense sexual experience).

    May you both be happy and always rejoice in each other and all you have been (and will be).

  25. Rob,

    I love the way in which you have opened yourself up to me and to your other readers in this post. To talk about an erection that won't erect is a very vulnerable thing for guys to do, and I so respect you for the openness and thoroughness of what you have written. I feel have been with you every step of the way.

    Frankly, I am glad that your penis (or your Little Head) reacted to Spenser's disguised "No," otherwise you (or your Big Head) might not have noticed the shift in the relationship.

    I think you have analyzed the whys of the shift well. And I think too, despite some people's sadness about the shift, that you have moved to celebrate what you and Spenser have in the NOW - which is all the two of you ever had!

    My heart goes out to both of you. Thank you for letting me into where you really live, and insofar as I am able, I meet you there and celebrate your life!

  26. Jonking,

    After all that distancing yourself from what you planned to say, I was really worried it was going to be something dire!

    Instead, I think you summed up the situation well. I think he is doing the best he knows how—and I think he knows me well enough that a couple of humorous comments about a toy-sized dick aren't going to give me a complex. (Probably.) I think and know you're right, about him trying to dismount gracefully.

    Everyone's been reacting to my post as if I've been writing about the death of a loved one, today! But I like your concluding thought, because I am happy.

  27. Wharton,

    Thank you. Talking about not being able to get it up is indeed scary stuff for me, as getting it up has never, ever been an issue. Keeping it down has been my lifelong problem—to the point I'm sometimes not sure which is the big and the little head! Admitting to my problem in print was what kept me from writing this post for so long.

    The now is all that any of us ever have. The good things in the now should always be celebrated. I appreciate your insightful comment, and am glad you celebrate with me.

  28. Not that this will be much consolation, but you aren't totally alone in this. I started a pretty exclusive (not as exclusive as yours, though) relationship with a guy two months ago with both of us knowing I was moving for my job at the beginning of May. The closer that date gets the less we see each other, and he has even taken a second job at a bar which limits the nights I can sleep over with him down to two a week (one if his kids are over). Our relationship recently has relied on a quicky between our shifts and dinner together for 3 weeks now.

    I know it is going to be hard on us because we love each other a lot, but I also know that the knowledge of our love will help us through the separation, and I know that it will help you an Spencer too.

    It was a little painful how close to home this post came, but it is a pain I am willing and glad to share. I know that the hurt of moving away will be bad, but I also know that it will be a testiment to how great our relationship was. That is my silver lining, anyway. I hope it helps you.

    Thank you for sharing with us.


  29. Wow, that was a hard one to read my friend, my heart was in my throat. I'm very sad that it is like that now. I hope you're feeling good right now and i'm sure that it's still painful when you see him.


  30. Ive only ever loved one man in my life but I was never with him sexually. It killed me when he was with others but every moment we spent together, cooking meals, cuddling, watching tv, sharing our hopes and dreams made the world a better place for me. I understand how you feel now, but at the same time, I never had a marriage to fall back on and the love that is in it (not that I know the details of yours). Its a scary moment when you realize you are in love with someone and you can never have them as long as you want them.

    Its funny, some people fall in love with many people at the same time and some people never fall in love.

  31. Ace,

    This part rings so true: I know that the hurt of moving away will be bad, but I also know that it will be a testament to how great our relationship was.

    The harder you love someone, the more it hurts. That hurt is the reward for loving well.

    Thank you.

  32. Yves,

    Thank you for looking out for me, friend.

  33. Pussyboi,

    All that stuff absolutely makes the world a better place. I'm never going to advocate a celibate relationship (especially in a sex journal!), but no one should lose sight of the fact that it takes a lot more to make a man than a few minutes with a hard dick.

    You're a sweetheart, as well as having a mighty fine ass.

  34. As Oscar Wilde once said "Youth is wasted on the young." Also it goes to prove that our human brain really is the biggest sexual organ of all.

    Just channel James Cameron :-D on his Oscar speech when someone puts you down like that.

  35. Sorry to hear about the comments and lack of sex. As an obsessive fanboy, I would suggest making Spencer watch Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope to teach or remind him which one is R2-D2 and which one is C-3PO (voice my Anthony Daniels who I've met).

  36. Carwestie,

    Wilde was a wise man.

    In the context of the moment, those little jibes were put-downs. In the greater context of everything I know about them, I know they were only moments.

  37. 12:20 Anonymous,

    Wait, is that education, or punishment? :)

  38. I totally wish I could give you both a hug after this one. Sometimes being an adult and approaching a situation with reason and maturity seems to hurt more than the stomping and screaming.

    1. I just re-read this entry. It absolutely guts me that I could make so light when my heart and spirit were both broken.

  39. You are going to force me to buy stock in Kimberly-Clark. I've gone through one box already.
    I am 3 years behind the time, but I hope the hurt softens/has softened.

  40. I'm glad not to be among the few gleeful at reading this post. But I also am not among the larger group who think it the end of the world. Maybe that's due to ex parte discussions with (and further blog reading of) you. I see this as an extension, or flip-side, to how much you care for, take care of, your lovers. And, I will admit, how much more growing Spencer has to do. Not necessarily in being able to let go more easily, but in not feeling a need to hurt someone to make himself feel less pain. I wish he had been able to learn that lesson, so you did not have so much to carry, then.

    The pain I feel (yes, I feel it, if only as a faint echo of yours) is that you bore these hurts. It's quite clear how much you loved him (love him) that you did this as a loving gift. What an amazingly strong man. What beauty you possess.

    Thank you for writing so honestly about it. As always, that gift of yours holds true for you and you to it.


    P.S. Yes, actually, you are big.