November 21, 2011:
Maybe it's her cynicism: sometimes she's too far removed from the emotional connection I need to feel with her.
Maybe it's her self-identification with technique: all those men she "blew away".
Maybe it's the fact that I find her technique to be vaguely comical:
all that business about pushing hard below the scrotum during orgasm, presumably to stimulate the prostate.
Maybe it's her appalling taste in men.
Maybe it's the oversized ego she attaches to her performance.
Maybe it's her continual need to have that ego stroked with gratuitous compliments.
Maybe it's because I resent her for leaving me then.
Maybe it's because I don't trust her now.
Maybe it's because I'm shocked at how completely clueless she is,
when she'd always been the one lover I remembered as having some visceral understanding of
the difference between her head and a hole in the ground.
Maybe it's the weight she's gained.
Maybe it's because she won't commit to staying with me.
Maybe it's Madonna/whore syndrome and nowadays she's the Madonna.
Whatever it is:
once she reawakened my own sexual response I found myself strongly fantasizing about a new lover,
particularly during sex with her.