Cameron Diaz's line from "Vanilla Sky" keeps running through my mind: "Your body makes a promise" (when you have sex with someone). And then, of course, there's the fact that right after saying that, she tries to kill herself and the object of her obsession by driving off of a cliff.

Yah, good times.

An amazing Friday, a crappy Saturday.

But Sunday. I don't recall the last Sunday that's ever been this bad before.

He fucked someone else, not his wife or his mistriss, the night before he knew I was likely coming up to fuck him.

And the worst part is, everyone knew he was going to do this but me.

And they let me make pass after pass after humiliating pass at him. Experiencing rejection after rejection after rejection. And not knowing why. And everyone had their pet excuse for him.

But no one wanted to tell me the part where he had fucked somebody else without me knowing in that same fucking bed.

He put his arms around me and our naked bodies mashed together and he played with my hip and then went to sleep.

And I laid in his arms most of the night, horny beyond belief.

And now I feel this horrifying betrayal that makes no sense to anyone but me. Because he's not mine, but I did think we were an exclusive foursome, and even if we weren't, couldn't someone have clued me in?

Wouldn't it seem fair for me to have this knowledge, so I can make a proper decision about my mind and body before giving them to him?

No one can seems to get how disgusting this makes me feel. I would have told them if they'd given me the chance or if they'd given me a reason to think it would be an issue.

But the most foul idea in my head is of a man cheating on me and then fucking me.

I feel slimy, disgusting, violated, lied to, used.

Somehow this is cheating, even though he had permission. Because *I* didn't know about it.

And despite being grossed out that he could hold me in his arms, I am furious that no one told me.

Yet another decision stripped away from me.

I feel like a whore. Throwing myself at him the way I did, only to be rejected. I haven't felt this way since Pete or Ross. It is a horrifying feeling, to tell your heart, just one more time, you can put yourself in his arms just one more time and survive. To be rejected once again after you make that promise to yourself.

And the really fun part is, discovering horrifyingly new parts of my psyche I never knew were there. The part that is disturbed by him sleeping with another woman. The part that wants him to love me, even though I don't love him, simply because he *doesn't* love me.

But the best, the most wonderful revelation of all, is that I'm a cutter. How the fuck did that happen?