I’m in such an extremely ironic position right now that it really is apparent to me that God has a sense of humor. If I’d met J. ten years ago, or even five years ago, I’d be crazy in love by now, obsessing about every call, text and email, and probably we’d be looking for a place to live together. That is how cool he is, and how compatible we are. And that is how emotionally needy I was. Now, I regard and examine and assess…I also enjoy him a great deal. And I deeply wish I’d met him later in my journey, because although things are great between us, I plan on continuing my fuck fest on the side for a while longer. I’ve taken a hiatus to let this relationship develop and see how I feel. But I don’t think I’m finished fucking around. Will I tell him and ask for time or lie and not say anything? I don’t know yet, let’s wait and see when I get there.
He has pushed for a relationship, is always there for me, is kind, funny, generous, caring, smart and considerate, a friend and lover. He said he’s not going anywhere unless I tell him to get lost, and he seems to be serious about this, but at two months together, it’s much too early to tell. All is good. I’m comfortable; content even. And yes, I find this odd. I feel calm and happy around him, and I’ve never experienced that.
I’m not in love, but I could get there very easily. And this weekend, when we were talking about my writing and personality traits of writers, I said “you think I’m kind of crazy –” and he interrupted: “I know you’re crazy. I like it.” Let me make clear he meant distracted-creative-imaginative crazy, not psycho crazy. Anyway, when he said that, it pleased me so deeply, because the major relationships in my life have always tried to kill the crazy. J saying that he appreciated it just moved me so deeply, and I thought that this man gets me, he sees me as I am, and loves me as I am. For who I am. I’ve never had that, not even from my parents. The only person who has ever loved me like that is my son. Who told me today, “You’re the best mom.” I was shocked because he doesn’t act like it, usually he acts like I’m ruining his life by asking him to pick up after himself and read a book occasionally. “Really?” I asked, unable to keep the shock out of my voice. “Yeah, don’t you know?” he responded. So it’s been an amazing week, full of love and approval for just being me.
Ah but there’s always a fly in the ointment.
So the talented and elusive Terminator is still not out of my system, although he seems to be out of my life. After our last conversation, during which he called me a politician for the way I described my feelings about him, “you said everything without saying anything” I emailed him when I was able to meet and have heard nothing since. About three or four weeks ago now. I knew it would happen, but I thought there would be a last meeting or at least a parting email or call, but absolutely nothing? That hurts. Its like I never existed, and yet…he reached out to me on three different occasions before, so I just find it hard to believe that he would walk away without a word. I mean damn, there’s no need to be so cold. But then I remember that he didn’t even contact me on my birthday, which he knew was coming. I thought surely I would hear from him on that day, but I didn’t. That’s when it first hit me that he had walked away, but it doesn’t feel right still. Regardless, I’ve gone on with my life and am not expecting to hear from him. There is no constant ache or yearning, I’m not thinking of him constantly, but he will explode into my consciousness when I least expect it, along with all the feelings. This weekend in bed with J. it happened again, in the middle of sex. I have a flashback so intense that its like I’m there again. Surprised, I ride the memory for a few seconds before I shake myself out of it.
Later, in the dark, in J’s arms trying to sleep, he was in my mind, in my thoughts, in my skin, and I started to cry. I’m furious. I want to text him and ask him to explain why I’m thinking about him when I’m in J’s bed in J’s arms at 3 a.m. I don’t of course. I ask J. to hold me tight. He asks me if I’m o.k. and I say I’m fine.
I still cry when I think about him and my feelings for him. Ridiculous as it may be, it is what it is. I think the tears are not about him per se, but what he meant or represented to me. Sexuality, freedom, wildness and tenderness all rolled into one. And a sexual chemistry that I never thought I’d experience…
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