“i don’t have to be miserable for my trip to be epic anymore” - date#16
Once again, perusing okcupid is making me nauseous. My anxiety around date#16 continues to nag, and I have been having difficulty with the space in between interactions. I texted him something of a sensual innuendo, sweet and heart felt, early in the week and almost 12 hours later there was still no response. I knew he had spotty cell phone service, but I had a feeling that he was withdrawing. Over the next 24 hours I sent him another text message asking if his lack of response was due to the fact that the feeling wasn’t mutual, and then after no response to that, I sent another text asking what’s going on? This all transpired before Friday, the day of our previously scheduled hike. On Wednesday I went dancing instead of out on a date because the guy I had been trying to set up a date with, didn’t get back to me until 7:00 pm. I debated whether to give him another chance.
I arrived in Los Gatos at the Shamanic Disco, where I have been dancing on Wednesday nights, and before I made my way out onto the floor, I pulled a fellow dancer and artist friend of mine, Zoe aside. I am being drawn to lighten up a bit and I asked her where she creates her art from. She said that she channels energy from the universe, a seemingly positive place. I have begun to wonder if I have a mental predisposition that is contributing to all of these dates ending in great fear and issues of rejection, and if that outlook effects all my relationships. What would it look like for me to come back to my original intention of trying to get to know somebody by building a solid emotional foundation? I felt great after my talk with Zoe. I walked out onto the dance floor with an intention. To dance my joy, to the best of my ability. I danced and felt so connected, to her and my other dancing friends whom I really admire. I dance with people who are conscious, aware, kind, generous and have good boundaries. I wish for that for all areas of my life. I know that I have spent along time in the dark, looking for the light. Could it be that I am in the light, and now I just need to stay here and appreciate it?
I found a CD that was made for me by a former lover. Written on the front in sharpie marker, in all capital letters is this:
A TRIBUTE TO THE DARK SIDE OF YOU. A SIDE I COULD NOT DO WITHOUT IN YOUR PERSONALITY. THERE IS NOTHING MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN A WOMAN WHO HAS SEEN THE DARK AND HAS COME TO SEE THE LIGHT. THIS IS SOMEONE TO TRUST.
Somehow reading this now, at least 5 years after it was given to me, inspired me to contemplate letting go of negative thinking concerning attachment. Potential date#17 and I eventually got around to texting some specific times to reschedule. Here is what transpired.
me: how about tomorrow after 3?
him: gonna be hitting the gym and feeding my pythons
me: ummm is that a sign I should stop asking?
him: no, my guns, my lady lifters, my arms, do you work wed?
me: I do work wed, I should be done 6ish
me: p.s. does that mean you are going to be lifting me up? I’m into that, I am a dancer.
him: depends...how much do you weigh? and don’t lie bitch.
me: oh boy...red flag city, I don’t have time for this.
Friday morning I got a voicemail message from date#16 explaining his phone was out of service for three days, because he didn’t pre-pay his minutes. I was relieved and stoked to know a phone mishap was indeed responsible for his lack of response. He said he would message me later so we could hopefully still go on a hike. Unfortunately my body was done for. I had danced 3 days in a row with the last dance comparable to that of a training for an Olympic athlete. I told him to meet me my house at 5:00. He said that sounded great. I figured I had received a texting karma freebie. Perhaps he would’t get any of the texts I had sent him about the “intimate comment” and my reveling of putting myself on the starting block of relationship abandonment, just waiting for the gun to sound. I was hoping all three of my texts had gone straight to a text message wasteland.
I got home from work a few minutes before 5:00. I laid down on my bed pretty much exhausted, I figured he would walk in and see me sleeping, which in my mind seemed pretty romantic. I woke up a few times intermediately and noticed time kept marching on without any sign of him. My ears were peeled trying to listen for any sound of him coming up my stairs. I was sure he would be arriving any minute. I kept hearing the footsteps of ghosts. It was 5:30 when he knocked on the door out of breath. I was in the other room changing my shirt having decided that I would get something to eat without him. I was a little miffed at his lateness and stated that punctuality must not be one of his strong suits. He explained that he thought he was making better time. He had biked all the way over from Nicene Marks Park (about 10 miles away). I told him he could have texted me to tell me he was running late, he said he didn’t realize how late he was. He admitted that I was right, punctuality wasn’t one of his strengths. I got over it and quickly forgave him. I explained, I was in no shape for a hike. I laid back down on my bed. I told him I was sore, and he noticed I was pretty out of it too. I was somewhat over processed emotionally and was having a hard time with my allergies. He put his hands on me and began rubbing my head, shoulders and neck. I needed it, it felt so good. He was giving me what I needed and he was willing to to be flexible with our plans. I said I would like to cook something, but I was too tired, he told me he’d cook. Eventually I peeled myself off my bed and we biked to the grocery store to get some ingredients for spaghetti.
My therapist told me back after I had slept with David, that sleeping with men right away was not a good idea because it got too confusing for them and caused them to withdrawal. I really liked David, but of course he was triggering all of my old crap and it seemed I was powerless over how it was effecting me. I became willing to try something different, anything different at the prospect of not understanding how to navigate a relationship with a man I was so taken by. She looked at me and said “You don’t know anything about men, do you?” “No” I said squeamishly, slightly surprised by my own confession. So began my quest to become a man whisperer. I figured, here was a challenge, could I begin to start looking at men in a different light, if I just took the time to understand some general differences between the sexes? And could such an understanding lead me to a fulfilling romantic relationship? I had questions to answer. What is it I’m not getting when it comes to men? My curiosity and acknowledgment of my detrimental misunderstanding of men contributed to the direction of my project. During this time I was re-entering into a friendship with Bill. Bill and I had met at the support group I was in, and we began hanging out right before I had met Lucy’s dad. Those were the days of freedom, before babysitters and homework. I would dump money into the jukebox and we would hang out all night playing pool at the Catalyst, smoking cigarettes. Sometimes it was just the two of us and sometimes times other friends joined us as well.
I wanted to be attracted to him. He was not bad looking, he was funny but somewhat over confident which kind of made his level of insecurity obvious. I had just broken up with my ex-girlfriend and was beginning to go out with men again. The trouble was I want’t attracted to any of them and I wasn’t attracted to Bill either. One night, I guess in a moment of weakness I decided to kiss him. “Well, I don’t want to throw up”, was the first thing out of my mouth after our mouths had parted. God only knows why he proceeded to come upstairs to my apartment with me after that. We went into my studio, I put on some music and we attempted to have something resembling sex. It was awkward, uncomfortable, fake and he couldn’t stay hard. I know he always regretted that and perhaps that’s why he wanted another chance. I left for Hawaii the next morning, and found myself in a strange beginning of a relationship with Lucy’s dad (we met in Hawaii on that trip). I tried to maintain a friendship with Bill. When I got back I told him about the confusing and sudden relationship that was beginning to sprout with Lucy’s dad and Bill mysteriously disappeared shortly after that. He didn't move or anything, I just stopped seeing him around and we didn’t talk again until after Lucy was born. Periodically I would call him and ask him if he wanted to get together and hang out but it never seemed to workout. He was always busy, going to a support group meeting. When Lucy’s dad and I split up I was living back downtown and tried to re-connect with Bill. He started coming around again. But only after Lucy was asleep, it was like he was avoiding her too. Anyway, we joked about how I hadn’t had sex in ages and how the two of us could have sex if we wanted to. But I was pretty adamant about not wanting to have sex with men. I was already clear that having sex with Bill was a bad idea, but really appreciated his friendship.
Perhaps he was as taken aback as I was, after I had begun my interlude with David, my being gay and all. But I thought we were transitioning well into a friendship seeing that Bill had begun to like someone, and was working on his process of romance as well. We would talk about his relationship issues but when it came to mine, it always seemed as if he was disinterested or changed the subject quickly. I was just beginning to learn how to communicate through conflict. I used to just disconnect and sever the relationship at any sign of a friend not doing what I wanted or at the first sign of conflict, but had come to realize that behaving in that manor had become a breeding ground for loneliness. So I began to talk about my feelings of discontent for the first time and began seeking resolution. I was trying to gauge which relationships were worth sticking it out for and which ones were healthier to walk away from. I mentioned to Bill how I was feeling. Telling him my interests and concerns didn't seem important to him. He got uncomfortable and said he didn’t like the way I was telling him what to do and asking so many questions. I told him I was asking questions because I was interested in him and his life. The conversation ended in a barely recognized solution and we began to go weeks in between contact and I was beginning to feel abandoned. I started to wonder if his passive aggressive behavior was a reflection of the fact that I wouldn't sleep with him. I started to wonder if he was practicing a behavior that I knew all to well, turning me into a fantasy of who he wants me to be, and not paying attention to who I really was in reality.
One night I invited him over to watch a movie, he asked what kind of movie he should get. I said something funny or a surf movie. He brought over some ridiculously, violent, crass and disturbing western. Was he listening at all? I felt like his lack of understanding of how to pick a movie was slightly similar to how he hadn’t a clue about who I really was, what I was saying or what I really wanted. The disconnect between us was huge and triggering. That was the last time we spoke. I would think about him on occasion and wonder what happened. I would get impulses to tell him what a shitty friend he was or, how obviously he wasn't a friend at all if he had no desire to communicate. But I held back because I wanted to keep my dignity intact. But one day I caved, I texted him and asked him why he never called anymore and didn't get a response. Eventually I sent a nasty text saying I wasn’t a piece of garbage, he could just throw away. That was about 6 months ago. Then last night when date#16 and I were at the grocery store, I turned around and found Bill standing right there behind me his stuff sitting on the conveyer belt. He stood there stiff as if he was frozen within a big block of ice, encapsulated and paralyzed. I looked right into his sunglasses. Slowly, I narrowed my gaze and asked “What happened?” He looked back at me nervously and said, “I don’t know”. I just kept staring and softly said, “Really, I don’t know? I don’t know?”. “I don’t know” he shrugged in response. I turned away from him to swipe my card to pay for my groceries and then before I left, I looked into his so soul and said, “That’s it? Really?” and he said, “That’s it”, I said, “Ok” and date#16 and I walked past him back to our bikes. I think right around the second rotation of my bike pedal, I realized I had the opportunity, in my interaction with date#16, to prove that friendship was more important than control, pride or hormones. Granted it felt like I had a little more of a history with Bill, in terms of time spent as friends, but still I want to be the person who values people, not whether or not I am getting my way. The timing was impeccable.
Date#16 and I came back to my house and made dinner. I was careful not to be too bossy in the kitchen. I put on some Brazilian music and he chopped zucchini and mushrooms. I let him find the stuff he needed to cook with, I wanted him to know he was welcome in my house and I didn’t mind him touching my stuff. It felt like we were doing life. There was a rhythm to his cooking and my doing dishes together that just seemed to work. We ate dinner while I read some puns out of one of Lucy’s books. We digested to the sound of some of his favorite music, Sublime and the Grateful Dead. Eventually we came back to sitting on my bed and Eli came in to get ready for her show. I asked her how she was feeling, she said she was ok, a little nervous. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some loud music. I said that’s what I liked to do when I am nervous. I turned up the Iron an Wine station on Pandora really loud, she went into the bathroom while he laid down on my bed. I snuggled up under his arm, my head on his chest. We laid there for the entirety of her putting on her face and I was hyper aware of the romanticism of the lyrics coming out of the speakers. Eventually I asked him “Is this ok?”, he said yes. I could feel his energy drawing my face closer to his. When my face pressed into his scruffy, scratchiness, my neck relaxed leading the tension in my spine to unravel like dropping one end of a coiled rope. When Eli left, all the pressure of withholding and containing our affectionate energy dissipated. He and I rolled over each other playfully on my bed, tossing our weight back and forth feeling the sexual tension build. We were not kissing, only embracing and pocketing the mounting vibrations of desire. These vibrations felt gentle, building like waves, not abrupt or primal. They flowed seamlessly within our boundaries.
We went to Eli’s show, it was amazing. It was edgy, funny, sexual, disturbing. He loved it. I loved it. I loved that he loved it. We were both so energized after the show, we decided to go for a walk. We walked out on the wharf taking about our favorite parts and things that moved us. I opened up to him, in little more detail about my trip to Portland. We approached a bench and he asked me if I wanted to sit down with him. I knew that meant we were going to kiss. We watched a pelican, I reiterated how not having sex helped keep my crazy thoughts at bay. The problem is when I have sex, it magnifies my insecurities and makes it difficult for me to live with the “mystery spot” in relationships. I told him even visualizing a wrapped present, just waiting to be opened, gave me anxiety and made me itch and gasp for air. I laughed and said I guess I was just going to have become comfortable with him being a beautiful, hot, gorgeous, kind, funny, smart, awesome wrapped present in which I couldn’t tell how the paper would unfold. As soon as he heard my description of how I saw him, he reached out pulled me in close with a enormous smile of his face. Then we kissed, it was an I like you kiss. An expression of closeness. A point where words lose all meaning and kissing is the only way to express how we felt. The air was cool and damp. Rays from the moon and overhead light posts shone, as we kissed passionately sitting legs over legs, voices of restaurant patrons clearly coming through. We knew they probably could see us and we kissed with reckless abandon anyway, like teenagers.
We walked back to my house and it was clear there was no stopping us. A few hours of overflowing expression of attraction, affection and gratitude were underway. I want to explain something very delicate, very intimate. I want to describe a new experience of sex, that I have never witnessed first hand before. The next morning I woke up early and tried my best to let him sleep, but his skin kept calling me to touch it. I couldn’t help it, especially his neck. I made coffee and began reading my book, he rolled over to face me and curled up close, nestled aside my lap. Every other paragraph I would be pulled to notice his beautiful face. Eventually he woke up. Not immediately but in the middle of my getting up and fix him a cup of coffee, we started kissing. He was on top of me our hearts touching and our skin creating its own unique layer. Slow, calm, sensual, mutual magnetism. He was pressing into me and I just wanted him inside of me. It didn't feel like raw sexual passion, it felt like an overflow of expression, like the next right thing, so organic, natural and safe. I needed to feel him inside me and he needed to feel me surround him. Often when he enters me I feel as if I am having sex for the first time. His body was warm and intense, we melted together. I might have inhaled him. This kind of intimacy used to send red S.O.S signals to every part of my body. A big part of my mind would begin to pull back, withdraw and be convinced that it wasn't safe. But not with him, not now, not at this time in my life where I am willing to give. Give myself, give my body, trusting that I am being appreciated as a human, as a soul and feeling true connection.
I talked to my friend Scott about my new found perception on sex and security. He told me he had some concerns and was feeling protective of me and not wanting me to get hurt. He went around and around him telling me what he heard me say, repeating to me different versions of what I had said, about feeling secure. I knew what he was beating around the bush trying hard not to say out loud. I kept trying to get to the root of it. Finally after asking him what he was really getting at, I dragged it out of him. He finally came out and said it. “Just because he had sex with you doesn’t mean he likes you”. What a powerful sentance. The grown up side of my brain didn’t feel triggered, and understood what he meant. That sentence was so chockfull of fear, pain, rejection, versions of lies, perversion of purity and it was hurtful. It is the voice that I have listened to for years. The voice that has held me back from true intimacy, the voice of distrust. The iron wall that separates me from being vulnerable and restrains me from loving passionately, fully, freely and without fear. The thing is, I am aware that sex and love are often two different things in this culture, and perhaps from the perspective of biology as well, but as I evolve I am becoming clear that they are not mutually exclusive. I can make love. I am making love for the first time in my life, it is happening. I am now participating in the potential experience that I felt was stolen from me as a child. The wholeness and purity of mind which allows me to be able to remain present in my body and grants my sexuality to be an expression of how much I care for him. Blurred edges, silence surrounding us and holding us in slow penetration, heaving skin, sensitive, rocking, feeling musculature, and everything I see is coming through his eyes. I can see into his head, into his mind, into his being, into his vulnerability. There is a safety there. Home. Not the definition of home I have used for years. Home used to be the place where I escaped from, as an emotional refugee. Now home is a soft, happy, warm place to land, to take off from. The place that nourishes and supports me. The place I can go to in joy, and in sorrow, where I know I am loved. A home within me as well as in my community. My fingers traced his hairline along the back of his neck softly, where I can’t see but can feel his tenderness. I feel funny about exposing this. I don’t want to cheapen the experience of the sensations, but they are so important. I want to share what is possible for those of us who have been wounded, who have always felt too broken to feel like they would ever understand what it felt like to have sex without the debilitating residue of past trauma and abuse. Healing happens. It is happening to me. It can happen to you too.
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