I told him about David. I’d like to blame mr.ten for being all sorts of different things that I didn’t want him to be, but the truth is, it’s just not right. He makes too many references to Starwars and I think it’s messing with our communication. I have practiced telling him how I feel when I feel like going into victim mode and last night was simply another ridiculous waste of my breath and effort. It seems the more I talk to him the further away he gets. And oddly enough the more he talks to me the further away he gets also, go figure. I’m starting to think we look a little bit like oil and water.
We met up at his house later in the evening, which was also starting to annoy me because I am craving more fun activity. I like to go out and do stuff, enjoy each others company. Yet our dates are sporadic and the happenings between us take place inside the common time parameters of a booty call. We are often left with very little choice but to go straight to bed. I have enjoyed exploring that kind of relationship with him but it seemed that the natural progression of things would lead us to something more intimate, even if it was just more intimate sex. Earlier that evening I had been talking to my friend about what she refers to as sacred sex. I told her that it wasn't until recently I even started to enjoy sex at all. I told her that I was finally getting to a place where I was comfortable enough in my body, and with a lover, where I could really let them in and foster a connection with a man. I like the idea of giving myself completely without reservation. My body becomes open, my mind expands and a spiritual connection is able to manifest between us. She mentioned “pornstar” sex, you know the kind where it’s rough, fast and mostly lead by male thrusting. She told me a great position to slow down. She said straddle him and in initiates a much slower movement. I figured I’d lead the way, as I am used to non-verbal communication of physical action because of dance.
We began kissing on the couch. His tender lips and open mouth were so delicious. He can’t hide behind that kiss. We moved toward the bedroom, his movements were rushed, he pushed his hand between my legs quickly and somewhat harshly. I moved away and tried to come back to that kiss, telling him out loud, slower. He rubbed me with lotion, it was a nice gesture. I wanted slow passionate, close sex. At he beginning of having dinner I was feeling closer to him, I wanted to look into his eyes. Yet I swear in hind sight he seemed uncomfortable. I wanted to feel held, and valued. I wanted to feel beautiful. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to pay attention to his breath. I wanted the heat from his body to radiate into me. I wanted there to be no friction simply traction. I desired a push from him would lead us through space together, not push me across the room. I wanted him to rock me with circles and swerves. But I was drifting, he was thrusting me away from him. I could feel it energetically, he was fucking me away. I could feel it. I just laid there wondering how to get him back, why wasn’t he listening anymore? He once payed such tender attention. The night we met, I told him to pay attention. He told me he liked that I noticed him fading. He liked that I was receptive to him and his level of presence. However staying present is something he struggles with. I feel sad about that. It’s a handicap. I have tried to communicate through the distance. I have tried to become closer with him, by loosening the arrangement between us. I have tried to connect on a physical level, and let the emotions filter through however they may. That night there were no emotions coming through. He finished. He got up went to the bathroom and got the ice cream I had brought over, out of the freezer.
When he came back into the bedroom he asked me if I wanted any. I lay there slightly dazed and confused and said no. I was mad. I went to the bathroom. I sat there on the toilet trying to calm down, wondering how to deal with these feelings. My initial reaction is always to get angry and lay it on him. Typically when I feel this hurt, I make a snide comment, call him an asshole and leave. My previous experience has taught me when I follow the afore mentioned sequence of events, inevitably it pushes them away. They never call to apologize, and I am am left feeling regretful because what I really wanted was the opposite. I really wanted to be acknowledged and taken care of, and I never get it that way. Then I end up going back into the relationship apologizing for my behavior and whatever they have done gets pushed to the wayside, in the wake of my dramatic display of my hurt feelings. I sat there on the toilet for a good 5 minutes mustering up the courage, once again to go out there (on the big white boat which was now feeling like just a bed) and tell him how I felt. When I walked back into his bedroom I looked at that bed and it looked like all the others. A bed I will probably not lie in again. I sat down next to him. He was lying down, outstretched diagonally, we were both still naked. My were knees curled up along side him and wrapped in white sheets. He looked up at me. I said I was really wanting sex different than what we had, I wanted something slower, more sensual. He nonchalantly looked at me and said “Well I’m sorry that isn’t what happened, I just didn’t have the energy for that tonight.” At face value his response seemed reasonable but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like an “I’m sorry you're feeling that way” apology. “What is the disconnect between us? I asked. “It seems like the longer I know you, the further away you get. It feels like when I make love to you, I am making love to a person wrapped in bubble wrap.” I asked him if he was having feelings for someone else. I wondered if that was the cause of the disconnect. He said maybe. Then I said I was still in love with David, so we’re even.
I must confess. I have been keeping David a secret, the gesso on the canvas of project52weeks 52dates. I’m sorry I kept him from you. I hate that comparing him to Garp makes me cry. I hate the power his essence has over me. Pulling me in, drawing me in. David was the original inspiration for the project. I needed something to get over him. He was the lining underneath all of the others, and the muse for a lot of the ideas that came out in my writing. There are pieces of the dates I have been on so far that were derived from feelings inspired by david and not the actual date they were categorized under. He inspired me to paint. When I was around him I felt smart. I felt like I had finally met someone who I could feel equal too. This was before I had gone on any of the dates. I loved his quirky sense of humor. I loved that he was a musician and a thinker. I met him in October, at a museum in the city. I had a short term job as a docent. He was my supervisor. He was into art and thinking. We have the same birthday. He had a way of explaining things humbly that calmed amd stimulated my brain. He was open minded, silly and stunning. I guess all of those qualities don’t seem so astonishing now, but at that time I was so far away form being a sexual being. I had not been on a date or had sex in four years. My intention was to be his friend. I still very much believed I was a lesbian. I was simply looking for friends that I had things in common with, whom I respected and wanted to see how that would go. We would talk on the phone every few days about spirituality, art, individual paths and the nature of the universe. I like how he listened. I liked how he was goofy. He was smart and a hard worker. He walked me back to my car one day and I was somewhat in a hurry but, for some reason he just stood there lingering, staring at me. I didn’t think much of it but I was starting to wonder what the connection I was feeling was all about. Later that week he informed me via email that he was in town and wanted to know if I wanted to go for walk. My house was a mess, I rushed around picking up clothes and did some dishes, slightly in disbelief that this might be a sign that he was interested. What was even more surprising was, by the way I was acting, it was clear that I was interested also. He came over and we sat outside on the steps of my apartment building. I asked him about how he liked working for the museum. He was also working on a doctorate in art history. I was kinda feeling a little awestruck by having a man with such an amazing education over at my house, not to mention he was absolutely gorgeous. He laid next to me on my bed and we touched arms. I payed attention to every little brush of contact between us. I could’t read him though. He was very ambiguous, I waited for him to make the first move. We talked until 2 o'clock in the morning. He finally got up to say goodbye. I was in chemistry confusion, I had to know. I couldn’t just let him leave. Somehow in talking to him for those hours looking into his eyes I was falling in love. His laugh, the tone of his voice his posture was drawing me in. I stood up, I became confident and grounded and mustered the courage to ask, “Can I kiss you?” He hovered over me our lips becoming more sensitive to the distance between them. He said, “I could lose my job”. “Really” I said, “it’s too late for that”. His breath warmed my lips. The tension was heaving. Our lips met together in the middle. The middle of space, of time and what seemed to be the middle of my life. I had never in my life had sex with man where I was able to remain present and not feel like I was being raped. That night when we kissed I was more preset than I had ever been. I was so enraptured by him. I like this guy a lot. There was nowhere I would rather be than there, beneath him, on top of him, and beside him. I focused on him. I gave him my affection. I was present. I miss him.
Mr. Ten rolled his eyes at me and said, “that doesn't make us even”. I told him the story of David, I don’t know why. I sat there on the bed my skin feeling damp, cool and thin, in a puddle of defeat. I said “I just don't get it”, “I am so wanting a partner. I no longer want to do this on my own. Not because of Lucy but because I just want someone to do life with.” “that’s not a very good reason”‘ he said. I disagreed. I said that for the first time, I was more capable of communicating my feelings, much better at not fighting, more capable of loving. I told him I just wanted someone I could talk to. I got the feeling he was still swimming in the confusion of his own self pity. I can keep trying to reach out to him, but it seems when I open up he shuts down and there isn’t really anything I can do about that. My sense is when I open up and he goes numb.
I waited for him to show me a sign of relief. I wanted him to notice that I didn’t pick a fight with him, I wanted the conversation to flow toward a more authentic deeper place. A place where he could tell me his fears. He did say that he was in a time of transition. For a moment I felt like I was capable of supporting him and holding his feelings. He stated he didn’t want to deal with these transitional events that were afoot. He stated his fears but he seemed, more comfortable with the weight of the world on his shoulders then with sharing it, getting support and feeling cared for by me. We eventually fell asleep more disconnected then ever. Emotionally we were sleeping in two different houses yet still in the same bed.
I left his house that morning without saying good bye. I woke up and he stayed put on his side of the bed. Eventually I reached my arm over to him and laid my hand on his chest. He did not reach back. I lay there for a while noticing the disconnect and found myself vacillating between seeing reality and wondering how long I was going to be satisfied by this. I got up, got dressed and figured it wasn't worth saying goodbye as clearly he was not particularly interested in my presence. I took my ice cream with me. Earlier in the week I began to question if it was worth it. If these little bits and pieces of himself, he was throwing my way were becoming the emotional equivalent of food scraps for the dog. Were they fulfilling me enough to keep seeing him? I asked him, if I was gone, would he would be affected by that? He said yes. But somehow I doubt that. He seems to have some pretty good numbing mechanisms in place, and I’m sure those would kick in swiftly upon feeling any sign of disappointment or loneliness.
My experience of mr.ten is a mild view into my perception of his young life. He didn’t hook me like some other past lovers have. Perhaps a sign of my own personal progress. I respect his essence and him pursuing the mission he is on. His mouth is luscious, his kiss is delicious and seductive. His mouth tells of his passion, the passion trapped inside. The heat burning inside of him that wants to be silly, creative and free. But his mouth is also holding him back. He is trapped in the cage of his own mind. He seems isolated and lonely even if only by his own volition. When I think about my attraction to him, I know I wanted to explore him, to get inside him and express that tender sexual energy, I was incapable of showing to anyone else before. He was there at a pivotal time when I began to open up and learned to use my words for good and not evil. I feel the connection between us is best kept in that soft place in my heart reserved especially for those who make me sprout new leaves and grow.
There is nothing in the world like letting love in. It is an edge that can feel scary but the fear is simply an illusion, a mirage of tricks telling me not to trust. I can’t imagine saying another word to him. I see this cartoon picture of us in my mind, my words in red chunky block letters; heavy and bigger then his body. They are much too intimidating, for him to stop running from them.
I imagine he and I are up in the sky, deep in the clouds.
I am focused on him while I playfully I dance over, under, and through billowing shapes of nothingness.
My weight seems to weave in and out of gravity, as does his connection to me.
He stands still. He feels tired, too tired to dance. In the center of space where the fog does not distort our vision, stands his bed. He gravitates to it slowly and sits down.
I see his shoulders round as his head drops in slow motion; in comfort, in shame. He exhales fully. I stand before him and I inhale consciously while looking into his sad eyes and his fragile breath becomes synchronized with mine.
I hug his face into my chest and pause. He releases the weight of his head onto me, heavy on my heart.
While we are hiding behind the steam of fluffy clouds, no one can see us and he feels safe.
He believes he might be dreaming.
Slowly he collapses backward and I ramp him down onto his bed.
I pull his soft white blanket carefully over his long weary body and snuggle it up close gently under his chin.
Reliable comfort moves inch by inch up over his skin. I take in his vulnerability and I exhale all the way to my finger tips.
I give him one last kiss; soft, wet, sensual, our eyes closed.
As the energy between us vaporizes, I catch my desire for him in a mason jar and quickly drizzle it with honey. The honey weighs it down before it can escape and the sweetness helps preserve it. I set the jar beside his bed on his nightstand.
It is his to keep, he can look at it anytime he wants, on those mornings when he wakes up feeling lonely, or those nights before he falls asleep when he is exhausted and feels worthless.
And, if he ever decides to open up his heart, he can spoon some of that honey into his tea, and drink my desire in.
Here is my relationship meditation. I do not make hard and fast decisions when it comes to what I am going to do to resolve my feelings of unrest in any given relationship conflict. I simply am to stay present with how I feel, very much like letting the snow settle on the bottom of a snow globe. I may want to express those feelings in form of a letter, a phone call or a conversation in person acknowledging the other person will have their own feelings, not decided or predicted by me, and do what they will. I have found that my making rules concerning parameters on relationships (i.e “I am never seeing, speaking, having sex with again”) because someone’s behavior is unacceptable to me, is fruitless. The lesson is in the mess.
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