Real Date/Car Sex With Steampunk Guy
Yes friends, I’m sure there are many very deep and soul-searching paragraphs to come about my ongoing divorce process, but I hope you don’t mind if I indulge myself with this awesome sex story first.
I have to admit, Steampunk Guy listens. After our last couch-date, I’d asked if we could do something out in the world. By the time a fortnight rolled around, I had so much going on that I would’ve gladly stayed in again, but it was a nice surprise when he found an evening and asked me to meet him at a gastropub midway between my house and his. I should probably stop being surprised when guys I'm fucking treat me decently, but really it did kind of knock me out.
Much as I enjoy putting on clothes that only stay on for ten minutes, I loved picking out an outfit that would stay on. I was excited about the idea of kissing him out in the world and more nervous than I’d been for the previous two times.
Bless the suburbs and their parking lots, because any activity I do not have parallel park for is a good one. He looked so cute sitting at the bar waiting for me, a little dressed up as usual in a buttons-down shirt and blue old-timey vest, reading a book. I sat down next to him and kissed him hello. He put his hand on my leg and squeezed, digging his fingers in. I felt giggly elation and animal warmth. My pal.
And then he took the wind out of my sails a little, worrying that we wouldn’t work anymore now that I’m single-ish. He’s worried that I’ll need him to be a crutch during the divorce process, but (still high on the relief of deciding and doing the right thing for Sweetie and myself) I’d never felt less needy in my life. I was certainly a lot more self-possessed than I’d been a fortnight ago. It’s the first time in my adult life that I’m Not Looking for Something Serious and it’s scary, yes, but also kind of exhilarating.
“We’ll see, okay?” He said ominously.
I could have gone with the little twinge of rejection I felt, gotten sad and gone home right then, but I’m proud that I didn’t.
“I’m not really interested in proving to anybody that I’m not needy.” I said. I told him I don’t expect husband guy to be along until I have time to heal, and that I sure didn’t expect it to be him. He still seemed wary (in the short time since making the decision to divorce, this is only one of the varieties of divorce-cooties responses I’ve experienced) but we Muppeted on to other topics.
He’s been reading me (Even posts that are not about him! Be still my heart!) so I set out to try and find out some paragraphs-worth about him. He told me lots of endearing stuff about family and travel—enough stories to make meaningless sex kinda tough to pull off.
After we were done with drinks and dessert, we went on a little walk around the neighborhood. There was a gorgeous sunset and the fireflies were just coming out. The fireflies gave me a stabby feeling for Sweetie—it’s hard knowing how far I am from being ready for something that deep again. That was actually the second bad Sweetie-pang of the night. The first was when I realized we wouldn’t have our pre-date rituals anymore. No more “Kiss me before I put my lipstick on.” No more Sweetie programming my destination into the GPS. It’s not gonna be easy.
Pangs notwithstanding, I liked walking along with Steampunk Guy, holding hands until they got too sweaty. He chatted to me about the books he’d been reading, something with paleontology and the lost city of Atlantis. I listened in a wine-fuzzy haze, wondering what would happen next, if the end of the street would be the end of the evening or if I was somehow gonna get into his pants. I’d asked if we could go to a park and make out like teenagers but he was being so much of a pal that it was hard to read the situation. I couldn’t tell if he’d already phased me out for the divorce-cooties, and I was ready (but also not ready) to graciously let him go.
Next: I get into his pants.