The trickiest thing about Steampunk Guy is that he leaves before he leaves. For 95% of the time I’ve ever spent with him, he’s been more present than most other guys. I’ve only ever seen him answer his phone once, which shouldn’t be that special, but is. When it gets close to time to go home, though, he detaches all the way and triggers a really annoying don’t-leave-me response in my gut. Maybe it’s just something in me, but since he used to be one of those Pickup Artist guys, I wonder if it’s something he does on purpose. The Game is waiting dauntingly for me at the library so maybe I’ll find out.
Anyway, after that switch flipped, we were still having fun, but it felt a little sad. I cuddled back and forth between him and the Boss of Me couple. I wanted to go upstairs, goof around a little, and get aftercare, but he wanted to wait and see if he’d won the castle-shaped cake he’d been bidding on.
“I’m better than cake.” I said and he shook his head thoughtfully.
“I think that’s why we broke up in the first place...”
“Yep, I wanted to be better than cake.”
He talked about not doing aftercare, went on a little half-joking diatribe about why can’t it just be meaningless sex, why does there always have to be snuggling? This was an odd stance to take after two hours of on-and-off snuggling and he claimed to be kidding, but there was real emotion there. Maybe he’s just as frustrated about me not being Meaningless Sex Girl as I was back in June about him not being the Dream Guy. It’s amazing that we make good things happen with such opposite mindsets. Credit the smell of him, I think.
I was hurt and didn’t know whether to prevail upon him to do aftercare or just do it myself—the night was already a win, and it’s not like I’d been traumatized. I was all sadfaced but he met my eye and said “Just funnin’”
I perked up a little and he started unwinding the ropes there at the corner of the downstairs bar, and we bantered some more, getting oddly braggy with the other pair about our not-superconvincing broken-upness. Actually, we were never officially a thing, so I guess it was one of those not-really-a-breakup situations. We both hyperbolized and laughed about the many, many, women who are ahead of me in his queue. (All of whom were absent from the dungeon on this particular night, because sometimes the universe loves me.) (Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed a chance to co-snuggle with at least one of them.)
He went to see about the cake and I went upstairs to sit with my blanket, (blue fleece with cartoon monkeys this time) figuring if he got distracted downstairs I’d just leave as soon as I was alert enough to drive. He came up soon after, cake triumphantly in hand. He sat down next to me and said “Okay, come on.” and I crawled into his arms. This was the first aftercare time we’d had in the BDSM way, before it was just awesome postsex cuddling. But this was nice too. While I was wrapped up with SG, The Boss of Me came over and kissed me goobye. I thanked her and she told me very emphatically to friend her, and I said of course I would.
Once aftercare was done, my head felt a little yucky with confusion. I sat at his feet, put my head on his knee and said “Make me not confused,” but he’s not a top who’ll tell a girl what to think. Kneeling at his feet and wistfully kneading his lap, I talked myself through it:
“You’re still the same guy.”
“And you’re never gonna, like, ask me out.”
“And you’re never gonna know on Tuesday if you can see me on Thursday.”
“So nothing has changed except, we can be a thing that happens sometimes?”
“Exactly, like a happy accident.”
“Okay. You’re the “Thrift Shop” of humans.”
We talked a little more, debating whether the fucking had really been the thing that made me fall in love with him. I really don’t want anything to mess up the fantastic momentum I’ve got going, but let’s face it, (I didn’t say this at the time) probably I’ll fuck him a bunch more should the opportunity arise. I know my ass would thank me for it.
I got back into my rained-on dress and he paid me the rare compliment: “Oh, I like it. I liked naked better, but this is cute.” Praise like a shiny good luck charm to take home.
He walked me to my car and I made him put down the cake and kiss me in the drizzle. I drove home happy and proud. There was still a lot of hurt in my belly about the Cutest Boy, but I’d taken control over the evening and helped make it better than I’d hoped it could be.
The next morning, first thing, Steampunk Guy texted to see if I’d written about it yet and to say he hoped I’d gotten home safe. (Supergentlemanly, meaningless sex guy!) I thanked him again and told him to stay tuned.
So here is my new resolution: Accept the awesome. Whether it comes from him or any other member of this growing cast of characters, from a trusted pal or a stranger, I resolve to get out of my own way and let life lavish me with wonderfulness, often in the form of kisses and spanks.