Monday, September 23, 2013

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Two: Steampunk Guy Ex Machina


(It’s taking a lot of paragraphs to get to the juicy parts, pals, but I promise to make it worth it.)

In light of having found some real-life snuggles and some more time to rest, I’m feeling really guilty about how upset I got with Cutest Boy. I wasn’t taking enough responsibility for what happened—I walked us right to that veto and hurt our friendship in the process. He was being so good and trying to do the right thing by breaking it off, and I treated him badly about it. I know guys get really upset when they’ve hurt someone, intentionally or not, and I hope he’ll forgive me for how harshly I reacted. Because he’s such a nice boy, he says there’s nothing to forgive, but the most important lesson here is that I am driving this particular sexTARDIS and I need to be the one to take better care of my choices.

Back to Saturday, while I was still smarting from the breakup conversation, I got a text from Steampunk Guy asking if I was going to the Regular Dungeon that night. When I told him I was going to a different party and said he’d wanted to ask me to bring him the rope that he left at my house.

It was tempting to conflate the two conversations, to see this as him saying he didn’t want to remember what happened, that I should give back the rope and move on. The tone of the text didn’t suggest that (in fact, it kind of seemed like the opposite, but maybe that’s just in retrospect) and neither had any other exchange we’d had since July. He isn’t a subtext guy. He was asking for a rope, not a metaphor. Still, I felt a little sad and wondered if I was too fragile to see him. Even though I was sorely tempted to switch parties and go and go say hello, Old Timey Guy’s party seemed like the safer bet.

It was a dreary, drizzly night and I had a tough time getting out the door. When I got to the party, it felt off. My protectors were as welcoming and lovable as always, but the air felt stifling with smoke and I could tell that though the night was headed someplace good, it sure wasn’t headed someplace snuggly. I felt disconnected from everyone even though it was all folks I heart playing with and near.

Punk Rock Girl offered me a drink but I knew I couldn’t stay. I cried on Old-Timey Guy’s shoulder for a minute. I could write again about how aggravated I was to be crying at another party, but I think it’s time to accept that that is just a thing that I do. I picked up my suitcase and wished everyone fun, sniffled my way back to the car.

On the drive home, though, something shifted. My tearfulness turned into determination, anger with myself for giving more time to foolishness. Frustrated from the someday-maybeness of the Cutest Boy, I thought that it might be a good time to clear the docket of all the someday-maybes, and in a weird way, that’s kind of what happened. Spoiler alert, “closure” became the running joke of the evening.

This is a lot of paragraphs of fuss that should just read “I wanted to go see Steampunk Guy.”
He wants his rope back? I’ll GIVE him his rope back.

I texted and said “Am bringing you your rope, be ready!”

And he said “I’m ready.”

I stopped into the apartment, high-fived Sweetie, threw the rope into my purse, and stamped out the door. The rain was coming down hard now and it suited my bratty mood perfectly. Every worry about the dungeon seemed like so much of my own fussy cock-blocking nonsense. Cutest Boy’s Girl was on the RSVPs? So what? Worried about how it might feel to see Steampunk Guy? Jeez, rip the Band-Aid off already. I knew Winggirl One would probably let me spank her and would definitely give me lots of cuddles, and that was the only play I was expecting. I just wanted to be out among people and be finished wasting time being a sniveling scaredy party-crying wuss.

When I sloshed into the Regular Dungeon, it was packed. There was a charity auction that brought together all different elements of the scene. I took off my wet dress and left on my black pushup bra, black and white polka-dot undies, and my new pair of hot-teacher shoes. That plus pigtails seemed like exactly what one should look like when giving back ropes to a favorite former sex-pal. My friends were chatting at the bar and laughed at me for how quickly I’d stripped down. The bar’s right by the door, and I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he walked in.

Next: He walked in.


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