Last Wednesday, something really horrible happened to one of
my students. It happened outside school, but it was very upsetting and shook me
all the way down to my bone marrow. She’s okay now, but it’s hard knowing that
it happened to anyone, let alone to a student I love.
When Sweetie and I got back from trying to visit her in the
hospital Wednesday evening, we were sitting on the porch discussing whether or
not I should call into work the next day to process. Just as that conversation
was winding down to a yes, my phone rang, and it was Mr. Shiny Eyes, asking
what I was doing the next day—he’d found himself an opportunity to drive in
from out of town and visit.
Glad to hear joy in my voice, Sweetie said of course a visit
was fine with her.
For most of last Thursday, I couldn’t move. I felt broken
and guilty and devastated for all that I have that my students don’t have—a
safe home, a loving group of friends and family, the ability to change my
circumstances. I called Sweetie and apologized for needing to schedule some couch
time, an apology she found ridiculous. I felt weepy and not-good-enough, hardly
a way to go into a second date with someone I’m excited about.
Cleaning the apartment to get ready for him and making
dinner for both Mr. Shiny Eyes and Sweetie (yay!) lifted my spirits a little
but I felt really fragile and off when he arrived. Just like Sweetie had the
night before, Mr. Shiny Eyes listened and listened as I kept on looping back to
sad subjects.
After Sweetie had left us alone for snuggle time, I
apologized profusely and repeatedly for being such a bad date when he’d come
all this way, but he seemed shocked and dismayed with every sorry.
“I came here because I like you, the real you, and this is
the real you right now. I didn’t just come here to have sex. But I’m still
pretty sure we’ll have sex.
And we did. In fact, he asked if it would be okay to just
forget all the kinks and “make gentle love” to me and it’s a little sad how
seldom I’ve had that with guys. (But okay, I get other good stuff.) I relaxed
into him and it was sweet and hot and satisfying.
Plus, once the lovemaking was accomplished, he was nice
enough to end the night with a pretty thorough flogging that buoyed up my
spirits even more.
And yet, I didn’t stop apologizing. There’s an annoying
almost geishalike part of me that wants to be nothing but cheerful and pleasant
and uncomplicated for men. I try to keep a cheery guard up lest they should
think I’m difficult or high-maintenance or (that dirtiest of dirty words)
needy. I have no problem sharing vulnerability with friends or with Sweetie,
but when it comes to men I’m attracted to, there’s this irritating compulsion
to behave. It’s insulting to them and stifling to me.
I’m grateful that life kicked my ass enough that I had no
choice but to show Mr. Shiny Eyes my sometimes-a-wreck of a self. (I’m also
grateful to anyone who reads the full wreck of it here, for that matter!) No
choice even, than to at one point put my clothes on and just cry for a bit. He
took such nice care of me, and even though second date tears aren’t my favorite
thing, I’m so glad for the depth and difficulty that I shared during my second
evening with Mr. Shiny Eyes. It’s a step towards learning to actually trust men,
and it made my hoo-ha happy too.
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