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| He's her lobster. |
“This hair isn’t gonna pull itself,” I said with my trademark subtlety, grabbing myself by the scruff.
Again, a look of startlement, like whoa, but
then Nearby Guy wholeheartedly complied. He hugged his left arm up under my
torse, both an embrace and a hold-down. He played roughly with my nipples while
with his other hand he pulled my hair, just hard enough that I felt like I was
surrendering, not quite hard enough for it to hurt. He smushed our faces together
into a hard-to-breathe-but-not-unpleasantly-so kiss. It took strength to leave
the kiss enough to tell him to go easier on my nipples, and once he complied,
the kiss/pull/restrain went on for a good while.
As the energy ebbed back to tender and I regained the
use of my arms, I held the sides of his face and kissed him like I was in a
movie, or like I was Rachel Karen Green on Friends. (Ross is garbage, I
know, but I feel like I grew up with them, and their romance is part of my
overall template for love.) (It would be completely fair if someone is out
there writing about me as Toxic Rom-Com Lady.) I didn’t mean it as a
quote-kiss, it felt very real. So sweet. So close to that thing I’m always
looking for, then feeling stupid for looking for.
“I might get feelings,” I said. “Is that okay?”
I didn’t really need to ask this question. He’d
already framed our connection as romantic on the first (retroactively-upgraded)
date. Asking was self-protective and maybe defensive, but also fair in that
cloud of subbiness, vulnerability, and man-smell.
“Well, we would have to talk about it…”
So we did. He wanted reassurance in the poly
department, which I was happy to give. Feelings got a tentative green light,
but the situation still felt too fragile to me (or maybe like I needed to smash
it and run) so I said:
“Okay, but if you’re looking for something casual,
that’s not me.”
In my mind, so much of dating is/has to be about
showing that I’m ready to graciously say goodbye. This is maybe not the best
strategy, but I haven’t found a better one yet.

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