Hold Me Upside Down and Shake All the Nonsense Out, Part One

 

Later in the story I text this to The Song Sender and then I'm like OMG I SENT HIM A POEM WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! But he got what I was going for, I think.

After that second first date with The Song Sender went SO well, my perspective shifted. Softened. Scattered like light. Opened up. If my life has THIS much possibility in it, if fate (and, okay, my very goal-driven sluttiness) could offer me The Song Sender after these very long eleven years, and if that could make SO MUCH SENSE, even just for that one night, why couldn’t I find a way to be in touch with The Shy One, too?

So I texted The Shy One on that full-of-submissive-clarity afternoon, to ask if he would accept my apology and try for being friends with benefits. I didn’t think he would write back, he had every right to have blocked me, but he hadn’t. He did text back.

He said we could be back in touch, but he was taking the summer off from dating to reflect on how he wanted to handle his poly life. I didn’t think he had done anything wrong, definitely thought he shouldn’t be depriving himself of snuggles, but I was so touched by the pause he was taking. I have this terrible habit of thinking I have no effect on people, that I’ll fall out of their consciousness as soon as I say goodbye, but his planned summer sacrifice humbled and chastened me.

Convinced of how much I’d meant to The Shy One, I vowed to figure out a way to be in his life, however he would have me. So haltingly and politely, with some good ol’ Downton restraint, we started texting some. We talked on the phone and it made me sad, made me long for him and doubt I could make it as a platonic friend. But I put aside time to feel that sadness, and stayed determined.

We sent pictures of flowers and “happy Friday” and I confided in him when a date didn’t work out. The Shy One and I planned a dinner for mid-July, but before we got to there, The Song Sender cracked me open even more. Though he, generous and sweet Sir that he is, would probably say I did it all myself.

For my (second) second date with The Song Sender, I think he meant for us to have a date-date, but I was lazy and it was hot so I decided to just take him home to play. He helped me put some flowery street art up first—I liked seeing him pull the silk flowers off their plastic stalks. Good muse.

There was gorgeous, wonderful, THOROUGH hotness, which I’ll get to in a different post, but there was also a fight. During aftercare time, a couple of misfired jokes stirred a wild sense of abandonment into my reeling and breathless body and mind. I got rage-quiet and kicked him out. Well, I drove him home.

“At least it was a good sequel,” I said. I am kind of a jerk.

There was a big, hazy supermoon in the sky that seemed like it was a little bit mocking me with its naked romance.

“Thank you for letting me drive you home,” I said, “It would be too sad otherwise.” He caressed my arm softly and I felt so much regret about things being over (re-over) already.

“Hug” he said kindly when we pulled up in front of his girlfriend’s apartment. There was a car waiting right behind us so there wasn’t time to aim the awkward car hug. It was more like we just bonked our heads together.

This story makes me miss him, makes me sad even though we figured it out and he’s still very dearly in the picture. I would have to go to that humble place some more, let down my defenses, and maybe, maybe, MAYBE (please please please) just get (at least some of! A LOT of!) what I wanted all along.