(As I finish up writing about this gorgeous date from
three weeks ago, last weekend’s worry and jealousy has come and gone. I did
everything wrong and it turned out okay. There was no Perfect Unicorn Lady because
they weren’t looking for one. He had a lovely spouse weekend full of sunshine, rest,
and friends. I want my brain to remember that, no matter who else joins his
constellation. I want to have more faith.)
Back to September second: When we got to my apartment
after the Dreamiest Uber Ride Ever, after I put his leftover lobster mac and
cheese in the fridge, I took him upstairs to try the new purple ropes. I showed
him how to do an overhand knot, then how to redo that overhand knot so it would
land in the right place. The whole scene, the whole night, was purple, just
shimmering with otherworldly magic and regal beauty. Purple. That’s how I feel
about The Shy One.
Sex, of course. Beautiful and THOROUGH and sweet. He
drifted off and promised to wake up around 2am to do a whole bunch more. I knew
he would make good on that promise.
But after The Shy One fell asleep, I got sad. It felt
like my g-spot was connected to my tear ducts, that a physical and emotional
floodgate had opened up. My birthday had brought with it more family
estrangement, my brother treating me with contempt and control. My brother had
called me a hateful bully for trying to stand up to our most insurrectionist
relative, and I’d cancelled the family Zoom I’d scheduled for the following night.
(In favor of an art installation friends’ night out though, yay!)
I was also crying because it was going to be almost a
month before I would see The Shy One again. It felt almost like a long-distance
arrangement, even though we live in the same city. It was the feeling I felt so
long ago when Perfectly 1993 Guy came to visit from college—acutely aware of
how many hours were left.
I got up out of bed to write, but I put the notebook
down midpage. The sweetest man in the universe was sleeping in my bed upstairs.
If I needed to cry, I could cry to him. So I did. It felt like the biggest
step.
He gathered me up and held me while I cried. I felt
bad because “I miss my brother” was hardly sexy date talk. But The Shy One
listened. He comforted me and I let him. We didn’t talk about the too-far-apart
dates, but we’ve started resolving that by now.
At my cousin’s birthday party in 2008, my brother
flipped out on me about a social justice comment I made during a family board
game. “You ruin every party,” he said. That characterization has stuck in my
head and in my heart. In some ways, it’s true: Thanksgiving of 2016 very much
deserved to be decimated, even if one of my nephews has never quite forgiven
me.
So I feel guilty about having had less-than-ebullient
emotions in the middle of such a magical night, but I’m so, SO glad I confided
in The Shy One. I’m glad I let him see the vulnerability that had bubbled to
the surface. I’m grateful that he made me feel safe enough to cry.
Plus, when the promised 2am hotness came around, I
felt even more warmth, love and trust with him. A perfect, perfect night indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment