New Guys, Old Triggers, Real Dating Break, Part Two

From Last September, Trying to Internalize It

Backing up to the day after my Memorial Day adventure with Le Monsieur, he did that disappearing-the-day-after-sex thing. I thought a lot about the feeling of abandonment that day, how much it affected me during the bad rhythms of The Shy One. It feels childish to be a grown woman talking about “abandonment” by a guy I just met, but maybe just…childlike. That deep chasm of loneliness and want does come from the child part of my psyche, that’s why it’s so powerful.

I would like to find someone who doesn’t trigger that feeling, who wants to spend time and be close to me after sexy times, someone who wants the ordinary times too. Right now, it’s hard to believe in.

I probably should have said a kind goodbye to Le Monsieur after he did the disappearing thing, but when he popped back up the day after, I just wanted to practice my French and maybe get spanked.

He dragged his feet about making more plans though. I felt pangs of loss about that, remembering how The Shy One stayed up late making the hotel reservations for the trip we never got to take. Logistics and gifts were his love languages, I wish I would have been able to appreciate that more. I wondered if I’d ever feel that level of cared-for structure again.

Le Monsieur eventually did make a plan, and I was excited for him to pick me up so I could visit his place. But he texted earlier that day to see if I could bring baby oil. I said I didn’t have any but could bring some nice scented lotion. I offered to bring condoms and he said yes, bring those too. More pangs. It felt like I would be providing everything to this connection. My heart ached to return to The Shy One, who not only brought his own condoms like a GROWN ASS MAN but almost always showed up with treats, or a pretty lotion, or a candle, or a new sex toy.

It wasn’t about the gifts, or, it wasn’t ALL about the gifts, it was about feeling special. In all my years of grown-up dating, a man had never made me feel so valued. He treated me, most of the time, like something he wasn’t just entitled to. Honored. He made me feel honored.

Though I was very happy that Le Monsieur had MSNBC playing when he picked me up (a first!) and we had a very nice dinner, the date just didn’t feel right. I took a walk in his neighborhood and then BFF came to pick me up. We listened to and celebrated the indictment news. It was a bittersweet night of accepting where I was really at.

I can’t keep getting mad at these guys for not being The Shy One! AND for the ways they resemble him. As much as it annoys me to not move on while TSO’s probably out there having all the casual fun, it just doesn’t feel right. I’m not ready. My heart is still too full of him to have room for anybody else. I wonder if I’ll ever have that room again. Probably!

So for the next couple of months, I’m going to focus on work, friends, summer, and mental health. I’m going to focus on myself and give myself the space to process and heal. These couple months of adventures have been lovely, and I’m sure when I’m ready, people will still be cute.

New Guys, Old Triggers, Real Dating Break, Part One

 

Please send good luck that this therapist will remain a match! The last one I tried used the phrase "sister wives" in reference to poly. She'd said some helpful stuff before that though!

Last Thursday was a two-date day, and I was excited about both! I was meeting the Guy With a Big Telescope for lunch at Emotionally Neutral Diner, and then Le Monsieur was picking me up (in his faaaaancy car) in the evening to come visit his new apartment. I felt horny and shiny and new, amazing how the optimism always shines through.

GWBT was sooooo cute, just the right combination of grown-up and boyish. (He’s 39.) I liked him because his profile mentioned the possibility of stargazing dates, perfect for summer! The big telescope is not a euphemism, he really sent a picture! He was hesitant about the writing-about-stuff aspect of things, but otherwise seemed like he might be a lovely match!

GWBT had warm vibes and was such a gentleman, even offering to have them make me a to-go order in case my French toast didn’t end up being filling enough. Less charming was when he watched out the window as a lady parallel parked, critiquing her entire process.

Still, SO cute. He loved to travel and talked about wanting to whisk me away for a weekend sometime. He was installing a new speaker system in his car just in time for beach trips. (He mocked his current system for having not just a CD player but a TAPE DECK, and I felt envious because I just have a CD player in mine.)

(Side note: Many things are uncertain, but it’s very clear to me that I would like to not be the one doing all the driving in my next relationship.)

Anyway, he was a somewhat plausible catch until:

He: I like your first date outfit, can’t wait to see what you’ll wear on our tenth date!

(Okay I like this line.)

Me: It’s cute that you’d think I’d wear clothes on our tenth date!

Okay, I was being a little obnoxious, but he literally said:

“Shhh!” and looked around like we were going to get in trouble.

I’ve had enough of that particular look-around for this lifetime and the next. And shushing on a first date!

Two Hauntings and a Lovely Monsieur, Part Deux

Last Monday was my first pool day of the summer. It was a glorious, shining day to read a mystery book on a blanket under the tall trees, listening to the chatter of the families nearby, but the water was too cold to go in. I went home for a nap but before I dozed off, emboldened and about to be rested, I asked Le Monsieur if he wanted to come over that night for a walk. Maybe we could hold hands in the beautiful mild first moments of summer, beneath a waxing half-moon.

Le Monsieur came up my driveway more beautiful than his picture: tall, angular, bespectacled. He was wearing a pretty orange-gold woven print shirt and pants that matched. He looked cosmopolitan and assured, if a little mystified to suddenly be here.

As we walked along my well-worn woodsy neighborhood route, his first touch beyond handholding was to gently grab the back of my hair, right there in front of the moon and everybody. When we sat down in my favorite little park to chat, he delicately took off my shoe and rubbed my foot. I was glad I’d done a pink and gold pedicure the day before.

When I brought him home and to bed, he taught me the word chateullement,tickle. He thrust his dick into my mouth and his hand deep inside me, my legs up the wall. Beneath him, sucking him happily and deeply, I felt an oasis of unselfconsciousness, just me and the beautiful dick and the smell of summer and sandalwood and subtle cologne. He came easily for me, saltier than the sea.

Since then, I’ve put Duolingo back on my phone, re-taking-up not just French but Spanish too. I’ve even started learning the Hebrew letters just for fun. Oh, the languages, les langues, the tongues. I’m picturing Elizabeth Gilbert practicing Italian in the tub at the beginning of Eat Pray Love and hoping for a summer of pleasure, one way or the other. All the ways.

Two Hauntings and a Lovely Monsieur, Part One

Last Friday night, peaceful and close to sleep, I was swiping through Bumble a little bit, matching a bunch and generally feeling hopeful about the futures of my heart and hoo-ha, when, OF COURSE, there he was. The Shy One. Not the same picture he’d sent me from Sierra Leone, but one from the same series. His lips. His gentle eyes. His lightly bratty smile. His pink, pink sky.

I’d been feeling a little more steady, a little more over him lately, but the profound surge of fight-or-flight that came from a few moments with that picture pre-swipe-left smushed all my illusions of progress, at least for a little while. “You both like Ed Sheeran and Burna Boy!” Bumble unhelpfully proclaimed. Darn Spotify being connected to Bumble. Darn Afrobeat being my yard work music lately. Too, too much connection everywhere. Every algorithm a tangled road back to him, back to wistfulness.

I sobbed to BFF about it. I made a bedraggled Instagram story about it and sent it to three Close Friends. I never wanted to swipe again or kiss another stranger or text another (possibly cursed) “good morning” to anyone else.

But when I woke up in the morning I felt…mostly fine! The matches in my queue were cute and viable and it definitely wasn’t THEIR fault I got pink-sky-haunted! I said hello and felt my forward motion starting up again, just slightly rickety like a wooden roller coaster.

And then, last Saturday afternoon, a whoooole bunch of WhatsApp notifications. It was from a new number to get around the block—shady, but I’ll allow it. He sent a beautiful dreamy-sad faced picture: The Princely Guy.

He missed me. We would never forget me. Three kiss emojis, the lipstick print kind.

Of course I wrote back, what am I, made of stone?

He just wanted me to know he would always be there for me. The Princely Guy is one who uses the “love” word casually, which I like, instead of treating it like a taboo or a weird grail.

The Princely Guy had moved away and I definitely didn’t want a long-distance relationship. But it felt good to know everyone’s not out there forgetting me.

By Sunday night, I was on the phone with Le Monsieur, one of the Friday night matches. He’s a beautiful divorced-dad sweet talker my own age, originally from La Cote d’Ivoire. We talked for an hour and a half (!) while I worked on my maybe-impossible 1000-piece dahlia puzzle. He made me laugh. He made me want to remember my like SEVEN YEARS of French I’ve never really used. There’s a lot of Google Translate in this flirtation and I LOVE IT.

I thought it would be a while til I could meet Le Monsieur, but it wasn’t. 😊