In Which I Realize How Lucky I Am to Have Had My Adventure Years: Part One

Well, friends, after a quiet and mostly happy-to-be-single year, I recently dipped my toe back into the treacherous waters of sexy times, and though I didn’t find a lasting connection, what I did find couldn’t be more illuminating.

Back in June, I got a crush on one of my coworkers at the college bookstore where I was part-timing. He talked to me about music. He recommended Radiohead’s “In Rainbows” and I found it excellent to type to. After all that time of not getting ridiculous over anybody, I could not stop flirting with him as we alphabetized the textbooks that got bought back at the end of the semester. Then I realized he was 23 and I could reasonably be his mom, so I went back to OKC to hit on guys my own age.

The one I found was tall and dorky-cute and of course beardy, and was especially attractive to me because he’s Unitarian and I have this dream of going to church with a boyfriend someday. On TOP of that, he’s a single dad (nothing hotter) with a SWIMMING POOL in his back yard. I’m too heartachey to make up a nickname, so I’ll just call him J.

He sent me his blog address before our first date and I found some red-flaggy things on there (Like a MILLION paragraphs about how the Cold Stone Creamery once accidentally put nuts in his sundae.) but thought it was best to give him a chance and get to know him in person. I’m so glad I did.

Rather than doing the supersensible thing and just meeting for gelato on our first date, he asked me out for the art museum AND dinner AND a movie—Trainwreck, which I’d been superexcited to see. He! Brought Me! A Mix CD! On! A! First! Date! A little heavy on the ethereal-voiced women, but still. After about an hour in the museum, I felt so powerfully drawn to him that I wanted to push him against the wall right there in the Dadaists.

He was the first guy to take me to see a rom-com on a date, and that was a snugglesome experience. We ended up making out by the river while a wedding down the way provided the cheesiest of accompaniment: “Aaaal of me, aaaaal of you.” It was beautiful and dreamy, but he was one of those guys who steals second base, and I kind of let him. I found myself in the back of his car in the art museum parking lot with my panties down before I remembered I mostly prefer privacy these days. We talked about our fantasies and his were a couple of more red flags: erotic hypnosis and being taken advantage of in his sleep. Not really boding well on the enthusiastic consent front, but that isn’t where this story is going.

Our second date was even more of a romance-bomb: A night time light show in a fancy flower garden. We kissed under a tree and I felt like I was one of the Impressionist paintings from our first date. As we walked down a magically-lit garden path, he sang “All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here, in my arms…” As we approached a woodsy treehouse structure, we sang together: “Blue canary in the alley by the light switch, who watches over you…”  So what hope did I have of making rational decisions?

Next time: BDSM in the Flowers, Bitterness and Cake

Roadblock # 10: Calendar Fuss

Sometimes friends who are also readers express worry about having to change plans or other logistical stuff they think might not be up to my exacting specifications. I always feel so sheepish when that happens, nobody should have to feel self-conscious like that, and I and I don’t ever want anyone to think their OWN logistics don’t matter to me. Besides, purely platonic situations are never what triggers schedule-related panics, at least not lately.

Okay, so I really, really love to plan. I don’t just make my schedule, I curate it, and I do cling to it for comfort. Part of that’s just being poly and being a busy teacher lady, but also, I just spent a lot of years not doing what I want to do with my time, so I want to make sure I’m using it to get what I really want. Because, like most grownup people, I have such limited time for social stuff, any item I’ve written on the calendar is special and there for very specific reasons. I’m starting to understand that it’s not that deep for most folks, and that’s probably okay.

Part of calendar fuss is just good old-fashioned existential angst. Since I was about seven, I’ve been preoccupied with the finiteness of life. Nonetheless, I managed to, even after I remembered I was bi and realized I was poly, put off dating for about five years. I threw myself into work and poetry and art and expected those things to fill the holes left by missing relationships, by ALL OF THE VERY MANY missing penises. I avoided myself for so long, afraid to risk humiliation (at least that’s decidedly behind me), afraid of losing Sweetie, holding on to her for the safety when really we were the most unsafe thing.

It is my fault that I left the best parts of myself off the calendar for so long. I think that’s why I have the ongoing fear of the people I’m attracted to forgetting me—there’s such a bigbig part of me that I forgot, that I willfully ignored for so long.

Like all of the roadblocks, this one is about grief and being angry with myself. When I got explodey with Mr. Sweetheart over the summer for forgetting it was Wednesday, when I was overly vehement with Mr. Shiny Eyes for even flirting with the idea of switching to another Friday, it was partly from knowing those relationships couldn’t give me what I need, but I think I was also giving voice to the parts of me that are angry at being pushed aside by me and Sweetie for so many years.

Also there’s the more literal fact that I forget to give myself enough time alone. I’m half-introvert and I’m surrounded by people almost every minute, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine when I don’t make time to read magazines, hike, or just go to bed early.

But mostly, there’s this: I really do think that people might forget me, that I’m so unremarkable that I might just slip through the cracks of everyone’s full lives. With platonic friends, there’s an easy fix, I just pursue plans tenaciously and I’m as flexible as I can be. Noreally! Just ask Angel Face—he’s been in NREtown for a while and it sometimes takes several false starts until we have plans—this doesn’t stress me out at all.

But with sexytimes or romantic interests, it’s harder to fight the conviction that there’s always somewhere better to be than with me, the idea that they don’t think of me at all unless I’m present. This is why god invented pressing “like” and why I enjoyed the Cutest Boy so much—his texts were so constant that I barely had a chance to worry that he’d forgotten about me—and he was happy to tell me I was unforgettable any time I needed. A recipe for addiction, but still.

If I really like someone, a day on the calendar makes me feel more anchored to them. It somehow means that they are less likely to find something better and drift away. Writing a name on the calendar is like tying one end of a string to the balloon of them and tying the other end to my wrist.

For the years when I forgot/tried to squelch my guy-liking side (and all the kinky stuff that emerged along with it!) when I tried my heart out to be gay and monogamous, when I left entire body parts unexplored and neglected, I think I owe myself an apology. How’s this:

Dear Self,

I’m sorry that I took so much away from you and that you’re only beginning to find out how much you’ve been missing. I’m sorry I shamed you and let you be shamed, treated you so narrowly, harshly, and judgmentally. I’m sorry that I marched you through so much unhappiness when you could have been yourself and free. I’m sorry I defined you by tragedy, by defensiveness, by the things your stupid mother told you. I’m sorry I deprived you of all the penises for so many years, and I promise you they’re not suddenly all going to disappear again. I will try to never take away another thing because of meanness or fear or overprotection.

I’m going to do my best to try and get you everything, so I need you to just forgive me, chill out, and have a little more faith.

Love,

Me

As for the part where I think people will forget me, I’m trying to note all of the evidence that the best ones haven’t and won’t so that I don’t freak out when a cutie misses a call or doesn’t agree with me on the definition of “a couple of weeks.” Though it sometimes weeds out things I feel lukewarm about, I’m not going to let calendar fuss take away the stuff I really want. Lately I’m forced to admit that some of the best stuff can happen without planning, provided that I’m wearing cute underwear and/or am willing to grab someone’s hand and pull her into a parade.

But I’ll always be impressed as all getout by an asker-outer, by anyone who’s willing to be written in ink. Like reading me or “good girl,” it’s just another way to my heart.

A Girl-Crush, A Wall of Grief, and Gold Star Breakup

This’ll be a long post, but I appreciate the way the three things fit together so here goes.

Way back in May when I met Steampunk Guy and Steampunk Girl, I hit on them both but I kind of backpedaled, so there was confusion all around and awkwardness between me and her. When he asked me about it the day after our first couch-date, I gave my standard not-usually-attracted-to-non-Sweetie-girls-but-I-wouldn’t-rule-it-out answer.

But when (a little over a week ago) the day finally came for our first metamour coffee, I thought back to my intentions that first night and realized that my first thought on seeing them was “I want these two to do stuff to me.”

We were meeting right after I’d just had a job interview, so I was feeling all competent and happy. I changed into my favorite blue dress in a café bathroom and felt glowy as I drove out to the suburbs. She’s chosen a coffee shop on a little Christmas village of a street near where they live. When I saw her, there was just no question as to whether I’d been hitting on them both. She’sjustsopretty. She’d come right from work and was wearing a vintage white wrap dress with cap sleeves and pearls. She had on pretty white sandals with wedge heels. I imagine we looked like an adorable pair of ladies.

She took charge, which was helpful since I’d wondered how a submissive and a bottom would fare. She bought me a perfect iced latte and even though it was eight million degrees out, I was glad to stroll down the street with her.

I felt like I bonded with her immediately. We talked and talked and talked. She made me feel superwelcome in their life, even suggesting adding me to one of their Google calendars. (Swoon, I know. I just couldn’t picture him actually doing that.) Even though he’d made it clear that I was just borrowing him from her, she made me feel like we were actually sharing, smoothing over the things about him that don’t always make sense, finding lots of things in common about what else we’re looking for. We’re both really strong women who like to stay that way until it’s time to submit, and out in the world that presents us both the same vexations sometimes. I told her I’d love to be her wing girl when it’s time for dom-hunting.

And here’s where it gets really swoony: She was amenable to the three of us doing snuggly things. That just made my heart giggle. I felt my inner unicorn wanting to come out and romp around, and why shouldn’t it? Without the weird half-monogamy I’d been arbitrarily giving Sweetie, a whole new set of possibilities opened up, and I was giddy with the release.

After I hugged her goodbye and texted him a high five, I drove back into the city inspired as all getout. My smutty imagination and my friend-making heart were all fizzy with hopes and dreams and scenes.

But. She’d reiterated their semi-rule about not dating people who are midbreakup, and I did feel that hanging over me. That was a particularly optimistic day in divorcetown, but what if they decided it was too big of a risk? And trying to make my divorce seem adorable all the time seemed like a recipe for disaster. I couldn’t stand the idea of them joining the overlarge pile of friendships wrecked by my mismanaged love life—I want that to happen exactly no more times.

Then Sweetie and I took our trip up to my mom’s and my sister’s. We didn’t acknowledge it at first, but it would be our last trip together for a long while. It was kind of okay. We played with my niece and nephews, chatted with the family, set off bittersweet fireworks. I felt numb-to-anxious most of the time, and when I hugged my baby nephew, my recently-admitted family urge twisted up an ache in my belly.

But it was alright until it was almost time to leave. I was doing one of my favorite things in the world, playing Mario Kart with the kids (I play as Peach, obviously.) when I started to get a really bad headache. I went out to the porch to get away from the game, and while I was out there I checked my phone, and it was dead. I get really attached to things, even gadgets, and I hadn’t backed up my numbers or my favorite texts, so the broken phone just went ahead and opened up the grief floodgates.

I didn’t quite escape crying in front of the kids, but we got out of there and once we were driving away, the sobs came hard and fast and ugly. I realized that my family would never be the same, and I felt like such a bad person and a failure for breaking up the marriage.

With pauses for friend and job search stuff, the sobs came hard from Sunday to Wednesday. I felt like I was gonna die.

In retrospect it seems crazy that in that state I was trying to make plans with Steampunk Guy, but we did have a whole bunch to talk about. I kinda felt like he was already gone, but you know I’m generally open to goodbye sex. But because of where I am on his list of priorities, his plan-making style takes a lot of self-confidence to deal with. I’d generally find out the day before if he could fit me in, and that worked fine for the little spate when I was working 60-hour weeks and having four partners, but it wasn’t working now. In the process of trying to convince him to include me more, I realized I was negotiating for a thing that had already passed.

If I really had seen him as a treat, it would have worked, but once I realized I liked Steampunk Girl too, I wanted real relationships with both of them. I knew he didn’t have room for that, and I was in no state to navigate it anyway.

I’d hoped to have the conversation in person, but it was weighing on me so I wrote him a bye-for-now love letter. He wrote back kindly and understandingly. Being a reader and a listener, he’d noticed the difference between what I want and what he has to offer. Although I was feeling sad about having to let go of him/them for now, reading his replies made me feel like I’d unlost him, like the warmth of the connection between us was still real. I hope it comes around again, lord knows I’d still love to climb all over the two of them, maybe someday when I’m all happy and settled in. But for now I’m really proud that I put the friendships first and did what I needed to do to take care of myself. There’s a lot of power in admitting what I want and I’m glad that they both helped me see it so clearly.

“We are being awesome at this breakup.” I typed, “Two gold stars.”

“Two gold stars and a pony sticker. High five :)”

I told him he could go ahead and make that a sparkly unicorn sticker and that’s the story of my first breakup that ever ended in a high five. Compared to that mess of a breakup with The Man, this feels like a miracle, it feels like I’ve come so far. Thanks for getting me here, pals. I'm sad we're not snuggling, but I’ll be so happy to see you around town.