Southern Charmer Postscript

 

My oldest cat is sixteen and she's been sick. The first time I turned on the heater this fall, she abruptly left her perpetual spot next to me on the couch and fled for more hide-y places upstairs. She sleeps on the vent under the vanity or on a big suitcase I took out when I changed the clothes over for winter.

This plus the coming (impending) election was giving all of life a way-too-urgent feeling. It's a feeling I had all the time when I was younger and unmedicated and would contemplate the shortness of the lilac season. I knew they'd be gone soon and I worried I wasn't enjoying them enough while they were here.

The one thing that WASN'T making me feel that way was The Southern Charmer. After our lovely night together, he told me that, considering his recent breakup, he felt like he'd gone too fast into sex with me. I took that to mean that he wanted to slow down, not stop. We chatted every few days and I hoped we'd eventually make it back to smoochtown.

I was lying on the floor next to Oldest Cat's ersatz suitcase bed, holding her paw, when I decided to check in with SC. His update was that he had made a new friend, a platonic one, and they'd hung out a couple times lately.

I thought he'd been laying low because of his breakup grief, but here he was making a lovely new confidante. I started to cry, realizing he'd left me behind a few weeks ago without me realizing. People will say literally anything when they mean "We're not a match" and no matter how many times it happens or how many paragraphs I've paragraphed, I still miss getting it sometimes. It's a thing that makes me feel every one of the seventeen points of my Autism Spectrum Quotient. https://embrace-autism.com/autism-spectrum-quotient/

I asked him why he hadn't spent some of that time with me. He said again the thing about having gone too fast, how he couldn't handle the emotional intimacy right now. I didn't even know we were DOING emotional intimacy! A true first. I heard it now, a break-off, not a slowdown. 

Making Out In Front of a Romcom (ala) and Other Perfect Things: Part Four

 This series is taking forever to write, what with the whole triumph-of-evil thing un-hottening life most of the time. (Not last night though, I had a really nice date! But that's a story for another day.) Whatever stage of grief today finds you in, I'm with you. I love you. And I'm here to provide cuteness whenever I can bear it.

Back to being splayed out on the beach-day of my bed, with my beautiful sweet Southern Charmer smiling down at me.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

His finger slipped down into my absolute sopping wetness and he said:

"I'd like to be inside you."

*****Welcome***** is the emotion I felt as he slid inside me. I felt so filled and fulfilled, happy and free, He was SO PRETTY and so good at kissing and so beautifully and easily part of me.

After what seemed like a good long time, he started apologizing and I didn't really know why. 

"It's been a hard time, I've been going through a breakup, I'll have to owe you."

I think he felt like he was coming too fast, but even if he had been, I wouldn't have seen it as a problem. I always feel gratified by a quick come, like, oh good, this guy is willing to give me what he has.

"I need it," I said, as I always say, when he came. (Or fake-came? Maybe he just needed to stop? Maybe this is the moment when the breakup grief washed back in for him? Oh I wish I could have known and soothed him, that I could have taken care of whatever had brought out all those sorries.

I switched the Donald Glover to lofi as we cuddled up. He asked if it was okay to fall asleep and I said sure, I just have to get up and have my night cereal. After Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I climbed over him to the inside spot and (Just like that, says the part of my brain that thinks only of Sex and the City) I was falling asleep (trying to) with a guy for the first time since The Shy One.

I haven't gotten any better at it in the intervening years. Though we cuddled up sweetly, I felt so alert. I thought about what had just happened. I thought about whether he would stay for breakfast, if he would drink coffee on my couch.

But he woke me up at six AM, same cursed hour whenTSO always left, and seemed a little distant, like he was already out the door. His voice had the cadence of a Barack Obama, if Barack Obama was late for a school presentation.

At least I was able to fully sleep then, warm and content but already a little lonesome for him. And I kind of still am, all these weeks later.

Making Out in Front of a Romcom and Other Perfect Things: Part Three

 

It took so much thinking about this night to realize that it's a classic body adventure, like way back at the beginning of this blog! I've never had sex all the way high before! Mostly it just gave me an excuse to be more lovey-dovey, more free, more ridiculously myself. And to have way too much fun listening to my two favorite albums.

Before I take us there though, this story will always be incomplete because I don't know ANYTHING about what it was like to be inside The Southern Charmer's head. He told me a few days afterwards that he felt like he'd moved too fast into sex after his breakup, but I don't have any more insight than that. I really really hope that, even though it was emotionally complicated, he had an equal amount of fun. Otherwise it's just not fair!

"Could we go cuddle upstairs?" I asked breathlessly after so SO many kisses. Finding out what happens to Adam Brody and Kristin Bell would have to wait until another day. I asked if it was okay to put on Frank Ocean's Blonde and SC said of course.

I became a puddle of warmth with him. It was the first time in SO LONG that I'd been allowed to take my time, to savor the before-sex things. As we kissed and cuddled and petted and our feet tickled and our legs intertwined, I thought "Wow, Frank Ocean uses the word "love" a lot. While love might not have been the story of this encounter, it was certainly the right name for this state of being.

I don't think love has to look like star-crossed romance. I think it can also be the exquisite joy of holding onto a friend's meticulously sculpted back, tangled up in his pretty arms. Loving the sensations. Loving him in a right now way, and loving myself for letting go of The Quest long enough to enjoy him, and let him enjoy me.

I was alert enough to skip the track where Frank Ocean's mom tells us not to do drugs. I didn't fully lose myself to the lovey-dovey atmosphere. I knew it was brain chemicals being magical and kind and benevolent and giving me a break for like five fucking seconds. This was my version of becoming human lofi, except hungrier for him.

Frank became a little too much and I switched to another favorite album, Childish Gambino's Atavista, which starts out sounding like the Stranger Things theme song but does eventually get dreamy. "Is this Donald Glover?" scoffed The Southern Charmer, but he let not-favorite-of-his record play, a sacrifice I could never make.

I was so happy when it was time to be naked! I'd never met The Southern Charmer's dick the first time around, wasn't even sure he was a penis-having person, until I was. When he stood up to get a condom from my drawer ("I LOVE my drawer so much!" is a thing I said aloud in front of this very cute human being.) his dick stuck straight forward, pointing out from his black briefs like a dowsing rod.

SC and I kept chatting about music, the eternal question of whether Childish Gambino was a bit or not. There were moments when I found him surprisingly like boyfriend material, like before when he'd told me he was reading How the Word is Passed, or when he told me his workout regimen was because he usually dates bigger girls and he wants to be able to help if there's an emergency. (Maybe this was bullshit or MAYBE some of these fit guys who match with me AREN'T trying to take me on a weight-loss journey?!)

Anyway, back to his dolphin/compass of a dick. He was sitting up while I lay back splayed out for him, warm as a day at the beach.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

Made Out In Front of a Romcom, and Other Perfect Things: Part Two

Definitely watch Nobody Wants This, it's so cute!!!

 I never wrote about my second date with The Southern Charmer, way back in 2022, because it spooked me all to heck. There was a thing that happened sometimes post-quarantine where a date would just get here and get immediately so relaxed that they were like human lofi, so calm and self-contained as to be unreachable. 

The Southern Charmer had tried a new kind of gummy and it had just zapped him entirely! Now that I've spent a few Friday nights in a woozy D8 haze listen-dozing to the 99% Invisible breakdown of The Power Broker, I understand a little better, but that night, it was startling!

I lay with him chastely as he rode it out, scared and ashamed of how actually helpless this person in my bed was! Once he was alert enough, he went home. I thought he had taken an Uber, but it turned out that he drove.

So the next day, once I knew he was alright, I let him go with a few (I hope) gentle texts. His tuned-outness really freaked me out, and I felt ashamed and worried that I'd let him drive home in that state.

Since then, I've remembered him as beautiful and sweet and just not in the right place for me. Good job me, I guess? The eyes-on-the-prize recognition that he wasn't the one for me, amazing! Stars all around.

But a thing he said to me in his hazy time really stuck in my mind, probably unfairly. "This is all too much" he said, and he could have just meant *gestures widely* but it hit my heart as meaning that I was too much. I worried about that, not being too much physically but just being too intense or whatever to really be in relationships. I still worry about that all the time.

I wrote some blog posts about being part Kaiju, a regular refrain. "Too much" stuck with me like a splinter.

But when The Southern Charmer popped up again this year around my birthday, I had a different perspective--I'm a stoner now too! It was so appealing to bond over the 15-25 milligrams of peace I've been enjoying every night, and a nice fantasy to think about sharing that feeling with somebody pretty and kind.

And here we were! Making out on the couch without one single care in the world. My body, heart, mind, and soul were all aligned and ungrasping (except literally I mean), all together an open gate. I felt one wholehearted emotion and that was...welcome!

I felt so far outside the everyday concerns of dating, like all the baggage of these last thirteen years just clocked out for al little bit. I was innocent and free. I felt filled up with trust and happiness and ***friendship***. The Southern Charmer made me feel so safe and seen and embraced. It was a profound relief to rest in him. In us.

The kissing on the couch lasted so beautifully long. Kissing like nothing bad had ever happened to us. Kissing like we had all the time in the world, and we did.

Making Out In Front of a Romcom, and Other Perfect Things! Part One

 For a surprising night, I was a go-with-the-flow gal. It wasn't an act, just where my head and heart were! A lovely night just came to me, and I let it happen! Things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to, but still, I'm proud and pleased!

It was a couple weeks ago now. Even before The Southern Charmer reached out, I was having the perfect Saturday night--I was surrounded by cats and snacks, watching Nobody Wants This on Netflix, and tending to my long-neglected Animal Crossing island.

The Southern Charmer had been reticent to try anything because of other relationship stuff, but on this day, he was feeling adventurous! (Or maybe, as it turned out, avoiding some feelings about other stuff, Why not both?) He invited himself over, and I said the easiest yes (Actually the easiest "Can I have a few hours to tidy up first?") in the universe. 

And then here he was! Two years after our second date. He had medical-grade weed gummies, and we split one. I could not believe my luck.

It shouldn't seem like a miracle to have somebody cute on my couch, catching up an watching a romcom, but it felt like a miracle and an oasis.

So many of my recent dates have been handsy, urgent, somewhat systemically understandably wanting to get me over with and get back to their gig work. But The Southern Charmer was looking at me without expectations, looking me like I was a whole person to him. Another thing that shouldn't feel like a miracle, but does.

Maybe he was a little in denial of the grief of a recent breakup, maybe he was trying to bandaid the pain with some cuddles, but I didn't see that. I don't know if I wish I had or if I'm glad I didn't.

From my perspective, a synchronicity. A gift. A chance to relax with/into someone beautiful, free of expectations. I wish I was clearer on what he felt, then and now, but all I felt was joy and playful relief.

For the first time in a long time, I was sharing my couch with someone who felt like a true friend, someone who saw us as equals. For the first time in a long time, a man who wasn't breathing impatiently for price-of-admission sex, pawing inexpertly at my boobs. 

 Instead, he was just smiling at me. I wanted to kiss him so badly, not just because I wanted to break my kiss curse, but because he was whole and beautiful and (I thought!) present and his eyes were sparkling.

When I asked him the dreaded HSV-1question, his answer was perfect, perfect, perfect: "Well, I've passed enough blunts in my day." And that was that! And then, cue the choir of angels, his mouth warmly and beautifully and emphatically on mine, his sculpted arms pulling me close. I liked when we paused sometimes to see what was going on with Kristin Bell and Adam Brody.

Friends. I've had so many beautiful, transcendent, daring, creative body adventures, but I don't think there's anything in the world better than making out in front of TV. That's how it was with This Charming Man watching Gremlins Two, and with Gilmore Guy watching Gilmore Girls. I guess feeling like ordinary dates are miracles is a pretty good way to go through life.

Southern Charmer: The Satisfying Sequel, Part Two

 

First date ropes, winter of 2022

In the midst of the birthday gloom, a glimmer. The possibility, however remote, of somebody SO PRETTY to get stoned and snuggle and maybe play ropes with again lit a little fire in me. My HSV-1 thing is listed on my Feeld, so maybe it wouldn't even be an issue. Maybe I could get...dare I say it?! Kissed?! I remembered him being a good kisser--my mouth remembered him so vividly.

I felt a renewed drive to practice my ropes again, and it didn't feel nostalgic or pine-y or performative--the idea just felt like play.

But! Something even better happened--we texted like friends. Even the day after my emotionally stormy birthday, even with both of us processing grief about other people, my heart felt lighter talking to him. After I paragraphed my birthday existential fear, I apologized for the brick of text, and he scoffed. Hardly a brick by his standards.

He told me about his tangled heart too, and somewhere in there, we talked about the possibilities between us. The hope that I might be a Ma'am to him again was a warm little flame in my heart. A sweet and trusting Good Boy felt like such a vulnerable thing to wish for, but there was something about the angsty, friendy chats made me feel peaceful enough to imagine that kind of trust.

We put a date on the calendar, a coffee date to see if we still liked each other's vibe. But before we could get there, the mentionitis! Oh the poor dear could find any old way to mention one of his partners, he was melancholy-preoccupied with her, like something between them needed ALL of his attention, even as he was aiming to give some of it to me.

So I sent one of my all-time favorite texts:

I am so, SO proud of this text!!! Not only was I honest about what I'm really looking for, I sincerely meant it when I offered friendship! My heart felt so full of the entire situation. And he did want to stay in touch as friends! Hooray!

There's already a Part Three of this treatful story, but even if there weren't, the confiding and the breakthrough text would have been enough. Thank you, Southern Charmer, from the bottom of my searching heart.

Southern Charmer: The Satisfying Sequel, Part One

Now in our story we've made it to early September, my birthday week! Fifty, the first age I've been genuinely unnerved about. I was freaking and grieving. I had to stop writing in my six-year journal because of the on this day of it all. I always love my birthday, but it also brings up memories--the fancy dates with The Shy One, the falling out with my brother, the creeping fear that I'll never achieve any kind of closeness again. The newly arthritic knee that had kept me from swimming in the ocean all summer.

The one thing I wanted on my birthday was to walk along the beach.

Pause to let TS Elliot chime in:

Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each

The rest-stop peaches were sublime and the day was clear and cool enough, but my mood was definitely Prufrockian. My knee ached (The medication would come the next day.) and my tire light was on. I felt a million years old and I wanted to sleep forever instead of going home for friends and cake.

(No matter WHAT'S going on next summer, I need to not shirk the beach. At least 9 times in 2025, any season, any length of time.)

BUT ALSO, in the midst of all the pining and nostalgia and the knowledge that the arthritis is sending tiny bone particles everywhere: An easy light. A cute new old friend.

A week or two before the birthday waves, the Southern Charmer had pinged me on Feeld, and I didn't register at first that it was him. When I did realize, I felt a spark of yes run up my sternum and up to warm my ears and cheeks. Yes.

Postscript: The Southern Charmer and The Good Boy

Last week was kind of a rough week in Kitten Calendar land! *cry emoji* First, The Southern Charmer and I had a not-a-match second date. I miss him a bunch!

And then, to my sadness and also some relief, it was time to say goodbye to The Good Boy.

On Saturday night, I came home from a perfect-on-paper-but-no chemistry date with someone new, got a little emo, and gave TGB a call. He works late, so it wasn’t supercrazy to call him at 11:30 at night. When he didn’t pick up, I kind of knew there wasn’t any more hope. I left a message saying I missed him, called BFF to lament my lack of attraction to perfect-on-paper guy, and went to bed.

You know on Top Chef or whatever when the judges tell you you’re out of the competition, you have to be all gracious and say “Thank you for the opportunity”? (Unless you’re Jen from Philadelphia, a hero to one and all, who got superpissed and swore her way out! And thus is my second favorite! After Marcel, who said “You don’t fuck with someone else’s mise en place,” possibly the best sentence ever uttered!)

That ritual moment, in addition to a lack of people skills and also other skills, is why I could never be on a competition show. But in the case of responding to The Good Boy’s three very kind breakup texts the next morning, I did the gracious response. I genuinely AM grateful for the opportunity, so that made it easy. I untied from him via text without any grasping or hoping, just generosity and (Gasp!) dignity.

Afterwards, I felt numb and lonely, tired and sad. I wondered if there was some change in my search parameters, some rule I could make that would save me from the hurt and loss that sometimes (okay almost always) follows the best connections.

On a bright, clear, breathless hike with my pal Adorable Queer Librarian that afternoon, I asked zir if ze thought I could do anything about it. We walked up hills and around all the trees, saying hi to dogs and their humans, talking about every topic we had. Then, on the last hill, almost back to my car, ze said “To answer your question, no. I think you should just go ahead and be even more you.”

With friends like zir, it’s hard to be sad and pretty much impossible to give up hope. I miss The Good Boy, but I’m well on my way already to being my grateful, isn’t-it-a-miracle-we-met-at-all self. Yesterday, I gave myself two weeks off from flirting, but today I bargained it down to four days. See you Thursday, Maybes! Thanks for being there and being exactly you.

 

 

 

Knotty Thursday: His and Hers Hishi Karada

 

The day before yesterday, I was a hopelessly tangled knot of nerves. I had a doctor’s appointment Tuesday afternoon for the rogue periods I’ve had since mid-January. (Seriously like FOUR days of not bleeding. The RN calmed me down and prescribed something, mostly convinced me I’m not dying.) That morning, I’d had a messy text-exchange with The Good Boy, too—Valentine’s weekend dropped an anvil on his heart and mine got a little smushed in the process.

I thought for like a nanosecond about postponing my first date with The Southern Charmer and going to bed early or picking a fight with TGB, but there TSC was at my door with good wine, ready to learn the ropes. He had a new lip piercing and I had (cue Neverending Story theme song) the neverending period, so we’d agreed in advance that it would be a gentle night. And it (mostly!) was.

He got here at nine and all of a sudden it was ten and we’d been talking away for an hour. We had a gotta-get-up-early alarm set so I figured I’d better get him upstairs!

He had a deft touch with the ropes, patient and ready to learn. As I was getting us situated (Can ropes have mise en place?) I showed him how to make a square knot with the light pink ropes and put those aside for him to use on me.

Ohhhhhhhhh the magenta ropes that I got myself for Valentine’s Day. I think they must have magical powers. I’m surer with them, more easily careful, they just feel more mine than any other belongings do, and they seem to just exist a little extra, the way the Hope Diamond does.

Enough rhapsodizing about the ropes, time to rhapsodize about The Southern Charmer. He’s an easy and genial canvas, happy to stop every so often and ask how a knot is made. We eased into warm, gentle hugs and soft kisses as I wound the ropes. How did I EVER get this lucky?!

His careful attention while I was decorating him meant he easily got the steps to return the favor. I promptly evaporated into a cloud of queen-of-the-world bottomy joy.

Maybe there was still a TINY bit of the day’s stress left in my body as we cuddled and kissed into rope aftercare, but then I invited myself into his lap to get spanked. OH friends! Every little confetti-fragment of worry gusted out onto the pillows with each powerful strike, each hurt/pleasure gasp. The Southern Charmer is SO strong.

His dick (Pants still on, we were being so chaste!) was hard and exactly right underneath my wiggly, fake-struggling middle, yes, beautiful, but I need to say more about his arms. JESUS FUCK, those arms. He held me down so forcefully, pulled my hair so tender-and-rough-at-once, shoving and twisting and grasping out all my defenses.

I wound up dizzied, spaced, sprawled down the bed like a painting, holding a half-glass of wine I kept forgetting to drink.

I sent him on his way after one snooze of the bedtime alarm, vowing to absolutely TEAR HIM APART next time. Welcome, Southern Charmer, definitely don’t be a stranger.