It’s been a busy few weeks with a vacation in the middle. Oh and a promotion! I got that job!
So I’m happy to report that in the middle of all this, I sorted out my head—however temporarily—when it comes to men and fuckboys.
After the last message I received, requesting a pause, I fucking gave up. I did not respond. But dammit, I’m so hot and bothered lately with the summer and the cycling and the drinking and my tan. Plus I’ve been doing this thing where I look at my naked self in the mirror every day so that I can practice loving myself as I am. I know that sounds like some kooky Oprah shit, but bear with me.
So I’m finally feeling good about this middle-aged bod and I’m ready for some sex therapy. I have a lot of hangups about sex and relationships that come from sexual assault by men in my teens and 20s, and also from emotional and physical abuse from my father that really impacted my self-esteem and my need to feel safe. I’m working on a post about that, but it’s quite personal so I’m taking my time. It will be LONG.
I’ve decided I’d really like to explore my sexuality. I’ve never had a slutty phase. I moved from my parents’ house into my husband’s apartment and the rest is history. My current sexual objectives are two-fold:
1) To be able to separate my emotions from sex, knowing full-well that sex with someone you care about tends to feel the best in your head, but also knowing that I need to get out of my head when it comes to sex.
2) To learn more about myself and this experience of life on earth through sex. I’m a big believer in the fact that being alive in these vessels called bodies is a gift. It seems wrong, as I go through this life trying to connect mind, body, heart and soul, to not use the body as a method of getting to a more ongoing Zen state. (Go ahead. Laugh. I’m good with it.) I hold back on my orgasms, for example. Why is this? Can I let that go? Who is going to help me get there? This is why I’m calling it sex therapy.
OK and maybe the third is this—I’ve only ever slept with a handful of guys and one was kind of a date rape situation after drinking way too much. I am passionate and caring, so I think I’m pretty good in bed (confirmed by current lover, several times, without me asking), but there’s so much I don’t know about. I have the standard vanilla moves, but there’s for sure stuff I haven’t tried, or if I’ve tried them, maybe I haven’t done them properly. Anyway, there’s room for improvement. I’ve basically got to have a lot of sex to be able to formulate what I like.
Maybe a week and a half after being asked to be put on pause and thinking, HELL TO THE NO, lo and behold—PING! I was packing for a week away with my kids when he showed up in my Messenger feed, sheepishly asking if I was free over the weekend. He needs a name here, so let’s call him Ali.
I texted my dating guru pal, Ann St. Vincent, to ask what I should do. She set my mind straight immediately with something along the lines of, “Does he want to take you out or just fuck you?” Ann has this idea that men either take you out once and fuck you and put you in fuck buddy mode or they want to get serious and that there’s really no in between. There are not a lot of Friends with Benefits situations where you get to go out and hang and THEN fuck, without there being a more serious title or label.
So after hyperventillating, I typed back, “Packing for a week away, but that could have been fun. What did you have in mind?”
He responded that he’d had a tough week and was hoping for some “stress relief,” which made me feel like those squishy smiley face balls you can squeeze in your hand. (That may well be an apt depiction of me.) Anyway, clear lines drawn, probably a bit as a result of me saying that I don’t want a relationship right now. But this is going to be a friendship built on fucking from now on. Sigh.
“I dunno, dude…” and then something in me, the thing that had given up on the whole idea and was back at NothingToLoseville, politely named all the things which made hooking up again a bad idea. Namely that I was hoping for a note or something courteous afterwards, that it was a big deal for me even though it is casual and flirty and I’d asked for it specifically. I mean guys, I’ve been eating the same sandwich for 20 years! You suddenly present me with sushi and I’m gonna think, “Well that looks interesting, but I’m kinda used to my sandwich and trying new things is scary!” If you got my hangups, or even if you’re anything a bit old-fashioned and/or culturally/religiously-brainwashed, I think you’ll get why casual sex isn’t easy for me. So it was KIND OF A BIG DEAL! I wanted that acknowledged. Sue me.
I told him that I’m not some app chick. We’ve known each other for six years! Not that he should treat ANY woman the way he did, but we have an established relationship. We have something like 50 friends in common on FB. I also told him that he just needs to be upfront with me. I’m a big girl and can handle it. Don’t manage my emotions or feelings for me, dude.
He apologized, and I do think he was receptive to the message, but I had to decide in that moment if I was going to put up with his bullshit in exchange for pretty great sex. What would you do?
It’s not like I had anything else lined up, so we got to flirting again and I told him I’d message him here and there while away. Don’t judge. I sent bikini shots (nothing too salacious, because I’m no dummy), which is something I could not have done 20 years ago!
Anyway, flirting over text is fun! You have no idea how I lived in a world where flirting over text got you insulted or ridiculed. I am flirty. I love it. I love sharing my dirty thoughts with someone who reciprocates, and Ali is great at it. Bonus that he’s always so complimentary. He makes me feel good about myself. I don’t need him for that job, but it’s nice and I’m enjoying it.
Here’s the other thing, he’s actually a great guy. Someone I care about. Someone whose mind I enjoy, but who would not be a great boyfriend for me. I crave a daily check-in, and he’s never going to be that dude. And honestly, outside of work, it’s hard to know if we’re actually compatible beyond the bedroom. I’m skeptical that this could move to dating so that we could find out, but I adore Ali and I hope that never changes. He came into my life just as I needed what he has to offer. I look at him like a gift from the universe.
3/4 of the way through my trip, after some back and forth about a pretty bike ride I’d taken that he might enjoy, I got a “When are you gonna pedal back home?” Somehow I ended up with a booty call appointment for the day I got back. He wrote the next day that he was looking forward to Friday. So Friday night, I went over there. Late.
His place is nice, and there were hints of personality, but overall it was too austere and pristine for my taste. I can’t really relax when a dude’s place is THAT CLEAN. Like my general perception of him, it reflected a guarded, cultivated enigma. The journalist in me is piecing together clues on what makes him tick, so I totally get why he’s that way, but I also need to pay attention so that empathy and a desire to understand a person does not overrule what is best for me right now.
His bed was huge and comfy, and he lifted me onto it with proficiency, a bit forcefully. So hot. Searing flashes of lightning came through the bedroom skylight while we shagged through a thunderstorm. His body is smooth and I might be a bit obsessed with his skin. He is an attentive lover and when he says, “Get on your hands and knees for me, please,” I grin like a fool and oblige. I’m a kid in a candy store, after years of being deprived of sex and attention. And because I now live in NothingToLoseville, I am uninhibited in a way I have not been in a loooong time.
After two rounds of fun, we lay in each other’s arms quietly and, since I’m new at this, it dawned on me that I should initiate my departure, unless otherwise mentioned. So I said, “I should go soon” and when there was no, “You could always sleepover,” I understood that my perception was right. I don’t know that I would have said yes. Sleeping next to someone is an intimate trust exercise. I’m not ready yet.
He asked if he could call me an Uber, which was a nice move and then he texted me after with a flirty, thankful note. Lesson learned: Ask for what you need. Sometimes that’s tough, especially if the opportunity doesn’t come up.
Which leads me to my date today with the handsome older South American gentleman. I’ll call him Felipe, after the fake name Elizabeth Gilbert gave to her older Brazilian lover (who later became her husband). But I have to sleep, so you’ll have to wait. I can’t get Felipe out of my mind.