Thursday night I dragged my ass out to see Telegram and meet up with Phillip, and man, am I glad that I did. Great, great show. The boys really rocked it out. Afterwards, I headed over to the Highlander for a couple games of pool, then back to Trista's house for a minute.
On my way home, my phone rang. I recognized the number as that of The One Who Broke My Heart despite having deleted his number out of my phonebook 10 months ago. Uncharacteristically, I answered the phone thinking that there was something wrong for him to be calling at 2am on a Thursday night.
"Hello?"
"Love, it's John. Look, I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but I need your help. Please."
"What's up?"
"I've had a couple drinks and started my drive home and realized that I've had one too many to be driving. Can I please come over?"
"No, I don't want you at my place, but pull over and I'll come pick you up and take you home. Take your keys out of your ignition. I'll be there in a minute."
"Thank you so much. Thank you."
I picked him up and took him home. Clearly, my mistake was going inside, but we were talking and the conversation was honest and amiable. He couldn't believe I had deleted his number (I told him I had): "That's so permanent. If I delete a number, then it's like I'm deleting the person from my life. I thought we were different than that."
(Yeah, and I thought "I love you" meant "I love you" and "you give me everything I want and need" meant "you give me everything I want and need.")
Next thing I know and the very last thing I expected, I'm in the middle of SexFest2005. It was really great sex, but our sex was always hot. Coincidentally, this encounter was one day shy of a year since our last go-around and, essentially, the end of our year-long affair.
I'm feeling pretty emotionally solid, which is a bit surprising considering I never healed wholly from the staggering heartbreak he caused me. I guess I created a barrier between my mind, body and soul that night, though indeed it would be nice to have a relationship that honors the unity of these things instead of dividing part of me against the rest of myself. On the flip side, the realistic/practical/experienced side of me doesn't believe there can be unity between body, mind and soul when it comes to sex and men. Either I have to compartmentalize or I set myself up for disappointment.
John actually said to me the other night that he wanted to "make love" to me all night and all through the next day - that he could stay like "this" forever. How much he missed me. How much he wanted me. How sexy he thought I was. How much he wanted to go down on me. How often he thought about it. How much he wanted me to have pleasure ("I want to make you come a million times before I do" or "Just relax and enjoy this - don't worry about me"). How much he loved to be inside me. How much he "loved sharing this with me - sharing each other."
If I believed or took to heart anything he said that night, then I would be a mess right now. But I'm not a mess right now because I shut myself off from my emotions. I knew tomorrow would be different and that what he was saying was fleeting.
Legitimately, I tried to resist. I told him "no" over and over and pushed him away from me and off me and repeatedly pulled his hand out of my pants. But then he tore down my pants, saying he wanted to "taste me until I came" and I said, "No, no, no". Then he flipped me over and pried apart my legs because he is bigger and stronger than me, and I couldn't help but give in to the pleasure of it all. My heart and mind were saying no, but my body was saying yes.
When he called me last night, as expected I could sense a complete and utter detachment in his voice like he felt nothing of the sort he expressed just 12 hours before. That switch had unsurprisingly been turned right back off. But this time, only my tired body has to heal and not my broken heart.
~ the lady love
7 comments:
TLL - On the one hand, I found this a sad post, a glimpse into your thoughts and feelings about something very personal. On the other hand, I read it as a kind of coming to terms by you of yourself, who you are today, what you need, want and like, your confidence in who you are and/or have become. We don't do confessionals, at least that's what I think. What we do is work out our feelings (and what we think about things that are important) by examining them, sometimes in writing.
Thanks for sharing. You helped me through something too.
Yep, you're right that it's somewhat sad while, at the same time, affirms my self awareness. Thanks for your comment.
Dear Love,
Your comment on the unity of the mind, body, and soul really made me think. It made me think how truly lucky I am to have found someone who fulfills and nurtures all of those aspects of myself, and it made me think that perhaps you are wrong...perhaps someday you will find that man that will care for all those parts of you.
This post also made me think that you could make a lot of money in writing sexy novels.
Best of luck in life, love, and sex.
Yes, for a man to have those kind of balls is very rare. Signs that they don't have a big package (heart, mind, franks and beans) usually involve:
1) A jacked up truck a la Monster Truck/Big Wheel style
2) Muscles that are too big for their body and forehead veins that will explode if angered.
3) Sporting sunglasses on a rainy day, or worse indoors. Celebrities are the only ones who can get away with that and that's only because they'll get blinded by the paparazzi otherwise. I should have worn sunglasses on my wedding day--so many cameras/fans!
4) Pure bread white guys who listen to rap with their window down and vamped up bass and call me baby.
Babe: So you think you're cool huh?
Gringo: Yeah yo cuz I am and shit.
Me: How about you drive over to Dorchester or Roxbury like that? How about you make some friends in Dudley Square?
Him: Ah, um, no that's ok!
Me: Yeah you're definitely the shit.
Him: Ok you got me, I'm not black...but Eminem is my hero.
Me: Word.
5) Inability to commit. Even to little things like a dinner reservation.
6) Inability to take care of you, let alone himself. Now this one is tricky cause guys need some level of mothering, but make sure to keep in mind that they are no longer 2 years old.
Princess Bride: my favorite part of your last comment:
"Me: Word." Fucking hilarious.
Yo mad thanks to you, LL Coolo (your ghetto name is a mix between LL Cool J and my man Coolio--FYI for peeps in the burbs).
Til next time LL, don't do anything I wouldn't do (when I was a young bachelorette, now I'm an old married fogey). Or if you do make sure to tell us all about it!
Dear LL:
Sorry I han't been by to see what you were up to in, gad, a month or so...
Just read your "definitive" kiss-off of the guy today, and wanted to see what it was about. Got to this posting, and now I've got a pretty good idea of it all.
Sad.
But, however long it took, sounds like you're plenty together about it, and have auto-immunized it.
Hugs, Justine
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