I’ve tried dozens of times to write this blog and can’t seem to find the words – perhaps it’s because I don’t know how to feel about it yet.
The night I brought Grace home with me. It was shortly after my birthday and I’d picked him up downtown.
We walked in the door and I gave him the quick tour of the apartment. He grabbed my left hip dragging me against his body to kiss me soundly.
He tasted like reds, bourbon and that uniquely-Grace scent of male pheromones and sun. I melted against his chest. Then when I was thoroughly weak-kneed from kissing, he spun me about and bent me over the couch and as I bucked, struggled and laughed he proceeded to spank me HARD – 31 times.
“There! Because no one spanked you for your birthday!”
Then he dragged me back up, putting his mouth to mine while gently cupping my throbbing bottom with his right hand. It was like lightning. Sudden sharp and full of heat we were suddenly fighting one another for buttons, belt buckles, zippers and control. Tangled limbs and staggering while kissing, undressing, crashing into walls and tripping over clothes.
We tried to stop at the refrigerator to grab a beer to take to the bedroom, but with the freezer and fridge door open we fairly mauled one another in the light of the open door, undressing – gripping skin and bodies as we stumbled from there across the kitchen and my jeans finally came off before we fairly tumbled into the bedroom.
The next couple of hours were spent reminding me what I have shut out of my life for so many years. I’d forgotten what it’s like to be overwhelmed by passion, to ache with a need that can only be appeased by the lips of man and the heat of his body.
Later when I walked into the kitchen my jeans lay on the floor practically stuck in the fridge door like some glaring reminder that I’d just lost myself in a fit of uncontrollable reckless passion.
While I was getting dressed to run him back to town, it was a bit of a hunt to find all our articles of clothing spread all over the house. A bandana here, a bra there, his hair tie on the floor and a shirt on the couch.
A couple of days later, we talked on the phone for several hours. He was a little drunk and I was in the bathtub. Our conversation took a much more personal turn as his filters were down and I was deeply relaxed in warm waters.
Over the evening we talked for several hours about his back-story and persona. His character took on much more depth in this conversation and I realized that we are the same in much of our fears. Both justified. Both understandable. And perhaps both of us – overcorrecting to avoid the same patterns which results in the both of us clinging somewhat desperately to a state of isolation out of fear of a danger that is ever present in our minds.
I am afraid of him. He is afraid of me.
“I don’t want to be trapped.” He admitted. (the same words I’ve said to countless people for 5 years.)
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Grace. I think you should know. I don’t want anything from you. Nothing permanent. I’m just coming alive and I want to know what my options are. I’ve haven’t had options before and I want to see what’s out there. I’m not trying to trap you.”
I understood when he said he was afraid of being trapped – that I have had the same fear for 5 years and knew all of the sudden that my fear was only ever triggered by the thought of loving someone and compromising myself. We all make choices when we are in love that seem small and end up huge in the end and by then – we are wounded and we can’t go back. So I am afraid of him because he has the potential to stir in me the small choices that lead to destruction.
Is that why he is afraid of me?
Should I be afraid of him or just acknowledge that I am a powerful strong woman now and that I can make wiser choices about my happiness even when another human being is factored into my space? I am petrified.
And yet, when I am around him, my body gravitates to his. My eyes track his smile, my ears perk up to hear his voice and I find myself moving unconsciously in his magnetic direction. I find myself leaning toward him….
“Girls like you should run away from guys like me,” He said.
“Do you want me to?” I asked.
There was a long pause on the phone before he whispered, “yes.”
“Okay.”
I’m not going to fight my way into someone’s life. I’m not going to force them to think of me, or to want me near. Even if I am leaning in his direction, I do not want to lean where I am not desired.
I’m not lost to him. I’m wakened. And now that I’m awake I want to be where I’m wanted. This is the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
About the time I was determining this, he was talking about a grilled cheese sandwich and we got on the topic of Tillamook and a trip to the coast for cheese.
“We should go on a road trip to Tillamook together,” He suggested. “How about three weeks from today?”
“I don’t know,” I joked. “I think we need to hang out a few more times before we do a five hour road trip together. What happens if we don’t get along and we’re trapped in the car together?”
I was confused. Hadn’t he just told me to run away? Then suggest a road trip?
“Why wouldn’t we get along for 5 hours?” He asked.
“I don’t know if I can listen to you talk for a full 5 hours….” I teased.
“I don’t talk that much.” He protested.
“You are one of the few people who talk more than me.” I replied. “What’s to say you won’t piss me off and I’ll leave you stranded on the coast?”
“How about if we’re going to fight we agree to listen to music.” He mediated.
“Well that depends on your kind of music…”
“I have great taste in music!” He professed.
“Well, then we might appreciate each other’s taste in music.” I admitted.
“I don’t know about appreciate… but maybe tolerate….”
“Fair enough. Then let’s do this road trip to Tillamook then.” I said.
“It’s a deal.” He agreed.
“I suppose it’s only fair to warn you then…. That I am terribly lactose intolerant.”
“OH NO! No cheese for you!”
And so the discussion went on and we have agreed to take a short road trip together in a few weeks.
So I am stumped. I enjoy him a great deal. I am attracted to him and yet totally terrified of him. I can’t get a read on him because he is mixed signals all over the map and about as consistent as El Nino. Long story short- too late….
I don’t know what to think. I don’t think I’m ready for permanence – because I want to know what my options are. But I’m ready to be wanted enough to see what can happen if I let go.
What happens if I just don’t struggle? Will I take a musician home with me? Evidently. Will I kiss on a man with two different colored eyes? Turns out, yes….
Will I say yes, to more dates? I guess it seems I do.
So what happens if I see all this through? What happens if I don’t run? Don’t hide or fight or wriggle out?
For once I can’t actually see the end of this character arc – so I am at the mercy of the story. And for once, I kind of like it….
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