I want someone to love me as ferociously as I have loved. Can’t you find me? Aren’t you looking and failing and looking again? I wouldn’t be that interested if you weren’t busy. Or accomplished. Or electric cute vibe.
My romantic writing is all about me. My point of view. What is hers? How can I listen in?
She must be seeking a higher goal as well. She must. A spiritual connection that multiplies into warm fuzzies when we’re together. A breathless intoxication as we kiss for most of the evening. Dipping my mind back into the dream of J. She is here, online, live, and awakened. I would…
It’s a good moment to review Miss. J Rabbit.
A massage practitioner healer with a specialized branded technique. I don’t remember what it was called. She was also beginning to do her videos and blog about becoming a life coach. She had some amazing photos taken. She was not hard to photograph unless she was unhappy. (More on that in a minute.) And just now, seeing a recent “reel” of her doing her empowerment pitch, I could feel the vortex open up. A spiral galaxy ahead with J at the rich core of the solar system.
Me stressing out all over the place. Feeling strong and good. Intoxicated. Kisses and curly strawberry blonde hair that was almost an additional partner in the relationship. So much care and attention given to her hair. How she pulls it back. Pushes it over one side of her face. Let’s it fall directly in my mouth while making love, she’s on top.
“It’s not working. I’m so sorry.”
She was horrified. In some emotional disconnect or mini-psychological break, she decided, “There’s no sexual chemistry, I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m just not getting off.
“Um…”
“There’s no chemistry.”
“What does that mean?” I was looking up from between her thighs.
“I just don’t feel it.”
Yes, there was indeed something shutdown and dysfunctional, but I don’t think it was libido or sexual chemistry. It was a shift in personality. Jarring. Maybe even frightening for her. She was ready for a sexual high. She wanted to “Get naked in the bedroom.” The huge golden retriever puppy in bed with us, could’ve been a factor. I suspect the damage was more internal.
Her history, in our lead up and kissing frenzy was all about a former husband, father of her two children, a narcisstic asshole who did a real warp on her self-esteem. I was literally having oral sex with the most beautiful woman in the world. She wasn’t getting off? Um, wasn’t feeling anything. “I can’t do it,” she said.
I sat up. The dog jumped off the bad expecting we were going in the kitchen for food.
“It’s not chemistry,” I said.
“I just can’t. I’m not getting off. I just wanted to get off. This isn’t working.”
I turned off the music soundtrack that had turned the scene into something more Tarrantino than I wanted to continue participating in. I pulled on my briefs and got out of bed and let the dog out and followed him into the kitchen. I didn’t even know where his food was yet, but I had a key to the house and her fresh fluids all over me.
She came out in a robe looking distressed.
“It’s okay. I’m not hurt.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I am so sorry.”
“Quit saying that. It’s just off. It’s not you or me, it’s just off.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Whatever is going on with you is different than what was happening an hour ago.”
“It’s the age thing, maybe. I just looked down at you. I couldn’t do it. I went dead.”
“Are you afraid?”
“You’re mad! I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not mad. I’m bummed, but I’m not mad.”
“It’s not you,” she said.
“I know.”
We sat at her kitchen table and watched Bodhi eat his food. I wanted to kiss her again. Start again. I didn’t want to plead or try and convince her of anything. My fitness. My youth. Sure, ten years is a good bit of distance, but…
“Look, if I was Roland from Tears for Fears I promise you wouldn’t be conflicted about my age, or my grey hair.”
“It’s not that, you’re gorgeous…”
“What do you think it is, then?”
“Chemistry. I’m just not into it.”
“Into what?”
“This.”
“And an hour ago?”
“I thought it would be different.”
“The only thing different is your freak out.”
“I just wanted to have sex. I am craving to get off.”
It was a different perspective, a different need. I had been so content to kiss on the couch. She wanted to have an orgasm or two and her mind had labeled me old and shut down her juices.
“It’s not chemistry. We had amazing chemistry.”
“I don’t know what it is…”
“The dog. The grey hair. Your freakout.”
“It’s just not working. There’s no chemistry.”
“That’s not it. Something is going on with you.”
I went into the bedroom and put on my clothes. She was still sitting at the kitchen table when I came out. “I’m gonna go.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“This is messed up,” I said. “I’m not interested in arguing about this.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m not. fucking. hurt.”
A moment of silence joined us. She looked up from her misery. Our eyes connected. “I’m gonna go.”
“Please don’t.” She reached out and held my hand.
I am looking for her again. Her intoxicating chemistry. What was it? Why did she make me high? Just looking at her, and looking at her completely naked, I was so “into it.” This is the level of attraction I want.
Yesterday at work I ran a minor survey. Of the 100+ women I watched at the organic grocery store I counted 4 who would be similarly elevating for me. There were another 10 who were within my age and attractiveness range. In the entire river of life I was only interested in the top ten percent. What was it? Fitness? Dark hair? A smile. A chemistry of joy.
When you join with another enthusiast, a circuit is connected. It causes some people to lean in, get close, venture more intimate conversations. Others say, “My husband is going to love this conversation.”
It’s a rush. I understand my energy, my own chemistry, and I have cultivated a knowledge of my own sexual potency. I could not solve her issues. I didn’t want to go forward with a distressed damsel. She was a life coach and massage therapist in desperate need of analysis. I was not qualified and had not desire to coach her.
She coaxed me back into bed with the dog. In some frenzy of later night frolic, we did it. It was successful on both sides. She relaxed a bit. We slept.
At dawn I got up and dressed with Bodhi. We went into the back yard and I sat in a lawn chair watching the sun come up. Dawn is one of my favorite moments. The dog worried all over the garden, looking for squirrels and edible tidbits. I took stock with a few serenity prayers. I watched her backyard and dog.
I made her coffee when she sat in the chair next to me in her robe. There was some warmth, but more confusion from her. I could tell she was trippin that I was still around. I guess she expected me to slip out before she woke up. Well… Dog.
I didn’t expect to continue. Once I left, I began gathering her things in my mind: a house key and a metal tumbler that said something about her daughter’s summer camp. In the end, I returned her tumbler and key to her mailbox a few days later. There would be no reprise.
Today, four years later, she still entices me from her social media facade. She talkes about relationships, empowerment, getting and going for what you want. I can still see the fear within her energy and beauty. She’s beautifully intoxicating to me. Not what I need at this moment. More like a drug craving. A high. Damn! I want the “hit” of her kiss again.
I’m going to pause on the idea of “liking” a post or reaching out for “coffee.” Best to let her, her golden, and her two kids continue without interference.
