the rest of the weekend (part 10)

About seven months ago…

After Friday’s disappointing ending, I continued to work through the weekend.

Saturday afternoon, Chi-guy brought his daughter to the public venue in which I was managing a promotion. I had gone back to my hotel room to change into warmer clothes for the evening. He texted me to see if I was around. I let him know that I was on my way back. When I got there, I had a few fires to put out, then finally checked back in with him. By that time, his over-tired child had caused him to leave. We had missed each other entirely.

“Will I see you again this weekend?” I texted. He didn’t respond.

I finally reached a girlfriend. “Tell me about it,” she said.

She listened and, at various points, said, “He said that?…But that’s good, right? That’s a good thing!” And then, “Clearly he knew what you thought was going to happen, and it was cowardly of him to do what he did. He’s hurting and sometimes men aren’t able to perform physically for a while after divorce, so it may be that he didn’t want to let you down. You can’t make assumptions or judgements right now. Will you see him again? Can you tell him that you’re confused and ask him about it?”

I would absolutely ask him about it; we had been candid enough with one another for that.

I didn’t hear from Chi-guy for the rest of the weekend. More than once, while back in my hotel room, I wept. This was about more to me than this particular guy. His polite brush-off of my advances had merely triggered all the pain, insecurity and baggage about rejection, being unwanted and unattractive that had built up in the last months of my marriage. He told me he found me attractive; he told me he wasn’t rejecting me; he told me he liked me. Despite all that, these ugly feelings poured out and into the open. Why? Because actions speak louder than words, and I had all-too-easily leapt to some unhealthy conclusions about what his actions meant.

Monday was Chi-guy’s birthday. I posted a greeting on his Facebook wall. I spent my morning on an architectural boat tour of the city, wishing that Chi-guy and I were enjoying it together. My longing, I have to admit, had more to do with commiseration or sympathy — misery loves company, after all — than with any desire for relationship.

When my cab pulled up to my home that afternoon, my son crawled into my lap before I’d even gotten out, as I was paying the driver. I immediately felt more grounded. Of course, the birthday gift, Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon, that I had intended to hand-deliver to Chi-guy had arrived at my home. I unpacked my bags and focused on my children for the afternoon.

But I had also been thinking about this mess with Chi-guy. We had spent a really nice day together on Friday, and I was carrying around a lot of hurt based on a misunderstanding. I decided to set my own pain and baggage aside. It was his birthday and only a complete jerk would not call to wish him a happy one.

As my children and I drove to a late-day appointment, I dialed Chi-guy, fully anticipating that he would let my call go to voicemail. To my surprise, he answered.

“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” I said.

“How are you?” he asked immediately.

“I’m better, more grounded, now that I’m home. I really can’t talk right now, but what I can say is that I needed you to be much more clear with me about where you were at.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I was really confused, and I’m still confused and you pushed some buttons that brought up some baggage I need to deal with, and I’m hoping we can talk about it later.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

What guy ever says he’d “like” to talk about my feelings and confusion and some awkwardness that transpired?! This was certainly not what I’d expected to hear. I let him know that his gift had arrived and that I would send it.

Later, Chi-guy texted me: “Sorry about the BS this weekend. You’re a good woman and you deserve better.”

More…

can an online app help couples stay connected?

News of the recent launch of Tokii, an online community designed to help busy couples stay connected, has me fascinated. Can anything online help couples maintain healthy relationships in the real world? Isn’t the fact that we spend too much time interacting with technology and not even relating to one another as humans part of the problem?

Of course I contemplate my own failed relationship and whether anything could have saved us. We tried counseling, I went on a self-improvement binge and, in the end, when we had ultimately stopped rehashing our problems, we stopped communicating about anything. Sure, there were moments of brightness, during which we might share a laugh, but we couldn’t sustain it.

And that’s why I look at this concept and think it’s positively genius! Two people already in a relationship connect on Tokii (it’s not an online dating site) and use simple tools to help them communicate:

LoveZones is where you can complete a quiz that helps you and your partner understand how you like to receive love. While I haven’t joined and tried it (because I’m not part of a couple), this sounds a lot like Gary Chapman’s approach in his brilliant book The Five Love Languages, and I cannot say enough about how enlightening this could be for couples! Merely understanding how you and your partner innately prefer to give and receive love could solve many communication challenges for those not feeling loved in their relationship.
MoodMeter simply allows users to update their moods, letting their partner know how their day is going (and perhaps what challenges one may encounter when one gets home).
Finally, the TradingPost allows couples to make a playful game of negotiating for what they want, whether those wants involve chores, activities (think getting him to take ballroom dancing lessons with you) or sexual fantasies.

I believe there could be tremendous value in Tokii for one simple reason: Sometimes it’s easier to be honest with an intermediary, even if the intermediary is technology.

Having been in a number of long-distance relationships, I can attest that it can sometimes be easier to be completely honest over the phone or via email than face-to-face. And how many stories have we all heard of people who drag a spouse to a counselor’s office only to notify them (in a safe environment, with an intermediary) that their relationship is over? I can readily see how, during those times when it seemed impossible to communicate with my husband, we might have maintained some small thread of connection if we’d already been playfully sharing our moods and expressing our desires via an online “trading post.”

I don’t know that this tool or anything else can save a relationship that’s abusive or otherwise truly doomed, but I genuinely envision Tokii as a giant leap forward in our collective relationship consciousness. There are computer programs, websites, and online and mobile applications for nearly everything these days — it’s about time our primary relationships, which most of us would say are a top priority, have an app of their own!

alone in my room (part 9)

About seven months ago…

Chi-guy had just left me at the front door of my hotel…

As if in a fog, I found my way to the elevator and pushed a button. The very first coherent thought in my head was, “I must have spent four or five hours on grooming — and for nothing!” It was true: my hair, brows, toenails, legs and bikini area were groomed to perfection in anticipation of this very night.

Wow! I had not seen that coming! We had been flirty and suggestive for about a month now. How had I so completely misread this situation? Clearly we were not vibrating on the same level!*

Back in my room, I plopped onto the bed and turned on the television. Tension pumped through every cell of my body. I had been so ready for…for…for, I don’t know, something more. Honestly, I would have been happy to hang out and talk more, to lie near each other fully clothed, to simply make out, to hold each other and cry…anything.

My mobile buzzed with a new text message. For an instant, I hoped that he had changed his mind and was rounding the block to park.

“Got a parking ticket while saying good night,” it read.

“Bummer,” I responded.

We texted about the pathetic movie selection on cable and he made reference to the statistic about how long on average a porn movie is watched on pay-per-view in hotel rooms. I think I made one last-ditch attempt to express what I was thinking: that two people in very similar circumstances, neither in a position to think of entering a relationship, might be uniquely available to provide comfort and touch in a way that could be healing, nurturing and fulfilling for both.

I washed my face and undressed. My body would not relax, settle down or allow me to sleep.

How did I get here? To this place where I had hoped and anticipated so much and was now feeling so incredibly rejected, unwanted and desperately alone? I mean, this was a guy that I liked well enough to contemplate putting his junk in my mouth! And I kind of thought he was into me, too.

It was too late to call any of my girlfriends.

“Really need to talk. Are you available?” I texted Max, thinking that, far left of here, there was a chance he’d still be awake. But there was no answer.

After tossing and turning for another hour or so and sobbing uncontrollably for a bit, I turned on the light and picked up a pen and notebook. I wrote some of what you’ve read over the past few entries, as well as these thoughts:

I completely respect that he must honor where his head and heart are at right now.
Does he not get that having this conversation has already changed everything? That our friendship can never be the same?
I get that flirting, like talking smack, is a bit of a game and liberties are taken. However, when our flirting became more directional or explicit, I was genuine in letting him know that I’m available. And I feel misled.
This whole thing about “liking me” is weird: we live in different cities and each have children that will keep us there and we’re both in the process of ending relationships, so there is no potential for anything real…nothing to ruin or jeopardize. Where does he think this might go?
p.s. it is now 3:17am and I haven’t slept a wink.

I set my pen and notebook down, turned off the lamp and continued to toss and turn until I had no choice but to get up and begin my day.

More…

*reference to the Law of Attraction, which states that like attracts like.

how my night with Chi-guy really ended (part 8)

About seven months ago…

After dinner, we both got up and went to the restroom before going out to the car. While our conversation had been easy, for the most part — imagine spending an entire day with someone you barely know and never feeling awkward or running out of things to talk about and allowing silence to be comfortable — there was something more. My mind and my body and my heart were all engaged, as though every cell in my body was at attention. Against all expectations and odds, despite his hang-dog expression and hunched posture, I was feeling alive in a way that I hadn’t felt in a very long time in the presence of this man.

I carefully checked myself in the mirror, re-applied lip gloss and emerged to find Chi-guy waiting for me. He seemed to be a bit reserved; perhaps his impeccable manners, respect for me or broken-hearted insecurity were getting in the way of what could happen…I felt compelled to take action to let him know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was prepared to follow through on every flirtatious text, email or phone conversation we’d shared. I leaned toward him and gently kissed his lips.

He recoiled, seemingly taken aback.

“That was nice,” I said awkwardly, trying to recover.

“What was nice?” he asked, confused.

“Dinner was nice. I really enjoyed it.”

And we proceeded to the car. I tried to regain the lightness we had enjoyed earlier and mentioned the possibility of one of those rooftop bars he had mentioned or the condo he had recently moved into. He was noncommittal.

We drove in silence for a few minutes before he began haltingly, “You know how we’ve been flirting…”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m interested in you.”

“The thing is, I like you.”

“I like you, too,” I said, excited to think we might be on the same page after all.

“But aren’t you afraid things are going to change?” he asked.

My mind began to cloud with confusion and my thoughts and words and what he was saying all jumbled together. I don’t think I ever managed to express that things had already changed, simply by his having said that.

I foolishly recounted the tale of my first post-marriage experience, in an effort to illustrate that we could be adults, both wounded but meeting on common ground, and that we could share something neither meaningless nor too meaningful…

We were now across the street from my hotel. We sat in the car for a few minutes talking, both of us inarticulately fumbling for a way to adequately express what we were thinking and feeling or the points we were trying to make.

“But what about next time you’re in town?” he asked. “What happens then?”

“We do it again!” I exclaimed, smiling broadly at the thought.

My points:

We liked each other — and it seemed we had for some time.
We weren’t in high school; being 40-something and divorced had bought us some hard-earned freedoms, namely not having to play “hard-to-get” games. After all, we’d both been married and had children — we no longer had virginity nor innocence to protect.
Neither of us was in a place to consider getting into a relationship. We could both be mature enough to be friends and lovers without jeopardizing the friendship.
We had a window of opportunity in which neither of us was in a relationship, and I would be traveling to Chicago twice more in the next several weeks. We could view these circumstances as a gift.

His points:

He was reading “The Road Less Traveled” and trying to do the right thing or be a better person or something — my mind could just not absorb the meaning of this at that moment.
He was still technically married and had never been unfaithful to his wife.
He’d met a woman recently who, when he explained his current life situation, had given him her number and said, “Call me when your divorce is final.” He found this refreshingly mature.* (What did that say about what he was thinking of me at that very moment?)
He told me the story about another woman — part of a married couple he knew — who had kissed him at a party. When he pushed her away she said, “I’m afraid I’m losing my moral compass.” He didn’t want to feel that way.
He told me he was “not really very big.” What?! Did he really just say that?! As if I could possibly have cared about his size! I am not the woman who believes bigger is always better, and I believed that this man was more than capable of satisfying me.
He told me that he was not a terribly strong-willed man and suggested that, if I were really determined, he might be swayed. But I had already put my cards on the table; I would not further embarrass myself by pleading or groveling. I had no interest in going to bed with a man who needed to be talked into it.

We were at an impasse. Chi-guy got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened my door and held out his hand. He led me across the street to my hotel, said, “There’s not much to recommend me right now,” and told me about the first time we’d met: “When I first saw you, I thought you were the most vibrantly sexy woman I’d ever seen.”

At this, my bullshit detector was going off wildly, because a) Eva Mendes exists and b) well, what more do I need to say?

He went on to tell me how surprised he’d been when I’d stepped away from that cocktail table and he could see for the first time that I was pregnant, and how he’d nursed a crush on me for some time. I listened, acknowledging neither what I’d thought upon our first meeting nor that I’d seen his jaw drop nor known of his crush. Within a few moments, he hugged me, planted a chaste kiss on my cheek and bid me goodnight.

Dumbfounded, I pushed my way through the revolving door back into my hotel.

More…

*With little introspection, I can easily concede that this is the mature and proper perspective to have, particularly if one is single and has not been through the long, painful, lonely and arduous task of dissolving one’s primary relationship. For those of us who have, we know that, oftentimes, a marriage is well and truly over long before the final paperwork is signed.

a hot night with Chi-guy (part 7)

About seven months ago…

We had just finished dinner and gone back out to the car. We had decided to go to a roof-top bar for a nightcap and view of the city. I felt so alive and energized in Chi-guy’s presence that I was turned on just by being near him!

Up on the roof, I had a glass of red wine; he chose a Perrier. We stood side-by-side, looking out at the lights of the city, our bodies close, feeling connected. The tension between us having built up all day (and for weeks before), we finally allowed ourselves to touch each other more liberally, allowing our hands to linger longer on each other. He told me his memories of the first time we met, and then leaned in, kissing my lips softly.

“You know all this flirting we’ve been doing?” he began.

“Yeah,” I answered playfully, looking directly into his eyes and smiling, “I’m interested.”

“I like you,” he said.

“I like you, too.”

After canoodling a bit longer, Chi-guy set his glass down, took mine from my hand and set it down, and led me out to the car. We kissed in the elevator, in the car, at red lights…we kissed in the elevator of my hotel after tossing the keys to the valet. In my room, we allowed our hands and lips to explore each other further, slowly undressing each other, appreciating every newly revealed part of each other’s body. He must have touched every square centimeter of my skin with his hands or lips. We took our time, allowing the tension to build, enjoying each moment and new sensation before finally, safely, moving rhythmically together toward climax. And then we held each other tightly as our breath slowed. It was cathartic, healing and magical. For months, both of us had been without loving touch, and it was a gift that we had been able to give one another.

At 3am, I woke up and felt him next to me. I gently caressed his body until he responded, pulled me on top of him and we had steamy, middle-of-the-night, barely awake hotness, such that we didn’t notice or care about our breath or anything else. Our desire for one another was intense!

In the morning, he went out and returned with coffee. We each showered and dressed, almost shyly respectful of each other’s privacy, before walking out together and going about our individual days.

We spent as much time together as possible over the weekend, talking, laughing and walking arm and arm through Millennium Park and the city by day, playfully, passionately, tenderly keeping one another up at night.

At least, that’s how I had imagined it might have happened…

More…

my night out with Chi-guy (part 6)

About seven months ago…

Prior to this very day, I had never spent more than 45 minutes at a time with Chi-guy. And now we’d spent the better part of the day together. I felt relaxed in his company, yet still had the butterflies of attraction flitting about my stomach.

We had decided to go to an Asian fusion place for dinner. He would pick me up. At 7:30pm, I went down to the hotel lobby to meet him. I wore a relaxed dress that showed off my cleavage, long legs and narrow waist. It was unseasonably cool, so I brought a wrap. I stepped outside to see whether I’d be comfortable and then went back into the lobby.

“Wow! I look amazing!” the incoming text from him read. A quick follow-up said: “U, I meant u.”

A moment later he popped into the lobby, greeted me with a hug and kiss, said, “You look great! Did you get my text? The i and the u are too close together.” We laughed. It seemed like a promising beginning to our night.

Chi-guy continued to wow me with his immaculate manners as we left the hotel lobby through a revolving door, got into his car, parked, went into the restaurant and enjoyed our meal. Something about being with him gave me a wildly feminine feeling. Again, our conversation was pleasant and easy, but there were a few moments of discord:

He asked if I ever go by a nickname, as my three-syllable name was too long or didn’t roll off his tongue or something. This, from a man who has always referred to his ex-wife and daughter by their full, three-syllable names. I’m sure my expression went dark as I answered in the negative and said that I prefer my given name. (Though I might be open to a pet name in the future…)
He shared two different parenting stories that made me wonder if he was as adept a father as I might have given him credit for. Whatever the case, he was clearly trying his best to do what was right. Which is easily as good as I can say for myself.
He asked me what I would be looking for in a man and relationship. Without hesitation, I answered, “Eventually, a provider and father for my children.” While surely this over-simplifies the long list of what I’d like to find in a mate, he sat back in his chair as though the force of my words had blown him backward.

None of these moments caused lingering awkwardness or discomfort, it seemed to me. We were simply in the early stages of getting to know each other. By dessert, we seemed to be back on track, sharing my Creme Brule. Besides, we didn’t have to be completely agreeable in every way to…well, you know.

I’m pretty good at manifesting what I want. And I was so far down the physical path in my mind that I could hardly wait to get my hands all over this guy! But I am, first and foremost, a dignified lady. He knew I was game; all he had to do was make a move.

I picked up the check and we went back out to the car…

More…

a day with Chi-guy (part 5)

About seven months ago…

Chi-guy picked me and the team up at the airport. After the requisite greetings, hand shakes (I got a hug) and luggage stowage, we headed into town. I rode shotgun and Chi-guy offered to share his coffee with me while he told me about the nonprofit for which he volunteers.

As we drove into the city, he pointed out landmarks. In between, we made small talk. I knew he’d been a journalist and asked if he had gone to Northwestern, which is known for its journalism program.

“I didn’t study journalism; I studied poetry at the University of Chicago,” he answered.

“Oh,” I replied, swooning. A feeling inside me was vibrating so strongly, I literally didn’t know how to respond! Later, in re-telling this nugget to my girlfriends, each cooed, “Oh my God, how perfect is that for you!” If there is one sure-fire way to my heart, it’s a man who reads or recites poetry to me. Anyway…

We turned from Lakeshore onto Jackson and Chi-guy pointed out the Hilton, where Obama stays while in town (it has a helipad). As if on cue, I touched his arm, he touched my leg just above the knee, we turned toward each other and said, in unison, “that’s where we met!”

I’m sure my colleagues in the back seat wondered how they had ended up on our first date. It felt like a promising start and, as we dropped the others at the hotel, I was eager to begin my day with Chi-guy.

His manners were beautiful. He called me out on my bad behavior, pointing out that I’d been a bit hard on a colleague (which, I have to admit, I was). As we drove through town and checked things off the “to do” list, he effortlessly took charge. I felt completely at ease, safe and — I don’t know how else to say it — utterly cared for in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We stopped for lunch, I got chilly, he brought my scarf from the car. He insisted I try his gumbo. We talked about our families. We are both the middle of three. About my Cancer son I said, “he’s going to grow into the kind of man who always takes care of his Momma.”

“Do women really think like that?” he asked.

“I think Jewish mothers do,” I answered, laughing. And then I confessed that I probably would not have ever had a thought about who will take care of me – after all, I’m too young to think about that sort of thing yet — but my son is that type of child. He is sensitive and empathetic to the feelings and needs of others, particularly me. He will get teary-eyed if I’m crying; he will try to comfort me; he offers to rub my back.

Chi-guy wondered aloud whether his mother had ever thought about such a thing.

And I proffered that I think most families have a caregiver. In mine, it’s not me – it’s my sister, the youngest.

Chi-guy said, “I think my brothers and I would all be tied for last place.”

We spent the day getting to know each other. I learned that he doesn’t drink at all any more. I told him about Max, and how he had helped me to move on. I learned about product ideas he created as projects in grad school. I watched him think on his feet. As I later told my girlfriends, “He has such a sexy brain, I want to lick it!”

We were relaxed and at ease together. We touched, but not too much. We were friendly, not too flirtatious. Soon, though, we’d be off the clock. When everything on our list was finally complete, Chi-guy dropped me at my hotel and promised to call later to make arrangements for dinner.