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…

can’t wait to get me some Chi-guy (part 4)

About 8 months ago…

All this flirting with Chi-guy was beginning to show some promise. I had finally made up my mind on the sex question and the answer was Yes! I was definitely excited by the thought of getting physical with him, and I was beginning to think that he might actually be ready to go there, too.

Thus, my texts, emails and conversations with him, while entirely genuine and from my heart, were definitely directional in nature. I wanted to feel confident, when I next traveled to Chicago, that we were on the same page. I was leading the conversation, looking for proof positive that he was thinking the same thing.

Meanwhile, the work I was doing this trip would require a day of running around, doing errands. I asked Chi-guy to spend the day with me; I needed a local with a car to assist, I argued. He would be compensated, and it would be a win-win, costing less than the car rental, parking and lost time if I were doing it all myself. I would take him out that night — off the clock, of course — to celebrate his upcoming birthday over dinner. He agreed.

I made flight arrangements, thinking ahead to fly in early Friday and fly out mid-day Monday, so that I (we) would have the opportunity sleep in that final morning.

Things were going well. I was feeling confident. He texted things like: “Good morning, Goddess. What are you up to?”

And I: “Oh, the usual Goddess stuff…listening to a little Kate Bush, dancing in the kitchen, saving the world, etc…”

We had even exchanged some suggestive (though less risqué than prime time television) photos, which is how I know the specific brand of boxer briefs he wears.

The week before my trip, I took a road-trip with my children. As we drove through the countryside, I saw an exit sign for a town with Chi-guy’s last name on it. I texted him a photo.

He shot back: “Oh, yeah, I’m also the Mayor there in my spare time.”

I texted: “Well, your Honor, what do I have to do to get into your CKs?”

Him: “Nothing. You don’t even have to say ‘please.'”

Even writing about it today, I can feel the joy flood through my body. I was immediately relaxed, happy and confident that things were going my way. As a matter of fact, when my girlfriends asked about my prospects in Chicago, I smiled coyly and used the words “locked and loaded.”

The few days before my trip, I coasted on this confident knowing. Chi-guy was silent. Finally, two days before I flew, I texted him: “SO EXCITED to see you this Friday!”

He texted: “Oh, sorry, change of plans. Can’t make it.”

After an initial moment of shock, I thought it must be a joke…still, I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t know him that well…

Me: “Bummer!”

Him: “Just kidding. Looking forward to seeing you, too.”

This is what I call douchebag humor. Douchebag humor is when a man has a perfectly decent opportunity to pay an amazing compliment and, instead, chooses to try to be funny because it’s more satisfying to his own ego. In other words, if you are the woman on the receiving end of douchebag humor, you know how un-funny it is!

And, even though he had paid me a half-assed compliment in the end, “looking forward to seeing you” was stiff and formal compared to my “SO EXCITED” gushiness. He was running hot and cold, sending mixed messages…something was going on with him…

I decided to stay positive. After all, what single guy — after more than a decade of married sex — would turn down the opportunity to go to bed with a long-time crush?!

More…

Chi-guy, part 3

About eight months ago…

One Friday I went to dinner with a colleague. He has a great mind and we always have fun talking together, and that evening was no exception. After dinner, I asked him, “what next?”

“You’re inviting me to your place,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t 100% sure where this was going, but I had a pretty good idea, as this fellow had been a little suggestive on occasion. I was still well within the time frame I’d designated for having casual encounters, so I figured, “why not?!” I won’t bore you with the details just now (you can find them here), but…I looked at the clock after he left; it wasn’t even 10pm.

I texted Chi-guy: “Just sent my date home. Ugh. U up?”

Him: “For what?”

Me: “Chat?”

Him: “Oh, sweet! I’m out tonight. Tomorrow?”

Me: “Sounds good. Enjoy!”

The next day, well after noon, I received this: “I definitely had more fun than u last night! Call u after I get the little one to sleep.”

Me: “If your fun night just left, I don’t want to hear about it. Talk later.”

Was I jealous of the thought that Chi-guy might have had better sex than I had the previous night? Or was a I jealous about the thought of him with another woman? Then it occurred to me: I wanted to be the girl to recharge his mojo, dammit!

Chi-guy called at 11:15pm and we talked about relationships, marriage, divorce, children and more. He confessed that, leading up to the dissolution of his relationship, he’d begun to drink too much, maybe been a little depressed and other admissions that eerily paralleled the demise of my own marriage. At one point, he told me how the end had begun: his wife asked him to see a counselor with her, a safe venue in which she could ask him to move out. The counselor advised him to respect her wishes, move out, cooperate and “make things easy on her,” because she would ultimately realize that he was not the problem.

“Dude, your counselor sucks!” I teased. “Mine told me to go out and get laid before my ex had even moved out!”

“I want your counselor!” he joked.

We confided and shared, comforted and laughed for more than two hours. His voice had grown more resonant than I’d remembered from years before and, while still not terribly masculine, there was something kind of sexy about it. I had always felt some sort of energetic connection with Chi-guy, but now a genuine emotional warmth was beginning to blossom.

Late the next morning I texted him: “Can’t remember the last time I talked on the phone for more than 2 hrs and enjoyed it!”

Him: “I know, so high school. Now I just need to hang your picture in my locker and give you a hickey.”

I immediately updated my Facebook status: “Was just offered a hickey…tempted, but it’s not quite turtleneck weather.” Within moments, my bawdier girlfriends had commented, “Who says it has to be on your neck?” and the like.

“Going to wear your Letterman’s jacket everywhere. p.s. ck my fb status,” I texted.

Him: “Now I see where u get your inspiration. If you out me, I will give you a hickey next time I see you! p.s. you’re going to have to give more than a hickey for my letter jacket.”

We bantered in high school terms for the day, until I wrote: “Why, I do believe you’re flirting with me!”

“I like flirting with you,” he wrote back.

And so my crush blossomed, and I began to believe in the possibility that Chi-guy could be back in action by Labor Day.

Meanwhile, my girlfriends were asking about the men in my life. I was still texting with Max, Anthony and Brendon, who were unavailable for various reasons, but gave my ego a little boost. Add Chi-guy — who was not a match geographically or astrologically. And I had dated a guy in college with the same given name, which sullied even that. Whatever this might be, it was going nowhere…but it might be a fun romp (and just what the doctor ordered).

More…

the not-so-many splendors of man sex

About 8 – 11 months ago…

As mentioned previously, my counselor had recommended I allow myself to get out and have sex like a man. That is, sex unencumbered by any form of emotional attachment. After all, I was a libidinous nearly forty-year-old, and counting months between any sort of physical satisfaction was an awfully long time.

A mother of two, I no longer felt the need to preserve some sense of innocence — I clearly had no virginity to protect. And I didn’t have to “hold out,” as I wasn’t seeking any sort of relationship. Thus, I had given myself permission, within a certain window of time, to pick up men and sleep with them — safely, with protection — but without conscience. Not all of them were memorable, so I’m going to summarize a few here, rather than give each his own entry.

Okay, deep breath, this could get graphic:

Anthony: My first post-marriage encounter (which I already wrote about here) was with a creative, attentive and sweet man who wanted to cuddle and talk. He was a great kisser. Our few hours together busted my myth that casual sex was impersonal, cold or awkward. He was genuinely interested in whether I was enjoying myself, took the time to prop pillows in the right places and incorporated a playful variety of techniques. Sure, there was plenty of room for improvement (after all, practice makes perfect). Yet the experience left me hopeful about new experiences to come…

Ze chef: I know a guy who cooks at a restaurant out East. We have a little history. So I felt confident that something would happen on my next trip there. He had text-book anatomy — straight, hard shaft, perfect mushroom top, and what I can only assume (based on my limited experience) was slightly above average length and girth. After minimal foreplay, he pulled me on top of him, and I was quickly satisfied. We rolled over, and he proceeded to move rhythmically, as though on a treadmill, until his eventual conclusion.

This approach is notable only because it was so surprising to me: perhaps because my ex had always maintained such enthusiasm for it, I assumed men loved to go down and warm a girl up with a little oral action. I also assumed men loved boobs. I am generously endowed in this department, so I anticipated a little more attention to them. And then there’s the repetitious thing, as though he was on a stair climber — how about a little variety in thrust and tempo to keep it interesting? A girl is never going to achieve multiples that way! This guy had always carried a torch for me — why on earth wouldn’t he work at littler harder to impress? Ultimately, I have to say I was disappointed.

The entrepreneur: However entrepreneurial my dinner date was in his daily work and in our fabulous conversations, he was a dud in bed. The second we were inside my door, his hands were all over me, his tongue was in my mouth and he was saying, “More tongue, more tongue…” We made it to my bed, our clothes falling piece by piece to the floor. Without further ado, he was on top of me trying to insert himself, his repeated mantra having changed to “stroke my balls, stroke my balls…” I tried to suggest, to guide, to see that my pleasure was also brought to the fore, but I was essentially a masturbatory aid. Clearly, he was most accustomed to his own handiwork (pun intended).

Thankfully, I was alone in my home by 10pm. Again, this was a guy who’d been interested for some time, so I definitely expected more from him…yet he will go down in my personal history for one thing only: Worst. Lay. Ever. Even worse than any awkward high school or college first.

My casual experiences had only gone downhill. By this time, I couldn’t really decide whether I was more motivated than ever to seek out a great, hot younger lay or abandon the notion of casual sex altogether. At any rate, one path was clear: I made a beeline to a boutique specializing in high-end adult toys for women and found surefire satisfaction.

reconnecting with Chi-guy, part 2

About 9 months ago…

I was back in the office at my big, corporate job, where each and every day was rife with irony, inconsistency and hilarious examples of English gone awry. Knowing Chi-guy was well-educated and literary (as well as baffled to find me in a buttoned-up corporate environment), I found regular inspiration for messages to him — e.g. “New word heard in meeting today: ‘choiceful.’ Used as synonym for discriminating or discerning, as in ‘we need to be more choiceful about…'” and another day, “talking Kathy Griffin here — new word ‘vajazzle.'”

Chi-guy played along: “You’ve got to be choiceful about who you let vajazzle you.”

Meanwhile, I thought about how excited I’d been to learn that he was single and what Suzanne had said. Chi-guy and I, it seemed, had nursed a mutual crush for more than seven years. We were miraculously single at the same time. He looked better than ever. And I was going to be traveling to Chicago three more times in the autumn, a short six weeks away.

We bantered via text and email for a few weeks. One day I texted, “Listening to Bob Schneider & thought of u: ‘It’s not the end of everything, it’s just the end of everything you know.'”

Him: “Wait, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Me: “I take great comfort in the possibility that what I don’t know might be better than what I do know. Besides, maybe it’s the part about the single girl thinking of u that makes u feel better?”

Him: “Oh, yeah, that does make me feel better.”

I had a few Chicago contacts and offered to connect him for an informational interview, so we set up a time to talk on the phone. He thanked me for the regular messages and told me they were a bright spot in his day. It seemed we joked and laughed from the moment I picked up the phone to the time I hung up 30 minutes later. Whatever was between us was adding an unexpected and pleasant dimension to my work and single-parenting routine.

That’s when it came to me: I could try to be for Chi-guy what Max had been to me — I would help him move on, remind him of his positive qualities and, though six weeks was an aggressive timeline, I made it my mission to help him get his mojo back. I wasn’t yet sure whether I would sleep with him, but I opened myself to the possibility of a romp. Neither of us were in a position to consider any sort of a relationship, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy each other in the moment.

I shared my plans with Suzanne. “You’re so altruistic!,” she mocked, rolling her eyes and laughing with me. “Sounds like fun!”

Chi-guy had seemed pretty devastated about the demise of his marriage when I’d met him for coffee. But I was determined to do what I could to resurrect his confidence, swagger and smile…and I would enjoy every minute of it!

My next text to Chi-guy: “U r so smart & funny; I could talk to you 4ever!”

More…

reconnecting with Chi-guy, part 1

About 9 months ago…

As I was planning a work trip itinerary to Chicago, I realized that I was entirely free until 10am one day. Normally my work trips were back-to-back, fully scheduled, non-stop action so, when I had an opening, I always tried to fill it with something just for me. I thought about the people I knew in Chicago and who I hadn’t connected with in a long time: Chi-guy.

I messaged him through Facebook to ask if he was free for coffee. He was, and we agreed to meet in my hotel lobby in the morning.

The day before I flew, intuition told me to look at his Facebook profile to see if there was something I might use for a conversation starter — after all, it had been months since we’d communicated in any form. Oddly, though I knew he was married, his relationship status was not listed. I scrolled through his friends. I had a vague recollection of what his wife’s name was and what she looked like, and I didn’t see her.

When Chi-guy bounded up the stairs toward me the next morning, we kicked off with a hug and the usual pleasantries. He had lost weight and looked better than I’d remembered. I was in a short, cap sleeve dress, just on the verge of inappropriate for business, and had been reading the Wall Street Journal. He was dressed casually, and I learned that he’d been through a layoff and was getting by on freelance projects.

Meanwhile, curiosity was killing me. I looked for an opening and then exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, your daughter must be…how old now?!”

He told me she was nearly five, and showed me a photo on his phone.

“She’s darling! Are you having more? It’s about time to get cracking!”

His expression became glum and I learned that he had moved out in March (the same month my ex had moved out), that his wife had asked for a divorce only days ago and that he was struggling with all of this. Knowing how painful the dissolution of one’s primary relationship is, I felt — and expressed — deep and genuine empathy. Yet (again) something in the back of my mind was jumping up ecstatically shouting “YES!” and it was all I could do to contain myself. What luck to find that a long-time mutual crush was becoming single! Imagine the potential!

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…

Chi-guy accompanied me to my room and carried my luggage downstairs. He asked respectfully if he should leave before my colleagues showed up. I insisted he stay to meet Suzanne, “She has a place in your hometown — you have something in common.” Back at the front desk, I introduced them and they chatted while I checked out.

Chi-guy and I hugged good-bye, promised to keep in touch and I set about my day of work with Suzanne, who waited approximately .25 seconds before launching into, “So…tell me about this guy…I mean, he’s great looking, he bikes, no ring, he’s obviously smart and articulate, seems like a really nice guy…”

“…who lives in a different city from me, is going through a divorce and doesn’t have a steady job, despite his MBA,” I countered.

“Think about it,” she encouraged, “we’ll be back in a few months. Maybe that’ll be enough time for him to get over it. Did I mention he’s incredibly handsome?”

Suzanne loves my taste in men. Physically, at least. She thought my ex was gorgeous, too. I liked the validation that he had impressed her and that, this time, it was more than just his looks.

While we were cabbing from one appointment to the next, I posted a note on Chi-guy’s Facebook wall: “SOOO great to see you this morning! Keep in touch!”

He later texted, “You’re quick with the fb.”

“Just trying to keep the other girls guessing,” I flirted.

Later, as I was about to fly back home, I bid farewell to Suzanne and went to catch a train to the airport. Overhead announcements indicated my train was delayed. I text Chi-guy, “What does it mean that my train is delayed? 5 min? or am I going to miss my flight?”

He replied, “Usually 5 min, but if you miss your flight, call me. I’ll come pick you up.”

As I boarded my plane I texted back, “Bad news…caught my flight. Back to reality.”

“That is too bad. LMK next time you’re in town.”

But I knew I wouldn’t wait that long to be in touch with Chi-guy…

eight years ago I met a man…

Eight years ago this week…

… at a conference in Chicago, I was standing at a cocktail table chatting with some female colleagues when a man approached our table.

I noticed as he walked toward us. He was tall, urbane and curls spilled off the top of his head. Before he had even stopped or uttered a greeting, a voice in my head said, “So that’s the man I would have met if I’d moved to Chicago.”

Let’s stop for a moment to ponder this: I knew nothing about this man. He wasn’t my usual type. I didn’t know whether he lived in Chicago (after all, it was an international conference). While I’d contemplated moving there a few times, there was nothing to suggest I’d have met him if I had. So it seemed a bit brazen of my brain to pop off with such a bold proclamation. And, of course, the rational voice in my head was appalled — it jumped in with a correction: “That’s the kind of man I might have met if I’d moved to Chicago.” It’s strange to have an internal dialogue like this — unusual enough that I still remember it.

I generally give my subconscious mind quite a bit of credit. I think it cues me in to some synchronicities and connections that I might otherwise miss. So it seemed to me that the very act of noticing this man might suggest some energetic or karmic connection. Perhaps there was a lesson or exchange to come of our having met — or the potential for something more. I prefer not to jump to conclusions about what it might mean, but it happens rarely enough so that I’ve learned to pay attention.

Anyway…he was friendly and engaging, and he worked for the conference organizer. He wore a ring. After a spell, we all decided to move on to our various evening plans. As I stepped from behind the skirted high top, my six-month pregnant belly emerged into view. The man’s jaw dropped, although I couldn’t have known why it was such a shock to him that I was pregnant. But he had clearly noticed me, too.

At a later moment in the conference, we crossed paths again. I was being introduced to someone and he suddenly appeared, remarking, “…and isn’t she the cutest pregnant woman you’ve ever seen?!” A woman never forgets a compliment like that.

The conference ended and we each went back to our happy lives — me to my husband, daughter and soon-to-be-born son; him to his wife.

Chi-guy would call my office every so many months, looking for a quote for an article he was writing, sometimes for a topic so completely irrelevant to my industry that I knew it was merely an excuse. His voice was an effeminate tenor with a hint of resonance; pleasant, but not manly.

And then I did a big, groundbreaking deal, the sort that gets national attention. So I called him, sent him the media materials, asked him to write about it and landed an invitation to speak at the annual conference. It was now 2005, two years after we’d first met.

When I arrived at the conference, my tall, urbane, curly-haired friend was nowhere to be found. I kept anticipating that I’d see him — or that he might make a point of seeking me out. Finally, one of his colleagues told me that he’d been hoping to introduce me before I went on stage, but he had the flu, and I was unlikely to see him at all. So it was a surprise when Chi-guy arrived ten minutes before my presentation. And I secretly thought that he must have been awfully motivated to see me, to show up when not even his colleagues expected him. I was flattered.

The next day, he introduced me to his wife and confided that they were expecting.

Chi-guy and I stayed loosely in touch over the next few years, emailing once or twice a year, if that. Eventually, we found each other on Facebook, which made it easier to stay connected, and I would ask him for restaurant recommendations when I traveled to Chicago; we exchanged a few pleasantries about parenting or books, but never managed to connect in person.

And that was the extent of our very loose mutual admiration…until nine months ago…

trying to pluck the low-hanging fruit

About a year ago…

A couple of jobs ago, I worked in a building on the other end of downtown, with a suave and charming guy who always had a bit of a thing for me. Despite not really being my type at all, we had chemistry. When I was feeling neglected in my marriage, I sometimes fantasized about running into him in the library and making out among the stacks.

He went through a divorce around the time I was moving on to my next gig. But we stayed loosely in touch, occasionally catching up over coffee. He changed jobs, too, and was now a lobbyist. I ran into him downtown one day and he hugged me longer than was comfortable. Pretty much everyone described him as “smarmy.” But that was all years ago…

Now I was newly single again and on the prowl — and Brendon should have been an easy target. Smarmy and lobbyist are irrelevant terms when one has a specific mission in mind. I had absolutely no interest in a relationship with him. In fact, I wasn’t even interested in him as a human. But sex, yeah. Think of Aaron Eckhart’s character in Thank You For Smoking. So I texted him, “What happened to that coffee date we had planned? Let’s upgrade to a cocktail to celebrate my being single and fabulous!”

“Well you’ve always been fabulous!” he replied. “Sorry to hear about your divorce. Pick the coziest place you can think of and you can tell me all about it.”

So you see, I thought this would be easy. Incredibly easy. The low-hanging fruit is always easy to reach and usually ready to be plucked, right?

But apparently smarmy lobbyists have an entire season of fundraisers to attend to, and his work demands kept getting in the way of any plans we’d made. When he cancelled on me for the second time via text, I ignored him. Note to men: you may be able to cancel a date via text once. But if you have to cancel the very next one, it merits a phone call and apology.

He began texting me again while I was out of town on vacation with my children. We vowed to make something work when I returned.

One day, as I was walking downtown, I saw Brendon coming from the other direction. He excused himself from the work colleagues he was with and embraced me in the middle of the street. I felt butterflies in my stomach and weak in the knees — classic crush symptoms, which were even more pronounced than they’d been back in the day. Brendon had to endure a work dinner with an out-of-town colleague, who would soon become his boss. After the sexual tension I felt right there in the street, I was sure Brendon would call after dinner …but he didn’t.

Brendon’s inaction was not helping me achieve the mission my counsellor set me on. And it was killing my self-esteem that someone I thought would be so easy and seemed to be interested in my charms was not motivated to take action! In the end, I never did hook up with Brendon.

And, looking back, I’m okay with that.

my own worst enemy

I have a date planned today with someone I met online. I have vowed to keep an open mind, enjoy meeting new people, focus on how I feel when I’m with a man and, ultimately, make better relationship choices. I actually met this fellow for coffee a couple of weeks ago (working around our respective parenting schedules) and we enjoyed each other enough to agree to meet again.

As I go into this date, I am trying to be open to the possibility that I might allow myself to truly enjoy getting to know someone new — no artificial barriers, no comparisons to other men. I have vowed to enjoy dating. Yet I feel the old patterns trying to work their way back. Let me elaborate:

As a Libra, I’m born to partner. I enjoy the sharing and closeness of being in a relationship. I fall quickly and easily, and I feel natural and at ease in the throes of infatuation with a mate. I love falling in love — so much so that one might say I’m in love with being in love. This astrological affectation can also cause a girl to lose herself in the role of girlfriend / wife / lover.

Thus, I’ve been on a relationship treadmill pretty much since high school, from boyfriend to boyfriend, rarely spending enough time enjoying myself to know what I really want or how to express myself authentically in a relationship. The most alone time I’ve ever had was in my marriage — that’s when I figured out who I am, grew strong and realized that the kind of relationship I desire was vastly different from what I had.

When I wasn’t in a relationship, I was crushing hard on someone. Usually someone unavailable…look at Max, for example. Max, married and miles away, was part mad crush, part obsession and probably the perfect fantasy for someone half in and half out of a marriage. He affirmed my strength and renewed my hope that I could find love again. And, not so long after I let the idea of him go, I found someone else — another unavailable man, another long-distance object of my affection — to fill the gap.

I mentioned my current “high water mark” earlier. Most days, I find myself bemused by our flirtatious friendship; it just feels good to have a crush! Other days, I find myself a bit too married to the idea of exploring the energy between us and closed to the possibility that my ultimate life mate might be someone else. Part of me wants to cling to the thought that maybe someday, we might share something truly special. Because it feels somehow safe to think that way. Yet I’ve begun to see how I’m using this hope, this fantasy, as a defensive tactic to prevent me from getting close to anyone new, anyone real, anyone who’s actually here and available and wants to get to know me. He has become an emotional surrogate, an imaginary boyfriend, to whom I unconsciously pledged my faithfulness to prevent myself from letting anyone else in. For the second time in my life, I’m seeing a part of myself that would rather hold out for a fantasy than allow me to risk finding something real, and this realization scares the shit out of me!

I keep telling myself that my high water mark embodies all those qualities I want to find in a partner, but I don’t actually know him that well. This is to say that, while he may indeed have every single characteristic on my list, I haven’t been around him enough to witness or experience those things. And I also tell myself that I’m open to the universe bringing me all those wonderful qualities and more in a partner. But is being open to [insert guy’s name here]+more the same as being open to true possibility? I think not. I’m not truly detached to the outcome. So I’m likely to compare every new man I meet or date to this other guy, rather than measuring him on his own merits and what I experience with him.

Heartbreak creates the illusion that there are two paths to choose from: on one hand, there’s the fear of being alone; on the other, the fear of setting one’s heart free to love again, to be vulnerable, to let someone in. But I see now that this is a false choice.

My path forward will be to revel in the happiness that can only come from loving myself. And I will cultivate courage, learn to lower my defenses and allow someone entirely new to see me authentically. For perhaps the first time in my life, I’m going to open myself to genuine possibility.