Yes. It has been ages since I took up the keyboard and banged out a post. My apologies to all six of you who still bounce here on occasion. Let’s catch up. Christmas sucked. In January I ran into my former Equinox personal trainer who looked at me and said “What’s going on here?” while scanning me up and down. After fat shaming me with calipers, body mass percentages, and that sliding scale generally encountered at live stock auctions, I jump started my fitness and diet regimen. February was so cold. I received one Valentine. From my ex boyfriend only because he probably will need another check from me soon. And that brings us to March.
March is good. I’ve lost 14lbs since January. And while not fit as fuck my mood and attractiveness are at elevated levels. Also there’s this: I am sort of in a new dating thang with a man 30-years younger. Ahem.
He text me around 11:15pm in mid February. Who texts someone at 11:15pm that isn’t looking for cock or black heroin? But I digress. We set up a cocktail date and the rest is, well, moving somewhat slower than I’d prefer. It’s like hiking the woods and coming upon a doe-eyed fawn. One must approach slowly, on kitten feet, or they’ll dart off into the next daddy’s lap, I mean –woods.
Here’s what you need to know at this juncture. He’s tall; he’s attractive. He’s a kind-hearted man. He dresses well; he smells good. He’s got beautiful brown eyes and a pretty smile. He’s rail thin. He’s smart and has a strong work ethic. I know that bit because he used to work at my present employer. I was smitten with him from our first meeting in the workplace but at that time he was legally partnered. Fast forward: that relationship dissolved and he jumped into a hi-rise condo with someone even younger than his young age. It got nasty. Like ‘move your shit out before I call the police’ gay nasty.
So we’ve cocktailed. We’ve dined. We’ve attended the theater together. I’ve been to his place and had a serious make out session that left us giggling over my tent poled jeans. Nonetheless his words ‘I want to take this slow’ has left very little wiggle room and by “wiggle room” I need you to envision me dry humping my mattress while hugging my pillow because we’ve not done the deed yet.
Too, there’s this: he is making me bat shit crazy. Everything is a text message. Doesn’t anyone call anybody nowadays? Some of my texts are not answered promptly and that causes my insecurities to rage out of control. “He’s found someone younger” is the jumping off point in that regard. He’s still hanging around though. And I’ve forgotten what age 29 is about. The uncertainties of the future sort of become the young mind’s sea kelp that clogs the engine from time to time. My life experience will help him in that regard. I’ve already managed the gay glass ceiling and countless other career barriers. Today I will cut a bitch in the workplace. That’s the only gay agenda I have.
This is not a sugar daddy scenario. He’s the one buying theater tickets so far. I’ve paid for a few dinners just because I felt that I should not because I wanted to flash cash. I don’t think that’s why he’s interested in me anyway. I really don’t know why he’s interested in me actually. What I do know is this: I feel good around him. He makes me laugh. We have French kissed so passionately my underwear had damp spots. In a 25-year relationship with my ex we NEVER French kissed. So this detail is telling. Very telling with regard to the smoldering passion that is ripe for lift off.
Naturally I have anxiety about where all of this is going. Or what kind of future we could possibly carve out together. I’ve expressed my reservations repeatedly to the point that I could easily scare him off with such insecure gibberish. A well-meaning friend states that I’m using his age to create my out — the barrier, to sabotage my own happiness. I see her point; it’s valid. And then there’s this: a business colleague’s spouse committed suicide recently. Out of the blue. It was tragic as those types of situations are but it also flipped a switch in my head: this life is uncertain and can turn on a dime. I don’t want to miss this new moment, this twinkling of happiness on my horizon, by dragging old baggage and bitterness into the equation. I want to desperately enjoy the now. That’s really the only truth any of us really has. This moment. Now.
God I want him in my bed.