It was good. It was great actually. But when all was said and done the anticipation was better than that actual act. I know there’s most likely something wrong with me, but there was something missing. There always just seems to be something missing. Sometimes I think if I could put pieces of all the men who have meant something to me together I would make the most amazing man, built to handle me. Cause really….I was in need of handling. When it was over we laid there on the bed for a while talking. Not holding each other or kissing or doing things that normally take place after sex, but more structured and cold. Like we had just had a meeting at the office and had to review some last-minute details. Maybe it goes back to me not liking to be touched, held, I don’t know, but I was happy when he said he was going to go. I laid on my bed after he left staring at the ceiling thinking about why things couldn’t just be easier for me: with my kids, with my love life, with myself. How could I have built up this most amazing moment of sexual encounters just to feel let down afterwards? The kissing was great, the energy was palpable, the sexual tension cutting and the act itself memorable, but still….I laid there thinking….where is he? Where is the man who is going to not leave me wanting more, not leave me longing for that spot, that piece of me that no one has yet to hit, to have that get taken care of. I’m not referring to sex, I’m referring to that place way down deep in your soul that says “oh yea….you are what I’ve been looking for, now I can breathe” That was the man I wanted, that was the man I needed, that was the man who would get all of me. Everything this crazy little 116 lbs. package has to offer. And I will be a better me by the time I meet him. I will love harder, longer, stronger, I will love myself and be more confident, I will hold my friends and family even more dear than I do now cause I’ll know what it means to honor those relationships. I’ll be a better parent, a more caring, kind-hearted, funny, vivacious creature. I will allow myself to fall, hard, fast and forever….but for right now, I just laid on the bed in my own nakedness feeling sorry for myself instead of reveling in the orgasmic after glow. I heard from dreads the next day and I would say from that moment on we were dating, loosely. We did a lot of things together, we worked together, we hung out with all the kids together and we even stayed at each other’s houses here and there. So yes we were dating. I have found the unfortunate part about working together was A) he always wanted to kiss me or grab my ass when no one was looking and 2) he used to think that was us spending time together. Working together is not spending quality time together. The more I found out about dreads the more serious and intense I found him to be. Every conversation was a dissertation on the subject. Every glance was exaggerated for effect, every kiss had to be the most passionate or the deepest or the longest. It was exhausting. That coupled with everything my daughter was going through I was spent. I was looking for a release, not an added thing to take care of. I noticed rather quickly that we were not well matched for each other. I was working in warp speed and he was calmly being zen somewhere. We had a tendency to disagree on just about everything. And we would not argue, but I would get a full college course lecture on how my thinking was arbitrary or obtuse. Obtuse? I was a very logical woman, I lived in the details, I loved the numbers, my brain works analytically, I’m a deep thinker and I always seem to find an answer, even if it’s one I don’t like. We went from mad passionate sex to him explaining to me time and time again that I was just some silly girl with outlandish expectations and a fantasy-like depiction of what love was supposed to be. All I knew was that when the love I was looking for hit me, I would feel it, when that love hits me in that spot no one else could touch, I would know it and I was going to be ready for it.
