Yet another KFW prompt. These are short, you may have noticed; shorter than my typical posts. These are timed prompts – 11 minutes. Ready, set, go and then done at only 11 minutes!
Take a Chance on Me – 55 (The City)
Date: 2012-03-15, 1:47AM PDT
Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
I’m a middle-aged, not middle-of-the-road soft and powerful woman who is available for a partnership of the heart. I want to share life with someone of substance and spirit; someone who can laugh and cry and share tenderness in the middle of the night or the middle of the day. Someone who knows how little they know and yet is intelligent, psychologically aware and has created a life of their own worth sharing. Someone who values curiosity, adventure, depth, presence and sensuality, for starters. Someone who is flexible & grounded, patient & determined, kind & truthful. I don’t need to be completed, nor do you; but we both realize that sharing the path of love makes both of our lives more whole.
Oh, and here’s the catch in taking your chance: I’m in SF for only a few days next week … then I’m off for some traveling adventures; but I WILL return in very early June to pick up where we left off. Yeah, crazy idea, I know … so what?! Here’s to the crazy ones! Care to take a chance, have an easy, relaxed, no big expectations-kind-of meeting and see where it goes?! Could be fun, could be way more than fun … it could change our lives. We won’t know if we don’t say YES!
Tell me something about you – your height, weight and other demographic details matter little – it’s your energy and attitude that I’m interested in.
I am NOT interested in casual encounters. I’m looking for the real thing. If you are, too, then, what are we waiting for?
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t “Out of the Blue,” but if you knew how many online ads I’ve placed with dismal results, the fact that anyone of interest would respond to this one was not high on my list of expectations. If I’ve learned anything from online dating, I’ve learned hard and fast that leaving expectations out of it is one of the very least of the requirements to survive what can be a pretty brutal way of trying to meet someone.
And how unexpected that I was even writing this. It had been all set. Jordan and I were meeting on Thursday night at a bar near his home in Hayes Valley. And then maybe to his house for dessert. We had been talking, on the internet and phone – intermittently – over the course of several months. When I knew my schedule in SF, I wrote him right away and his eager enthusiasm couldn’t have been greater. Oh, fun, I’ve got a date in SF on my way to Central America!
He was very flirty, very seductive, very interested and eager to move things right along into the sexual dimension, no matter the spiritual/intellectual leanings of his profile. He wanted to meet that night, have me spend the night, share some time in the morning and maybe even come over after the Marsh show I was going to on Saturday night. Whoa there, slow down, boy! Let’s just see what happens in person, shall we? When our eyes meet, when our bodies meet, when we’re breathing the same air, when all that testosterone and oxytocin and pheromones come together. Or not. Let’s just wait and see. I’ve had too many hot and heavy phone conversations that leave me cold and dry in person, so I wasn’t counting on anything; but still, I was excited. And I was counting on meeting.
That is, until his email arrived just days before I was to arrive; and suddenly, it seemed, Mr. Zen Buddhist seemed to be getting cold feet. No, he couldn’t meet after all, after all these months of emails and phone calls across the Pacific ocean, now, now that we were getting closer, now the Buddhist priest had too much work to do, preparing to teach a Sangha that week-end, had too many board meetings to attend for the Zen center. Oh, and there was suddenly that matter thrown into the long list of work duties of having met someone with whom he thought things just might be serious and after all, why was he bothering with me, a world gallivanter anyway.
Okay, pull out the mantra – this is not about me, this is not about me. Breathe. It’s all for a good reason I don’t know about right now. Oh fuck, I hate this, I really hate this. Breathe, breathe, he obviously isn’t someone I want to be with anyway if he would do this. Breathe, breathe. It’s about him, not me. Ohshit, I don’t have a date anymore. Ohgod, another one who can’t show up. Another one like all the other ones, who just can’t be in the real and now, no matter all those thirty years of Buddhist whatever-the hell. Best kept online, I guess – the real thing is just too scary. But those judgments of him didn’t do much to make me feel better. I was hurt and sad and disappointed. Yeah, well, not new territory. Feel the feelings, feel the feelings and that’s it. So, I felt the feelings and just like always, they didn’t kill me.
And then in a fit of I’ll-show-him-alright – I wrote the ad up there. Yep, that one up there at the beginning of this post. And I was inundated with responses. Big deal. CL is filled with people looking for a good fuck or even just any ol’ fuck will do. It’s not the best place to place an ad for what I’m looking for. But obviously I haven’t found that best place or else I wouldn’t be posting this one; but still, I was impressed with the quality of responses. It was just days before I was leaving Hawaii, but I found time to write back to a handful and even to talk to three of them on the phone. One of them for three hours. One of them, who did, come Out of the Blue.
Generally I can tell within about five seconds of that first phone call whether I want to continue the conversation. Sometimes I continue even when I don’t want to, just not to be so quick to judge and to give someone more of a chance. But every single time, it’s proven that what is true in those initial five seconds is what is true. So here I was with Miguel. And those first five seconds were all about yes and more, please. Three hours. Three hours. We talked and we laughed and we flirted, but not in a way that left me thinking this was all about that typical CL-looking-for-any-kind-of-fuck flirting. No, it was sexy and engaging and fun and funny. He made me think and he made me laugh and he made me wet. I would say that was a damn good start. He was eager to make a date. I told him I just so happened to be available on Thursday. So Thursday it was. In the East Bay. He wanted me to come to his house, but even me, the one with no rules, remembered my rule. Let’s meet in a public place first and then we’ll see how it goes. He teased me about that and tastefully; but tease as he might, I kept the boundary. Well, sort of.
I ended up being dreadfully sick with a cold and fever that Thursday night, so sick I had to delay my departure to Panama. I went and saw him anyway. Yep we met in that public place and then when I sensed that no, he wasn’t a psychopath (I didn’t really think so, but you know, people can be pretty suave over the telephone – here’s my mother speaking now) and I could feel our pheromones dancing even through the haze of fever. We did go to his house. And I even got in his bed. But it wasn’t for that. I nestled under the covers, which he tucked in tight all around me as I lay sniffling, sneezing as he sung to me and played his congas. He soothed me with hot tea and warm words. He told me how beautiful I was as snot dripped from my nose and my productive cough blew all over his room.
What was happening here? Where did this man come from?
He was wooing and cooing and taking care of me.
What was this?
Maybe this was sickness-induced delirium. But I had to go, I was so sick, I had to go. So I got up to leave, pulled on my brand new, urban chic, and pretty damn hot looking black leather boots (who has need for urban chic in Kalapana or black leather boots in Hawaiian heat and no dungeons anywhere to show them off?) and said, “Hey, I’ll give you a call when I’m back in the Bay,” meaning “I’ll give you a call when I return and don’t have a fever that must be clouding my judgment here.”
He looks deeply into my eyes, holds me – close – and says, “Should I wait for you?” Ohmigod, no, don’t do that, no, don’t wait for me! And then he says, “I think we could love each other.” Ohmigod, ohmigod, what’s happening. Love? Wait? After one date? Are you crazy? Co-dependent? Needy? Clingy? Out of your mind? What are you thinking? But he didn’t stop. He kept holding me and being right there, not moving away, no matter my resistance, no matter my germs or my obvious judgment about his moving too fast. He asked me to Take a Chance on Him. Here he was, showing up and calling me out on showing up. He was meeting me right where I was asking to be met and yet I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. I was leaving for Central America. I wasn’t ready for this to show up. For him to show up. So we had one more date at his house. This time I felt a little better and we were both in bed together, touching and kissing and playing and laughing and having depth-ful conversations, having that, “intimacy across the pillow.” No, we didn’t have sex, I mean real sex. Oh, he was ready, way more than ready. So was I. And yet, something told me not to do it, something told me to take my time with this one, to let the process evolve, to, yes, wait until I got back and see what happened from there. No matter, he was still right there, no matter my caution, he met it with openness and tenderness, with effusive adoration that’s like a dangerous, addictive drug for me. I had to resist it, I had to resist it, it felt so good, but I couldn’t let it in. This very thing I long for and I couldn’t let it in!
He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t. I told him I needed there to be room for both of our paces. I told him I needed to trust the organic process that would unfold. He teased me about this New-Age babble and I laughed.
And so, Out of the Blue, there’s suddenly this man in my life who adores me, who wants me, who is choosing to wait for me, who tells me his dreams and fantasies about creating a life together. The words of his emails drip with a quality of romance I am finding myself more jaded to receive than I wished were true. I didn’t know I had become so jaded. I’m sad to find this out, but still, I’m here and I’m staying open, too. I think he’s for real. I think he actually means this stuff. In the first two and half weeks of my trip, we Skyped for over sixteen hours in less than a handful of calls. He’s sung to me on every one of them. I am swooning more than I let him know. More than I let myself know. I am being courted by a fiercely romantic, incredibly hot and brilliant man. He is wooing me with his brain and his heart and his cock and not always in that order.
Maybe, just maybe – Out of the Blue – I’ve got myself a new man in my life!
Shocking? Yes. Life changing? Maybe so.
So what’s the problem?
Well, it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve heard from him. Granted, I haven’t had much of any internet connection. But that hasn’t changed for him; the East Bay, after all, is pretty well wired. Not one email, not one Skype message. Nothing. No response to any of my emails, the last of which was practically a plea for something, anything, just tell me what’s happening. Still, nothing. So now, the second – Out of the Blue –
Shocking? Indeed. Life changing? Not so much.
Back to breathing. Back to: it’s all the way it’s supposed to be, because it’s the way it is. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Breathe.