heather & alana

WIMYN 32

They were best friends from high school entering college together, and i was a college senior. Alana was a theater tech, waiflike and a bit punk-goth. Heather was an actress, taller with straight dark hair, and cute freckles. She was into EST. They were funny and fun and gravitated to me, so we buddied around. They were both attracted, but i didn't make any moves. Alana suggested that as a joke, she and i and another girl be together in bed as heather walked in on us. We set it up; when heather opened the door, she registered a look of horror, and fled. I chased after her, but had to go back for my clothes. Alana told me where heather might run, but that she would stay in her room in case heather returned. I found heather and picked her up, after much pleading. We sat in the car for an hour or two, and she told me of how in high school she had walked in on her boyfriend and two girls having sex. She cried, i held her…and it was quite an acting exercise! All a little joke concocted by the two of them. When i drove heather back to the dorm, they let me in on it. Cruel? I didn't mind. Anyway, they told me they both wanted me, and had agreed that whichever one i chose, they would accept without complaint. Over their protests, i picked neither. I'm not trying to lionize myself; i mean, not risking a wedge between two dear friends felt like the absolute right thing to do...but if i had been aching for one (or both) of them i might have acted differently. If they hadn’t been friends, i might have gone for heather. Over the lonely years, i have unsurprisingly had intense fantasies about what might have happened if i'd declared i wanted the three of us to be together, or nothing at all. Decades later, i feel poignant regret at opportunity lost. After all these years of breaking down the emotional walls of my youth, a truth emerges. Alana could have been one of the deepest and most profound loves of my life, if i had known how to allow myself to be vulnerable and fearless...

R3

Dear r,

When we were young, i constantly invalidated your feelings. And now, having spent the past twenty years trying to reclaim the emotional life that was stolen from me as a child by this macho, fear-based culture of alienation, i realize that the deepest emotional resonance i ever suppressed was my love for you.

Now you ask me to erase that.

Trying to do so, gives birth to another new feeling - tasting death. After struggling so long to uncover my truth, the thought of returning to the emotional neuter i once was is exquisitely painful.

But ironically, your request makes me even MORE capable of being the man you've always needed. To now feel raw invalidation from you, the person for whom i am most vulnerable*, makes me understand in a non-abstract way how my behavior affected you...and that shame may never wash away. But it also means that no one in this world will ever protect you as relentlessly.

Your position is understandable. You choose the safe and second-rate, rather than risk your heart on me, a proven idiot. One of the thousand ironies in our relationship is that if i hadn't helped make you more cynical and fearful, we'd already be together.

To own these feelings i've spent a lifetime suppressing, is overwhelming. To realize what would happen if i let myself love you...how i would be transformed, when no experience has EVER transformed me...

To see the glimmers of how self-possessed YOU would become, if nourished by the love you've always needed...

To know how jarring it will be for you to finally meet me with my emotions open...

I spent our youth waiting for you to figure us out. It wasn't YOU who was confused, it was me.

If you let our hearts touch again, you will feel safer than you've ever imagined feeling. You will know that i'll be whatever you need. Loving you will be at the center of my life.

Your light, joyful side will become dominant in your personality (or maybe that part of you is already more ascendant than i realize, as our interactions have always furrowed your brow).

Perhaps the reason you never threw me away in all those years of my neglect, was because you knew that whatever my failings, i always heard every word you said. So these are not (merely) the rantings of a lunatic. I KNOW the kind of love you need, to become the person your life has stolen from you. I've spent a lifetime studying you...and i'm coming. Let our hearts touch once more, and you won't be able to imagine life without my arms around you.

Or we can both go on pretending we might find that in someone else.

I could live with the thought that i'll never have the great love of my life. The thought that YOU might not, is the pill that won't go down.

love,

wrob

*When you judged my life harshly this year because i might not have a real bed, that hurt. Even though your moral compass may not have been functioning when you spoke those words, i still hurt.

P.S. You're not insane for closing your heart...there are reasons why i'm emotionally suspect. I'm drowning in feelings...plus the anguish of being this old without finding deepest love...how many virile years are left? Has this made me reckless? Is there also a level that has nothing to do with YOU, just my fascination at speaking these words, and FEELING them? Knowing that if i don't speak them to you, i'll probably never speak them to anyone? But my relentless self-awareness could become one of the greatest gifts in your life, as we strive to reach the heart of both our damaged spirits. And sure, part of my rational brain LOVES that you're keeping us apart. A part of my brain wants to hold on to the quixotic, lone wolf ME. A part of me doesn't want to be transformed by love, and learn compromise. Shall i be the first person in the world to voluntarily move to Cleveland? But let me in once, and you'll never keep me away.

P.P.S. A year ago, i finally understood how much i've thrown away. Perhaps that's how it had to be, because never before could i have held you and been 100% present. I know the stakes, and that you've now erased a year of our loving. Hundreds of times we would have had the best sex of our lives! You were patient with my idiocy for so many years, but i can't return the favor.

P.P.P.S. As fortune would have it, we might never find someone more perfectly matched to each other's sexual rhythms and preferences. The one compromise i would make, would be no sacrifice at all. Instead of always extending orgasmless sex for an hour or two, i would respond to any impending orgasm on your part with pulsing to push you over the top. I'd probably lose control, which means that simultaneous orgasms would be commonplace for us. I already know, when i strip away my bullshit, that the one time i held you while you came, was the most beautiful moment of my life. So i can't even wrap my head around what it will feel like to experience that, while inside you. We will never touch such desperate joy - you've already admitted as much. You're afraid that my love wouldn't endure, or that i would stray, but if you recapture the vulnerability of our first night, you will find in me a love more unconditional and devoted than anything you've ever imagined.

P.P.P.S. I think deep down you understand how deeply you would fall for me, given the chance. That has to be frightful, given my record. I erased our first fifteen years, because of my idiocy. Now it's on you to not erase the rest of our lives, because of your sensibility.

P.P.P.P.S. When you pointed me in this direction a year ago, you must have never imagined i'd actually go there...

P.P.P.P.P.S. All of this feels like i'm being tested...if i agree for even one second that it's okay for us to not be together, i'll lose my grasp on my spirit, which i've spent a lifetime struggling to free.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I think about the role coincidence can play in our lives. If i hadn't walked into that Port Authority pharmacy, when we'd been out of touch so long that i had no idea you were living in NYC...would we have drifted apart forever? On the other end, happenstances that DON'T happen...if your Branson show hadn't shuttered, and i'd delivered your three-day booty call, would that moment have been transformative enough for us to be together always? I suspect yes. I want to believe the act of physically loving you would have shattered my remaining denials and fears. But now, i live everyday with the crucifying awareness that i held you so many times, and never for one second took you seriously. I think deep down you realize that with me, you might find your true fearlessness too. In this world, that prospect could terrify anyone.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Isn't it fascinating that i ran away from you all my life, and you never stopped wanting me...but the moment i ran to you, you DIDN'T want me? In the time of our reconnection since your divorce, you have (as always) pushed us toward each other. And now here we are - i'm going exactly where you pointed me this past year, and boom - you turn and run. If it weren't tragic, it would be hysterical. If you're ever tempted to beat yourself up for hiding when the great love of your life came calling...resist the urge. We do the best we can. Most of the time that amounts to crap.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Here are the songs i've written for you this past year. Audiences loved the first, but it's the third that feels best...i got away from the confessional style to the story song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuYIN2G0op0

(a second song, "Strong and Beautiful", didn't feel strong enough to video)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afLJEjk6PPI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4GH8vuLnRg

spring

WIMYN 87
During our time together, spring dabbled in unaccustomed public displays of affection, was comfortable wearing less makeup, made love within sight of an unshuttered window, and had the best sex of her life.
It was pretty damned great for me, too.
With all that, why do people focus on how and why it ended? And why was her focus ultimately not on what it was, but what it wasn't? What do those two things say about our culture?
Nothing good.
We had four brilliant months. A starburst of physical and emotional intimacy. Then...nothing.
We met during my search for a home in the Bay area. I was in a temporary situation with a live-in, bipolar, obsessive-compulsive landlord. Spring advertised a room for rent, at a reduced rate in exchange for looking after her kids whenever her on-call job took her away. She was far from where i wanted to be in either Berkeley or San Fran, so it was a sign of my urgency (and growing incredulity at Bay housing rates) that i was considering it at all. She gave the room to someone else, but we had a nice e-mail connection, and i told her it was perhaps for the best, as i'd have probably only ended up falling in love with her.
We soon met. She was a mother, doula, and musician (in about a 9:7:1 ratio). Her work with expectant mothers took her all over the Bay; my San Pablo home was well-situated as a place she passed regularly.
We had a remarkably similar response when we first met - no particular attraction! But being with her was easy and comfortable. She had enough hippie in her that she admired my life. And she loved my writing. There was a no-visitor policy in my home, which cut our potential time together enormously. It's easy to wonder how things might have gone if that hadn't been so. Her life was so busy that we only got together once a week, for a few hours...yet we jumped into each other's lives through Skype, spending an hour a day talking. Even though i loved it, part of me worried it was too much; i was wary of our emotional bond racing ahead of real life compatibility. Hours upon virtual hours we shared in my garage (because of a quiet-house policy). She said she wanted to hear everything i'd ever written (the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...unless he's a writer).
As an almost-forty single mother who struggled with her weight, she had placed herself in a "discount bin" of attractiveness, and i chided her for underselling herself (or even selling herself at all, but that's what this world does). It was ridiculous - she was as smart, beautiful, and loving as anyone could want.
She had two lovers when we met - a dear female friend she'd lived with, and a male friend she used for sex. The former was a swirl of splitting and reconciliations. The latter wanted much more...but she found him tedious, and the sex sub-par. She'd never gone more than a month or so without sex, and believed that none was worse than second-rate. A part of me admired (and envied) that so much. She continued to see them both, especially at first, in part due to my non-possessive attitudes (she was happy to take advantage of that, but told me that she would be very hurt if i were with anyone else). It put us in a funny position - she was talking monogamy and acting polyamory, while i was talking polyamory and acting monogamy. She also had an ongoing flirtation that had been building for years, and was the source of some life partner dreams (for her, at least). At one point, she also arranged a date with a long-lost friend. Did all these associations make me feel insecure, or contribute to my sense of thin ice? Well...yes and no. I understood the "all or nothing" nature of her romantic inclinations, so i knew that i could be bounced mercilessly if the wind changed. But on a deeper level, i was comfortable enough in my spirituality to truly want what was best for her (or what she felt was best), even if that meant sadness or loss for me. Yet deeper than that, i never felt truly threatened by her other lovers - i was confident that my combination of wisdom, humor, emotional openness, and stunning sex would leave any pretenders in my wake. Yet too...i'd be lying if i claimed to feel no sadness whenever she was with another man (her female lover i was more positive about). Part of my sadness was just feeling bad for spring, as she flailed to find happiness, but part of it was the thought that she wasn't giving us a fair chance. For us to truly connect spiritually and sexually, i needed her to be 100% present...and her other lovers might inhibit that.
I didn't want to be booted from her life, but i never quite lost the feeling that that day would come.
It's easy to wonder what we could have been if she'd been free to invite me to live with her. We did have a few ecstatic weeks when we managed two or three get-togethers, including sleepovers. But once we became sexual (and the sex became good), that quickly defined our togetherness. We both wanted more, but sexual healing is pretty irresistible, so we had to just hope that the other stuff would come. It's only a slight exaggeration to say that in four months, we never had any dates that involved leaving the house, and we only watched one movie together (or half a movie, as she easily abandoned "Miss Congeniality" for the comforts of bed and a hard-on).
Which is not to say we didn't get to know each other emotionally and spiritually. We did, and beautifully. I loved the stories of her life, particularly her teen years. The sadness of her father dying...she's possibly the only womyn i've ever met who described a healthy, happy father relationship. He "came out" and left a loveless marriage when she was young. He died of "the virus", but not before leaving her many sweet memories and perspectives. From time to time, i playfully imagined his spirit able to see how well i was loving his daughter (despite our ending, i think he'd still be proud). I also loved her teenage tales in contrast to the sexual wasteland of my own youth. She'd had a number of partners starting at the age of fourteen, most with substantially older men. There was nothing sleazy or predatory about it, and it made me love (and envy and admire) her so much.
Being with her involved the biggest biking adventures of my life! Her car was the chief facilitator of our together time, but i didn't want that to become too great an imbalance. Plus, even though she was only twenty auto minutes away, giving up forty minutes on days when we had only a few precious hours was less than optimal. So i started biking to her. Those thirty-four mile days (through semi-mountainous roads) were pretty epic...including one day when it was 100 degrees. People were being warned to stay indoors, and there i was, pedaling away. My feet started cramping when i neared home, and when i got in the door, they seized completely - i was on the floor for thirty minutes. It was one of the more powerful days of my life...made poignant by the fact that it was a surprise visit. I was just dropping off a highlighter i'd borrowed - a gesture to let her know how important she was to me. Her female lover was visiting, so after a few words and smiles, i was back on the road.
Given my thin ice, it's easy to lose sight of how wonderful we were. I don't recall a single fight, and our sex was more emotionally open and connected than most people ever achieve.
It was a bit out of character for me to become romantically involved with a single mother so quickly. When we met, she said some words about her independence that put me totally at ease. Of course, things are seldom so simple...she was emphatically not looking for a new "daddy", but eventually told me that though she deeply desired a life partner, bitter experience had made her unlikely to pursue it without a big push. She'd had a horrible marriage with an unbalanced, emotionally abusive man, with whom she still shared child custody.
We had sex on our third or fourth date - much sooner than i would have chosen, but she was insistent, her logic being that she didn't want to get emotionally invested if the sex wasn't good. I wanted to argue that deep connection is what MAKES sex good, but her point had some merit. We seemed to have lovely potential, as neither of us cared for kink or oral.
And our first sex was...awful!
No, not really. For me, it was charmingly clumsy. Fumbly and self-conscious, but with promise, particularly in how responsive i was. Part of the clumsiness was because i'd told her how effortless and transcendent it had been with my previous partner. It got into her head (which was already a cluttered place, with body issues and other baggage). She was also self-conscious about my size - i'd told her my penis measurements, and she worried that i was too small (i had to smile, as my first love had worried that her next man wouldn't "measure up"...oh, the fickle finger of fortune). I had some of my own self-consciousness, as spring was my first post-pregnancy lover. Some of my own size anxieties did creep in.
The worst thing about our first sex was that it sent her deep into her shell. I only found out a week later that she was so miserable afterwards, she went out to get drunk. But we kept at it, and within a couple weeks, it started getting great. There was one bridge to gap in our preferences...i preferred it gentle and long-lasting, whereas she liked it "thrusty". It was quickly obvious that it wasn't going to be transcendently timeless, but we found a nice middle ground - most of our penetrations lasted the better part of an hour, yet were pretty vigorous. At first, our bodies didn't seem to mesh well. The angle felt off for the pre-penetrative labia-gliding i like, and she had to switch positions regularly, as her knees gave out or my hipbone dug into her, or some such. But we kept on adapting, and eventually found a sequence we adored - missionary, then doggie, then with her on her stomach, and finally that same posture but with me straddling her legs (that was one i'd never done, as it seemed comically inefficient due to the lack of penetrative depth...but she loved it, and anything she loved I loved). Eventually, we even shifted from the fourth position back into doggie. Truly fantastic. I was able to be more thrusty by employing what felt like a trick - vigorous body movements as opposed to long in-and-out. This worked particularly well in doggie, with our flesh making big slapping noises. She liked!
She also laid on me a line i'll remember forever. In the beginning, i was concerned that she get enough foreplay. Her dismissive, smiling response? "Just lick my neck, and stick it in".
One of the reasons i jumped in was because it was a no-condom situation. She'd been careful in choosing disease-free partners, and was thoroughly amenable to my no-latex preference. At first, she said we'd avoid ovulation sex, but when i half-playfully protested, she changed her mind on a dime (it was almost disquieting to be that persuasive, but she wasn't afraid to plunge). With the vigorousness, it was a challenge keeping my swimmers out of the channel. I would plateau and hold myself there...but there were one or two times when a drop got into the cock tube. We both toyed with the idea of pregnancy - i'd had so many reckless impregnation fantasies in recent years, that i told her i'd love for her to beg me to cum the next time we had ovulation sex. I promised i wouldn't...i just wanted to hear those words. Another time, she mused that she should get pregnant, just to keep me with her for a long, long time. I don't think she was entirely joking. I smiled - the wounded part of me wanted it! Rationally, she wanted NO more children, even without her doctor's advising against it, because her uterus had started to prolapse (a condition she treated with a vaginal muscle-improving doohicky). But she never acted out my ovulation fantasy...
She liked for me to occasionally ejaculate in her, especially when it could contribute to my being more thrusty during her heights of pleasure. The first time i came for her, i did so onto her stomach and chest, and it was one of those monumental, specimen jar-overflowing eruptions. She was stunned.
We were both surprised to discover how much we loved her giving oral. It was truly curious, as i'd long since grown unimpressed with other wimyn. Maybe it had something to do with how responsive i was - as a man in his forties, i'd had a handful of "failure to launch" moments, and even for me, that sort of thing can get in your head, especially as my one attempt in the past five years had been a no-go. But spring sparked me beautifully, with oral or without (in the forty-some times we made love, i had to assist erection-facilitation just twice). And her oral was simply beautiful and blissful.
Her favorite position was on hands and knees. Mine, surprisingly, was #3...that was when i most loved to whisper how much i loved her, and how beautiful she was.
As satisfying as her lesbian life had been, being with me affirmed how irreplaceable good cock was for her.
I also experienced something i'd never even known was real - fucking oneself raw. It actually happens! During our sexiest week, we had three sessions in twelve hours just days after a similar bout, and the left base of my cock got raw...i let out little yowlps of pain when i splashed water on it.
Californication!
One of her biggest concerns had been that i might lose my erection once inside her (a problem with her other male). I laughed at the thought...and then it happened! Once. But that was during the raw marathon. It's funny how that washout almost turned out to be our last time, but fortunately she initiated one last go a couple hours later, which was rippingly beautiful.
Eventually, she laughed at the memory of thinking me too small, and grew amazed at how much love she felt. We played our music for each other, shared amazing meals...i wrote her some marginally-inspired poems, but two that felt beautiful and brilliant.
So why did i never lose that feeling of thin ice?
Because of how our time limitations kept us from doing the shared processing necessary to keep us in emotional balance, with expectations and hopes aligned. I knew i was fantastic at that kind of analysis, but we just never had the time. Which is perhaps the great irony of our relationship - if we'd had the time, it's entirely possible we would have broken up much sooner. Many of the disparities were unchanging from the start. My non-possessiveness against her all-or-nothingness, the lack of overwhelming physical desire, her non-nudism, her cosmic faith that things happen for a reason, her occasional fondness for inebriation, and the absence of any shower of mental sparks. We connected intellectually...but there was never any burst and flow of ideas. Unburdened by the all-or-nothing mindset, i was capable of cherishing what we DID have...but i knew about the princess fantasies and dreams she'd had as a child. I smiled at them, but deep down, the ice never thickened.
On top of all that was my awareness that after five years without sex in the southern bible belt, i was moving to a progressive city with all sorts of amazing wimyn who might appreciate me enormously. I shared that sentiment with her...it's so hard to be wide-open honest in the romantic arena, when we're all basically just minefields waiting for that wrong step...
But as a lover, i knew i wasn't as connected and present as i could be. We were having great sex, but always there was this tiny feeling of being a tap dancer playing to a merciless crowd. I covered it, but there were lapses...like once when my finger drifted away from her clit, and she casually pushed it back into place.
Yet we worked so well, for so long. We could easily have gone a year or two, had i been only interested in preserving our status quo. But like a hopeless compulsive, i kept pushing toward total honesty...and was a tiny bit stunned that she took it so effortlessly. She'd told me that she preferred gentle half-truths to being hurt, but my life had gone too far down the no-secrets path to turn back. For a while i imagined that maybe we had miraculously found a state of grace where truth is the highest beauty.
I never met her ex or her current lovers, or any close friends or family members. I met a few neighbors, and her wonderful dog, whom i miss dearly...
And one of her children.
Which i'd never expected. She was very careful about compartmentalizing her romantic life. But after a few months, she asked whether i'd like to meet her youngest for a few minutes in the car, when she picked him up from school. The offer threw me - i didn't expect it for many more months, if ever. I was caught on that ice. I've had such a love affair with children, and i was seized with the fear that he'd see right through me. My charm, such as it is, is in my transparency. Kids don't fool easily, though. I told her my misgivings, then finally said i'd be honored. It went well enough - i wasn't prepared for how ridiculously adorable he was (at least as adorable as any child can be, in this neurotic world we adults have given them). Even though i felt far from my best, he seemed pleased and curious. Later, she said it was the first time either of her kids had met someone she was schtupping.
Of the people in my own life, the one person i wanted her to meet was my sister. I thought they would hit if off. Which is great...but also revealing, as my sister is pretty hardcore middle of the road.
Spring said that on a visual, carnal level, she loved how in shape i was (it made me happy to hear that, on several levels). She half-seriously bemoaned the fact that i wouldn’t put any effort into making myself more attractive. I had adjusted quickly to her being overweight. We would take walks in the hills around her house, and she got winded so easily compared to me. But in terms of the desire and joy i found in our lovemaking, i soon cherished our relationship as the least shallow i'd ever had. After a lifetime of being a slave to obsolete instincts that draw men to hyper-fertile females (and a media culture that exaggerates that tendency beyond any bounds), i felt like i'd finally risen beyond shallowness...though i guess that's not exactly a compliment anyone dreams of hearing. By the second time we made love, i stopped seeing her extra pounds, and was so fucking proud of that.
Yet that was the landmine that blew.
I told her one day that i was a little sad over our conditioning disparity, because it meant there were physical experiences we could never share (liking running up and down a mountain, or biking seventeen miles). Was my word choice clumsy? Yes. But the BOOM that hit felt like it came out of nowhere. A lifetime's worth of body issues came crashing down on her head, and she threw me away, and that was that.
Which i accept - but it's not the reason she bolted.
In the swirl of her hurt, she missed something very meaningful and loving in what i'd revealed. My sadness over that one small aspect meant that the end of our relationship was no part of my consciousness. My musings implied that i saw us together for a long while.
But she was starting to see me as the answer to her childhood princess dreams...yet she also had to have some inkling that she hadn't aroused the full depths of my spirit. She'd told me she was having the best sex of her life, but there was no mirror declaration on my part (indeed, this was the second lover in a row i'd affected so...but i was still waiting for my own). I'm pretty sure that's where her explosive rejection came from. Subconsciously, maybe it was also easier for her to preemptively avoid the pain of a breakup that involved me being attracted to another womyn. Spring even spoke to me cruelly, which was SO out of character. I think she'd been walking on some thin ice of her own, right from the start.
Aren't we all?
In the months that followed, i kept waiting for her to come back...to reclaim our friendship forever, and maybe even get some more mileage out of our amazing sex run.
So many times i thought of writing her...
But we couldn't. Or wouldn't. And i miss her, oh i miss her. I even sometimes fantasized about her sexually after the breakup, which was very out of character for me.
We were brilliant, during the most unrelentingly stressful time of my life. I finally escaped San Pablo, and she adored my new home in Haight Ashbury. It was near where she'd once lived. Such sweet love we shared there, in the far too short time we had.
She couldn't throw me away in person - she said she wouldn't be able to resist me. A selfish part of me wanted that scene, but i didn't try to force the issue, because i knew i wasn't her fantasy prince incarnate.
She was wonderful. We were wonderful.
Lonely hearts trudge on...

doreen

WOMEN 86
We met through a mutual friend. As doreen walked away after our first meeting, i tried to not watch her go, but failed. Her energy was beautiful, and her ass hypnotizing. When we met again, i found out that our friend had instructed her to not flirt with me...at first i thought because this friend wanted me for herself, but perhaps it was because she wanted to "protect" doreen, who drank a good deal and was in an unstable marriage. Because our mutual friend was ultra-conservative, perhaps she wanted to make sure that doreen wouldn't be "unfaithful". Maybe it was both of those things? Whatever the case, doreen soon did flirt with me, freely and fully. We started spending time together, and very quickly that involved holding and hugging. It was exciting...on the surface we had much in common spiritually. She had a hard time relating to this uptight world, and joked about being planted here by aliens. She loved my spirit, and my stories and songs. It was all so much easygoing fun, and i was so lonely and touch-deprived that i wasn't inclined to overthink things - we were soon cuddling naked. Her drinking gave me pause, though. Being together with a new love is such an escapist rush, and the fact that she wanted to have a drink or two on top of that (while i wasn't drinking at all) seemed...curious. The second time we cuddled, it became sexual. Her intentions were clear, she had even brought lube. After a few minutes, she reached for my cock, but i wasn't erect. Had i been, would i have given her what she wanted? Even though i have no respect for marriage, i knew there was so much we hadn't talked about. Why was she still married, if they were no longer sexual and the relationship was presumably a source of misery for both? I didn't care about "adultery", but wanted nothing to do with secrets. Was my lack of fast erection just about sexual chemistry? Or my subconscious misgivings? Or just a commonstance of middle age? She asked whether she could give me oral sex. I knew there were emotional pitfalls we hadn't even begun to broach, but i was so tired of everyone in this world (me included) relentlessly denying their own humanity. I said yes, and she dove in. It was lovely. After that, it became clear that she could only be with me on the sly, and i began pulling back, saying we needed to talk about all these issues. She showed no interest in that, and when she encouraged me to stop by her place, i begged off, not wanting to face her husband until she and i had talked all this through. That conversation never came, and a couple months later i moved across country. I stopped by her home on my way out of town, and had a lovely visit with her and her husband, whom i liked too.

jessilyn

WOMEN 85
Even as she kissed me, a tiny piece in the back of my brain said, "Damn...now i'm going to have to write about this."*
Not that she embarrassed me, but rather, i was embarrassed to have to offer you such a nothing of a story.
Perhaps happily for you, it turned out to be far more than nothing.
We met at a writers' open podium i hosted at the library. Jessilyn was the only attendee, so we read to each other. She was a poet and author of a spiritual/christian self-help book. Her verse was enjoyable, which ameliorated my disinterest in the material. When we parted in the lobby, i thought such an intimate experience deserved a moment of human connection, so i offered a hug which she happily accepted. In the few moments we touched, i felt a jolt of longing from her. Within a day or two we got together again. She said she was also a bit of a hermit, probably much more so than myself. I read her an essay about how i was trying to approach romance based not on my selfish desires or agenda, but by a paradigm of simply giving and loving whenever asked and able. It was important that she know that part of me, because i sensed that she was inclined in a romantic direction. I didn't want to hit her over the head with the fact that she wasn't my type spiritually or physically...but in retrospect i could have (or should have) been more explicit about that. I also told her about my move to California that was coming, possibly very soon. Later, i tried to reinforce those messages, but the swirl of emotions in her head turned out to be a train we had no chance of slowing.
At the end of our first night together, we lay on my bed and talked. For a few minutes, we chastely cuddled. I wanted to go very slowly, so i could be sure our expectations stayed aligned. As we got up to part ways, it was clear she wanted me to kiss her. I was very raw emotionally from not having been held in a very long time, and was open to a loving sexual relationship...but knew that my vision of romance, and my spiritual/political views in general, were far outside her more conventional worldview. When i found one of her hairs in my bed that night, i felt a wave of ambivalence. What was my stupid idealism getting me into?
We spent an evening at her place, cuddling on the couch. She did most of the talking, opening up about the damages and losses in her life. She cried in my arms as she told about her husband who had died, and then her next lover's death just a few years later. The level to which she opened up was humbling and beautiful. I had a non-urgent response to our closeness, and had no idea whether this was a reflection of our sexual chemistry, or just that i was so aware of the imbalances within and between us. As i was getting ready to go, she told me she hadn't made love in ten years, and had recently given up on the idea of ever being sexual again. As i slid over her on the couch to stand up, i spent a few seconds on top of her. She playfully, frustratedly gave a few pelvic thrusts. When we were standing, she told me i had stirred a desire in her that was powerful and profoundly unexpected. I was still in "let's be patient" mode, so when she kissed me at the door, i allowed it but refrained from really responding. Yet had she taken our clothes off and asked me to hold her some more, i wouldn't have resisted. Would i have made love? I'm genuinely not sure.
I went home and dreamed of loving her...which is hardly surprisingly for any human being (to say nothing of one who hadn't had sex for a few years himself). She was central in my masturbation fantasies that week, which i told her.
There were growing imbalance warnings, though. She off-handedly mentioned that she was writing down every word i'd said. She got upset that i wasn't calling her every day, and pursuing her like every other lover she'd known. When i told her i was visiting family for the holidays, and that i might not talk with her until i got back, she was perplexed, and distressed i hadn't gotten her a gift. I told her i had friends i'd known for years whom i didn't expect to call, and hadn't given a gift to either. She agreed that made some sense. I was glad for the break, as it might give her time to step back and process what was going on. She had asked whether we were romantically involved, and i'd tried to give a non-committal, open-ended response...but it might have come across as something closer to affirmation. I told her that whatever she needed me to be, that's what i wanted to be. Yet i also clearly said that if she wanted my attentions to be a manifestation of my desire rather than an act of giving, we should walk away from each other. I also said that given my wounded, raw state, anything contentious or complicated would make me run.
When i returned from vacation, things quickly went from shaky to worse. I think we had only five get-togethers total, and in almost all of these, she did the lion's share of the talking, which was fine - i told her that perhaps we only talk when our spirits are at unease, and i knew it was healthy for her to share all her demons and hurts. But when i brought up the notion of avoiding romance because of our imbalances, she responded with an overwrought declaration of love. It didn't feel like an act of giving, but more like an ultimatum. I mentioned how short a time we'd shared, and how little of that time had been devoted to my own self-revelations. She talked about our differences in terms of who we might have voted for in a recent election, not realizing that my wildflower ways went profoundly deeper than that. I wondered whether it weren't ME she loved, but merely how i made her feel. Somewhat surprisingly, she absolutely agreed.
Thus far, everything about this story may feel reasonably familiar to you. But it was about to go to dark places, the like of which i'd never known.
And let me stress that i have nothing but love and understanding for her. If after this story you think she's some kind of horrible person, i will have failed as a writer completely. She is as we all are - just varying degrees of damaged (if you're reading this, jessilyn, stay to the end - it will surprise you).
At one point, i thought the literary message of this piece would be a commentary on how broken and needy we all are, with the admonition to NEVER open up the can of romance/sex unless you desire that person with EVERY fiber of your being. Even then it's probably going to end badly, but at least your hormones will be happy for a while. That's a fine message, but this affair turned far more deep and destructive. I was going to mention that this kind of disaster could only happen to ME, with my pie-in-the-sky idealism, and that my gallows humor response while it was happening was that if i was going to "do the time" so brutally, at the very least i should have gone ahead and "committed the crime".
But nothing funny was about to happen, and "Fatal Attraction" ain't Hollywood bullshit.
My memory is imperfect, but i think we never again met in person after i got back. It all quickly and horribly descended into a place of literal insanity. Her messages grew ever more off-balance and hateful...but not in a way that can be understood through any rational lens. Even as i try to put it into words, i fear the flavor of the insanity will be lost...partly because my mind wasn't trying to hold on to each bizarre detail, and partly because you really had to be there to appreciate the disconnect between what had happened, and her reaction. "Disconnect" is the perfect word - i think she was in some kind of mental breakdown, and not fully cognizant. She said that i had fucked her over, and that she wasn't someone whom i could use and throw away. She asked whether i was afraid that she would report me to the library.
Report me??
Her barrage lessened after a couple weeks, but went on for a couple months...hate-filled words denigrating every aspect of my life. It came mostly in e-mails, with an occasional phone message. When i wrote back, she replied that she wouldn't read anything i wrote, and that i had to call her. I realized that ANY response would only feed the fire, so i stopped trying. She later wrote that i probably wasn't even reading her notes any more, which was untrue. Even though i'd done nothing to deserve this, and even though every assault was an unprotected blunt trauma to my stomach and already weakened emotional walls, i read every word. In my perverse sense of duty, i felt i owed her that. I understood that her mind wasn't in control.
The inhumanity i experienced in those months...not knowing whether she would show up at my door, or whether she were capable of physical violence...i imagined the sound of a bullet being the last thing i heard in life. I tried to smile at the undercurrent of terror. All this from someone who had written a spiritual, holy book filled with messages of universal love. One night i was having a disquieting dream about fire, and slowly awoke to the crackles and pops of a burning building. Was it my own home?? No, it was the cabana bar across the canal. Chalk one up for poetically brutal coincidence.
Adding to the mindfuck was the fact that every sixth or seventh message was almost conciliatory...as though she halfway understood that what she was doing was wrong. She wrote that she had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (during those three years when her life's two closest lovers had died, her sister and mother also died). She sent me a snail-mail letter with three words - "god loves you".
Are you ready for perhaps the most shocking element of this story? I never, up to this very moment, stopped dreaming of making love with her. In some ways, her breakdown actually increased my desire. We had gotten to a point that almost no lovers ever reach - nothing was hidden anymore. I had seen her at her most horribly damaged. There could be no more pretense between us. I wanted to spend hours gently fucking her, then hold her while she tried to talk about what she had survived.
Some of that is noble and good...but much of it isn't. I dreamed of her coming to me, and telling me it was all a mistake, and all she can dream of is being held by me, with no expectations of any kind. Terrifying...but i swear i don't know what i would do if she knocked on my door right now, and said those very words. I dream of reaching out to her, with perhaps an anonymous "i love you" left at her door. The rational part of my mind knows that i have no idea what she's capable of, either in act or accusation, so if she did show up i would spend time with her, but only in public places. I want so much to love her...but that also gives me a sweeping insight into all those women who get involved with, or stay with, men who abuse them. We're all so needy and damaged, and spend our lives covering it up, sometimes even from ourselves. A man who punches you, physically or emotionally, has to CARE on some level very deeply, right? Being brutalized or raped is a small price to pay for that certainty, right?
Right?

*That's one of the benchmarks for inclusion in these memoirs - anyone i've kissed, or with whom i've had a significant shared romantic attachment.

A3

WOMEN 84
(A follow-up to WOMEN 57, 74 -
http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2011/02/blog-post.html
http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2013/04/a2.html)

After that seminal visit, things quieted down. I remained a thousand-some miles away, enjoying a nice visit every two or three years. We shared e-mails and occasional calls. Finally, she and E hadn’t had sex in years, and the stress was diminishing them both. I was sad when she finally left, though i knew it made all the sense in the world. They shared custody of V, with E happily taking the lion’s share. He remained cloaked in misery for a long time. We shared one or two phone calls in which he cried. I loved him, and knew he wouldn’t release his white picket dream easily. Did i think that events were moving toward she and i being lovers? Yes, particularly when she told me about lying naked on the shore, as the waves caressed her. She said it was startlingly sexual, and looked forward to having me there with her. But given how paralyzed i was at the thought of doing anything destructive, i was happy when i learned she’d taken a lover. Good…i didn’t know whether there was any way for me to be her first post-E lover, that wouldn’t go badly. Also, i was glad to know she hadn’t built me up as the man she had to run to when she was free (though a part of me wanted that). Finally, she made an offer of which i’d dreamt…would i come live with her during the last month of her lease? We decided to rehearse a two-person play of mine, then produce it back in New York. At that point in my life, i’d spiraled into a wounded place. In an effort to better understand human nature, i’d opened my emotional walls so much that i had a hard time dealing with the stress of loneliness, plus all the fear and aggression that permeate this world. I’d even fallen into mild clinical depression. I hadn’t had a lover in years with whom my spirit had been entirely present…a horrible, soul-sucking feeling. Our society’s dysfunctional treatment of romance added fuel to my depression. The needs we expect our lover to fill, the possessiveness (like E)…things that no relationship should ever be forced to bear. It had gotten to a point where i wasn’t sure i’d ever feel totally present as a lover again. And worse, i wasn’t sure i could pull myself out of this darkness. I knew what i needed – to be stress-free, loved and held, in a life full of laughter and (sexual) healing. One name rang out – A. Even if the time wasn’t right for all of those things, just one of them would do more for me than all my healing failures in the cold city. To finally have the time we’d denied ourselves…a thousand conversations, a thousand silences…not that i didn’t want it all - when you’re wounded, you become feral. But whatever she wanted, i doubted i had the word “no” in me. Perhaps my recklessness was also fueled by knowing that my choice to love them both meant i might lose them both. That choice had been forced the moment she’d become pregnant. I already loved E, so backing out wasn’t something i even considered. But i knew that their time as a couple would end…at which point he would either shun me for becoming her lover, or i would become the elephant in the room (Splitting couples divvy up possessions, but how to divide me?). Having a child meant they’d always be connected, so they might both abandon me, as the only way to resolve the discomfort. And V, who loved me, would be punished for his parents' stupidity. I’d lived with those thoughts for a decade. In the meantime, she was having stress with her new lover J…she’d found him in flagrante with another woman, and reacted with jealous anger. I knew she must be terribly conflicted, because her view of romance had been evolving in the same non-monogamous way as mine (she had shared my dream of being her “co-husband”). So i imagined that i was perfect for her now…not seeking to replace, but supplement. A refuge of love and acceptance, wherein i not only tolerated her other lovers, but encouraged them. To live either with her, or close by. The wounded beast in me said, “Enough nonsense, A, you’re ready. Your romantic history has been comprised of a whole bunch of selfish idiots and a tiny handful of selfish good guys. You’re past ready for something better.” It seemed a fair bet though, that she and J were in the attachment phase of hormonal love. Combine that with jealousy, and i knew her thoughts would be obsessional. Yet too, there were other factors pushing me toward Florida. My mom had retired there, to live close to my nutty aunt joyce. The chance to spend real time with them was not something i wanted to take for granted. And i’d always felt peaceful and happy around warmth and water. So i knew i’d be going regardless…but A was in the center of my dreams. Shortly before i left, i changed my e-mail password, and was able to resist incorporating her name – reminding myself that investing too much of one’s happiness into one person is this society's key relational pitfall. Plus, i sensed that her stability was iffy, as she'd started not responding to e-mails. My old self would have called her on it, but i was too wounded to care. She’d mentioned that ours was her oldest friendship (in a later moment of gallows humor, i reflected that this was due in no small part to the fact that i’d never asked for anything). Yet i knew she’d come so far in terms of loving herself. Is it possible i was rushing all this? Was there some part of me willing to herald a new era, simply because the thought of us finally becoming intimate when i was, oh, seventy, didn’t appeal to me? Sure. Mind you, i wasn’t taking our attraction for granted – but i had long joked that i’d been in love three times in my life, and two of them were her. All the wisdom and skill i’d cultivated as a lover had never yet been fully realized. Heck, my marathon sex habits were partly a response to knowing how frustrated she'd been with E's beautiful (but brief) bonings. I knew that loving her selflessly was almost second nature. She had summoned - i would go. I wanted our spirit time. Massages and music. I wanted her to be the first person i ran to when i’d written something that felt beautiful or important. Even in my wounded state, i knew that the core of my devotion remained unbroken – a core that had always been measured by the mantra “There Is No Reward”. Finally, i arrived at her door. It was sweet at first. Being around her made me feel like a puppy, and there were moments when her spirit almost poked through. She talked about wanting to move with me to the home i had waiting across town. I met J, and could feel the damage they were doing to each other. He seemed a friendly person of some potential, but i didn’t need her to tell me that he was uncomfortable with my presence. I thought that might be healthy - bring them closer to the balance they’d lost. A was busy - i soon realized i might stand a greater chance of sharing time with her if i were anywhere but her home. In the two weeks i was there, she slept at home four times (half of those with other guests around). She told me she’d never been able to “own” that home, spiritually. But i didn’t doubt that her absences were also about not knowing what to do with me. Particularly revealing was the toe story. I broke some toes in a ballgame accident. They turned darker and darker...but she never once asked to look at them. I even joked about the possibility that my injury had happened because of a subconscious need to be cared for. Undercurrents aside, that first week culminated in one of the most beautiful days of my life. On a long bike visit to Lakes Park, she told me that all those years ago, when i’d cast her as a romantic lead opposite me, she was sure i’d intended to get in her pants. She laughed at the memory, and once again it seemed that she really understood me. That week, i also found something i’d no longer been sure was possible – measurable healing. For most of my life, i’d always been able to lay my head down and wake up happily eight hours later, but i’d slept restlessly the past year, with occasional insomnia. That week? I slept through the night, every night. Being naked a lot helped…spending most of my days alone in tropical warmth, i had more naked time than the previous couple years combined. I was gentle and supportive with her, the very picture of non-demanding. Part of her darkness included E and V, wondering whether it were unforgivably selfish to not return. In general, whenever we came together, i sent my hopes off into some other reality. I knew she was starting to feel awful about ignoring me, but i told her to go through whatever she had to. She knew my hopes, as i’d been completely open. She shied away from intimacy, though. I understood why we weren’t having monkey sex, but was less clear on why there was no holding. One day, she suddenly cried, telling me that this was what always happened - she disappointed people. I told her that that kind of expectation/recrimination was NOT what was happening…that her hurtful experiences were more about other people loving her badly, and that she didn’t need to enact a disappointment drama with me. But it was almost like she had a pathological need to disappoint me, no matter the facts. She asked what she could do. I said just hug me once a day. How revealing, and sad. Here were two relatively evolved people, one of them reaching out for the most basic human kindness…and in retrospect, it felt like begging for table scraps. I felt no blame or anger. And there were nods toward possibility. One night before going out, she gently brought our lips together. So beautiful. I remained perfectly still and accepting. Another night when she was leaving (sense a pattern?), she came into my room. I was naked, face down on my bed. She had oil, and started rubbing. She remarked on my cute tush, and regretted that she wasn’t more massage-skilled. I told her she had the right energy to be as wonderful as anyone. She whispered, “This is just the beginning.” On our park day, we showered after biking home. She remarked on a sign she’d seen that said “Save Water – Shower Together”. The wounded beast in me suddenly came so close to the surface. I considered tossing her in and giving her the scrub of a lifetime. But how much of her flirtation was just emotional flailing? One night, after going out, she said she’d gotten to J’s and almost turned around, implying that it would have been a momentous dissolving...and that she’d wanted to come back to ME. She asked whether i were rooting for one course or the other with them. I told her i was manifesting the correct spiritual choice, which was to love them both and root for neither path. Was i still attracted? Oh, yes. In the better moments, her spirit had far fewer rough edges, and her life had also become more athletic. Back when i first fell in love, i remember a friend commenting on her “beer ankles”…such a strange phrase i couldn’t forget it. There were no beer ankles now, and there were moments when i had trouble pulling my eyes away from her hips, draped in summer skirts. I did allow myself to be more openly sexual…not flirting, but having no compunction about talking of myself as a sexual being. During our second week, i experienced one of the most startling sexual moments of my life. I woke up well before dawn, restless and aroused. I masturbated for an hour or two, on the brink of orgasm the whole time. My room door was open. I was feeling so damaged and feral, that i determined to not stop until she left for work…in effect, inviting her to see me at my most primal. I had been so herculeanly in control of all my desires, sexually and spiritually, for so long…there must have been an incalculably huge THIS IS ME that had lain dormant and denied. I was beyond caring whether it were impolite. Just before she left, her feet seemed to turn in my direction. It was as if i could feel each of her padding steps vibrate through me in a way that was measurable on the Richter scale…like she was treading across my every nerve ending. The beast in me was paralyzed, and on her seventh step my control dissolved into an orgasm (an even more primal image than i’d planned). But the acoustics of the house had tricked me - her turn toward my door had only been in my head. As our second week began, i could feel that not only was i not alleviating her misery, i was making it worse. I decided to hold on for a few more days, because she’d invited me to share a social gathering with her new teacher friends. That night, i instantly felt that these friends were better for her than any group i’d ever seen her with. The only time i’d been prouder, was in how she’d loved E. I spent that second week deeply invested in the spiritual practice of selflessness…trying to make myself almost literally disappear in plain sight. Selflessness is probably the most unachievable spirit goal. Never mind how daunting the practice is in a society fundamentally constructed on its opposite, it also fails if ANYONE PERCEIVES what you’re trying to do (give that a whirl sometime). There was but one moment when i felt shame – she mentioned how she’d liked it when E let his beard grow, so i stopped shaving (it soon felt like an unforgivably selfish manipulation). I had an occasional impulse toward self-pity (the working title for this chapter was “Caught Being Selfish”). On my last day, i tried to leave while she was out, to avoid the chance for her to have no idea what to say. She later called to say she wanted to visit my new home that night. It was like water in the desert (never mind that i had to tell her i wouldn’t be there, and that she ended up not visiting for a month or two, and only ever did so once). Even with all my awareness, there may have been no way to prepare for the damage to come. I can encapsulate it in one fact – within a week i went from living with her, to not knowing where she lived. In our time together and the years that followed, knowing that i’d come to Florida broken and wounded, she never once said, “Hey…you want to talk about that?” During our second week, my poor sleep had returned…as did the occasional stomach-sickened feeling that had been the other most obvious manifestation of my stress. I soon learned that she was drinking a great deal, like she hadn’t since before V was born (my gallows irony made me smile, as she was turning to drugs to escape from sexuality’s hormonal drugs). The first words we shared after i left came when we chanced to meet on top of a bridge. I asked if she were ready to be full and true friends. If i hadn’t been so wounded, i probably wouldn’t have been so foolish as to ask. But i did, and she said “yes”. The genie was out of the bottle - her actions were now measurable against real friendship, and she crucified me. The only thing i asked was that i not become someone she didn’t talk to…but for the next three years, we never shared a real conversation. In another fleeting meeting, she told me she’d believed i’d had expectations. Had i been more sharp, would i have been able to keep her from making such a calamitous error? Did she even actually believe that? Early in my stay, she’d asked dead-on whether i had expectations. I told her no, unequivocally. How her brain turned me into a liar, or lacking in self-awareness…if her suspicion were true, i would have been guilty of betraying everything i’d held sacred for almost my entire adult life. Beyond that, if she’d taken the time to talk to me, she’d have known that people this wounded don’t live in ANY kind of expectation – we’re barely capable of hope. Before another accidental meeting, i’d found out that one of my dearest friends had died. She asked whether i wanted to be alone. I said no, not at all. She didn’t visit or call – and i was almost too numb to be surprised. She decorated her new yard with a “clothing optional” sign, and i chided her (too gently?) for her cojones, as one day when i was staying with her she came home, found me naked, and asked me to put something on, as J mightn’t be happy to find me in that state. Knowing how much we both adored nudity, that was the only moment i was tempted to say something biting, like how she was letting pedophilia take over her life. I didn’t, because i knew she knew she was being a shitheel. But i know she never grasped the full scope of her hurtfulness (How could she? She's a sociopath, like all of us...just a wee bit more.). She spoke emotional words of apology, and of making amends. Later, she said she wanted us to “start over”. She seemed angry that i didn’t understand. I finally realized that she didn’t want to ever talk about what had happened. I knew that there are moments for a “start over”…but that ours didn’t qualify. We were in no sort of balance, and hadn’t processed anything. Treating someone awfully, then ignoring it, is just cowardice. I wrote that if she were to treat any other person the way she was treating me, i would be livid. Another time, she said that i didn’t really know her. I tried to point out that that’s exactly what I’D pointed out…that we’d never yet known each other in a daily, intimate way. She offered no context for her comments, and i sensed she said them only because, when unexpectedly faced with me, she felt she had to say something. That first year, when i finally knew again where she lived, i very occasionally dropped by with a gift...a book, or fresh coconut. But she didn’t want my company. We did share one amazing moment that (for me) made any amount of suffering worth it. I'd stopped by, and we chatted. As i donned my bike helmet to go, she stood on her porch and whispered that she’d never really let anyone into her life. That she was able to understand and admit that, will always be one of the most beautiful moments of my life. It bookended her comment fifteen years earlier about me being the only person who never let her get away with shit. But there would still be two more years of the most brutal limbo, in which we shared puddle-deep notes or calls, and maintained the notion that this was just something she needed to go through, and that it wasn't about me, that she occasionally needed to turn away from ALL her friends for years at a time. There may have been truth in that, and a part of her may have truly believed that we would be real friends one day. But after three years, the unrelenting inhumynity broke me, and i asked for us to stop pretending. I told her that had she come to me a week or two after our moment on the bridge, and explained exactly WHAT she needed and why, three or four sentences would have made us fine. After a few months, it would have taken a few minutes to fix. After a year, it would have taken a few hours. After three years, i couldn't wrap my mind around what it would take. On some level, did i know that her demons had wanted me gone for eighteen years, and that i was perhaps finally letting them win? Maybe. But those years were the most brutal negation of my human worth i'd ever experienced. Occasionally the words “Omigod, she HATES me” escaped my lips. If she couldn't release both of us from that, someone had to. On the lighter side, one of our chance bridge encounters provided one of the more perversely funny moments of my life. I saw a bicyclist approach from the opposite direction, and there was something about her i found attractive. I’m a little nearsighted, and was prepared to give this stranger some meaningful eye contact…only to realize it was A! I got the gallows humor immediately - after all those deflected moments when she’d invited me to initiate something sexual, the one time i almost made a pass at her was when i thought she was someone else! Where i come from, that’s pretty fucking funny. During that meeting, my spirit froze when she offered a hug - a part of me was afraid that she would try to literally hurt me. There were other oft-irrational darknesses…the thought that perhaps she subconsciously felt she could never love me until she’d hurt me…or that i'd been a pawn in her love life with J, or that her goal all along had been to take me out of her life (and E’s and V’s). What seemed undeniable was that she banished me to make J happy (never mind that in doing so she was inviting him to treat her like a doormat). I began to hope she wouldn’t be home when i dropped off my occasional gifts…just approaching her house started to make my stomach hurt. I even imagined punishing her emotionally, to shake her out of her funk. I imagined leaving town without telling her. That wasn’t all martyrdom…i truly didn’t want to make her stand before me again with NO idea what to say. After that first year of waiting for some glimmer of compassion, i'd asked her to treat me like a human being, or acknowledge that she’d felt pressured on that bridge into saying something she didn’t mean. She wrote back that she “didn’t know how to communicate” with me...and i finally realized that my leaving town might not even register in her mind. The fact that all this happened when i was at my most wounded, was…singular and regrettable. Certainly my feelings for her had been colored early on by sweeping hormones. Was my love in any way selfish? Did i love the “idea” of her, and the image my life would project with her loving me? A little, yes. But i fought to hold on to the underlying truth, that from the start i had recognized her damage, and knew the kind of love she needed…not as a lover, but as a friend. And i knew i’d never failed in denying my own wants and needs, for her. My life’s choices had made me an undesirable mate for the vast majority - how many women would be eager to cherish a non-monogamous non-materialist? From that pool, how many could make me feel like a puppy? It’s probably no exaggeration to think that A was one in a million – by far the most “sensible” potential lover i’d known. I’d been ready to give myself unqualifiedly. She had herpes? Fine, i'd have herpes too. The one friend of hers i talked with in those first months, urged me to confront her…demand she start loving herself, and maybe me too. I felt the echoes of another A friend from another decade, urging me to reveal my love. But even if my battered spirit had had any taste for confrontation, i felt i had to rely on the possibility that i understood her better than anyone, including her. So i continued protecting her as much as i could, even from herself – my brief notes of love and encouragement avoided anything that might require an answer. I never told her about my public speaking engagements, so she wouldn’t feel any obligation. As that first year went by, i went through stages of separation. The first thing i lost (which was probably healthy) was the fear of losing her. Then i became comfortable with the thought of never seeing her again (essential to that was the thought of her never reading this). The final stage was losing the fear of what she might become without me. Even buffered by the awareness that anything coming out her mouth was a reflection of crippled self-love, her “expectations” comment was the most hurtful thing anyone had ever said to me. Nothing comes close. For eighteen years, i measured my life by how well i loved her. If that sounds heavy, it’s not. I equated love with selflessness, and A was my touchstone, because i knew if i could love her the way i ought, anything else would be easy. It was sometimes hard to make people understand that romance wasn’t the reason i’d moved to Florida. I’d come for a friendship deeper than either of us had known. Sex fades (although maybe just maybe, it doesn’t have to). It’s a fair bet that you’ve never seen, or even imagined, a healthy sexual relationship. A had imagined it. How could she treat me the way she did, when all i’d offered was kindness with no expectation? I’m sure part of it was the realization that this was perhaps the worst time in her life to have someone around who could “see” her. She was entering the dating pool for the first time in a decade, self-conscious over breasts that had lost their pre-motherhood perk. She had hooked into a lover half a generation younger who flattered her vanity, gave her good sex, and couldn’t challenge her on a spiritual level. Be truthful – wouldn’t some of you throw your oldest friend under the bus for that? At least it’s understandable. What’s not so understandable is the degrading mindfuck, when the infinitely kinder dismissal was always at hand. All i can offer is the knowledge that how we treat others, is a reflection of how we treat ourselves. Or maybe, just maybe, did she turn her back on me to shield my life, and all i have to offer the world, from her torrents of dysfunctional destruction? On another level, she may have decided that i truly was no longer her kind of person, or maybe never was. At the end of that first year, i asked for one thing, thinking it might be vital to both our healing (if she’d been able to notice, she might have realized it was the only thing i'd ever asked of her). I said that if she couldn’t talk to me, would she listen while i tell her of my emotional journey? She declined, implying that my “heavy” energy was inappropriate to her life. I had to smile, as i’d come to her with all the heaviness of a feather (for her, anyway). I learned what i’d already known – that in this broken world, it’s possible to do everything right and still be savaged. That’s no surprise, but the more disturbing thought is that if i’d acted selfishly, i’d have gotten a little of the love i’d needed. And maybe "love" isn't the right word...but i'd have gotten some physical healing, and who knows how many more of her walls we might have been able to break down? Part of me is grateful i didn’t betray one of my core understandings – you can’t make love when your spirits aren’t fully present. And yet…the wounded beast in me was so tired. In my last words to her, i wrote that nothing was changing between us. That when she was ready for real friendship, i'd be right there. But i also said that we couldn't go back to being the almost-friends we once were.

taryn, anari, angela

WOMEN 81-83
Taryn
We met through an apartment search. I had put an ad onto Craigslist, describing the kind of home i was looking for. I think she was the only person who responded. She was quite taken with the way i described myself...when we talked on the phone, she admitted she didn't really have a place for me, but wanted to meet anyway. So we did. She lived near Columbus Circle, in a somewhat fancy doorman building. We walked and talked for hours. She was funny, smart, progressive, and open. She'd been a dancer for much of her life, and was now a personal trainer. When it came time to say goodbye, it was obvious that our hearts weren't in it, so we went to her place. A few hours later, she invited me to spend the night, non-sexually (this was dandy with me, as i didn't rush into sexual relationships). Not only didn't she have a guest room, she didn't even have a proper bed, so we shared her pull-out couch. I asked whether she'd mind if i slept naked. She said no. As soon as i disrobed and laid down, she said all her resolve had just disappeared, and could we make love? I don't think i'd ever been with a woman who was so suddenly overtaken by her own carnal desires in such an objectively accepting way (she was even laughing at herself). It was adorable and made me want to care for her. So we made love. It was quite beautiful. We didn't share penetration, because she'd told me she had HPV (but hadn't had symptoms in a long time).
She had a glam side i didn't relate to...despite her body health awareness, she wouldn't give up high heels. And when she got made up to go out, she really threw herself into it. But too, she loved relaxing at home with me, with not a speck of makeup. So beautiful. She'd been a Rockette for a number of years, and i told her she had the kind of physique eighteen year-old girls wished they had. It was the stuff of my dreams too.
We settled into a fun relationship, getting together two or three times a week, often getting takeout and watching Bill Maher, or some such. We sought out vegan yummies. She respected how i lived with one foot off the grid. I learned that her biggest demon was abandonment issues stemming from her childhood and father. These issues had exploded any significant romance she'd ever had. I knew that might be a minefield no wisdom of mine could spare us from, but i didn't try to "fix" her, i just focused on learning and sharing. Her progressive side had one blind spot, in the form of a cinderella complex (surprise surprise). Though i knew it meant avoiding an issue that might easily end our time together, i was happy to offer her monogamy for the present.
Our sexuality was wonderful, even though a part of my brain had trouble wrapping around the HPV thing. I knew she could pass it on even when she was asymptomatic. For a month or so, we resisted any penetration. It was during this time that we shared one of the most beautiful sexual memories of my life. She lived on the third floor, and had huge windows running all along one of the walls. She didn't mind leaving the curtains open, which gave a show to anyone higher up in the building across the street. I didn't mind either...i'd always dreamed of loving a woman so uninhibited. One afternoon, with those curtains open, she lay on her stomach while i made love from behind...not penetrating, but sliding our tumescent, well-moistened genitals together, moving between her lips for time without end. So amazing.
Finally, i acquiesced to those loathsome things, condoms. She said she wanted to get tested to find out whether the virus were inactive. If so, she excitedly wanted to share condomless penetration. As much as i wanted that too, my understanding of HPV told me there was still a possibility of passing on the virus.
It was at this stage of our togetherness, that the explosion occurred. She was telling me about some of the horrible things she'd lived through, and that part of it had involved drug use. I told her i wasn't surprised...that her face had the suggestion of an alcoholic in it (my housemate had thought the same thing). The size of the button my comment touched in her was probably beyond words. She had lived most of her life in a world where looks were everything. I tried, over the next few weeks, to tell her how innocent my comment had been. But nothing i said was able to bridge the chasm that had formed. She thought i was horrible and insensitive. She resisted seeing me, and finally told me to go away.
In the aftermath, i wondered whether a part of her reaction didn't go back to her abandonment issues...that the closer we got, the more afraid she was of losing me. Perhaps she subconsciously needed to burn us, so that i would never have the chance to leave her.
I felt the sadness of losing her, for years to come. For more on taryn, see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2010/05/karyn.html
Anari - see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2011/11/njeri.html
Angela - see http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2012/05/janie.html

dollie

WOMEN 80
I met Dollie on a moving job. She had just graduated from a southern college with a degree in dramaturgy, and was moving into a family-owned, rent-free apartment in the big city. Various family members helped with the move, too. She was outgoing, funny, and biddable. On a welcome-wagon impulse, i gave her my card. In retrospect, how might my life have been different had i given it to her sister-in-law instead? I had the opportunity. The family was jewish and close-knit, and some were disenchanted with this asian woman their son had married. And indeed, she may have been a bit supercilious…but i was attracted to her, as she seemed to be to me (something that would have gone over like a lead balloon with Dollie…and presumably, her brother). Dollie called that week, and we got together. In retrospect, i was interested in friendship more than romance, but she assumed the latter from the get-go. We spent a few evenings together, sharing our lives and finding some nice commonalities. I was attracted to her in an offhand way, and when she told me she’d never had sex that hadn’t hurt, i thought that my minimally-thrusting, taoist lovemaking might be just what she needed. She thought so too. The night before she left for a month-long vacation in Israel, she stayed at my place. We became sexual. I took it slow, giving her a nice digital orgasm. The day she returned, i was probably her first call. She wanted to see me immediately, having lived a celibate existence abroad. I convinced her that, given her jet lag, we should wait. Ever since, that’s the moment i wish i could have again, to go to her and give her the happiness she was asking for…slow, gentle penetration that would probably put her to sleep after an hour or less. But i was afraid of an imbalance in how much we were attracted to each other. We began spending more time together, and she said all the right things – like that it didn’t matter how long our affair lasted (she was a curious mix of conventional and free-spirited). Once or twice she really threw herself at me, and i held her off. If we did become any kind of couple, i could see a point of conflict that would arise - i favored spontaneity, but she liked to know exactly when we were going to spend time together. She had two reallllly close female friends. When i met one of them and was very attracted, i realized i needed to go away…despite Dollie’s free-spirited side, i knew she wouldn’t like the full truth of my libido. I tried to stay in touch as a friend after some months had passed. A part of me wanted to go back, and be exactly what she’d wanted. That was partly simple sexual loneliness, and partly the spiritual bonobo in me that told me to give anyone whatever comfort or caring they might want or need. But my conciliatory words were clumsy, and she stayed away.

shay, margie, annie, chrissy

WOMEN 76-79

SHAY

We met through a personal ad. She was a settled New Yorker, and native of South Africa. She worked as a freelance seamstress, and had some very nice hippie qualities - global awareness and global tastes in fashion and music, travels to Burning Man, that sort of thing. She attracted me, but not in a consuming way. Some brief sexual exploration brought us to a place where we decided we’d be better as non-sexual friends – which we remained for years to come. Sometimes i regretted that path, as the healthiness inherent in the idea of “friends who fuck as needed” was growing in me.

MARGIE

One of the first romantic moments in my life when i tried to really rise above the stunted shallowness and negotiated romance of this society…to live by the thought that we can and should be able to love anyone. Margie and i lived a mile or so apart in Astoria. I can’t remember how we met, but we became nice friends. Hanging out, talking, indulging our shared passion for Muppets (we made a project of trying to see every single Muppet film, which she ended up having less stomach for than i…of course, i was dedicated to the project as a writer, wanting to understand why the franchise had been mostly unable to survive Jim’s death). I never had any zowie feeling for her, but when she broached romance, i wanted to give it a try. I knew that desire always fades anyway, so why not? I liked her. But the one night we spent together just didn’t have any magic. I felt off-balance and unsure. So much so that we never tried again. We kept the friendship going for a good while, but eventually faded away. Even though we never talked about it, the fact that our romantic moment hadn’t worked, was probably a factor.

ANNIE
http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2009/08/blog-post.html

CHRISSY

We met online in the “platonic only” section. A hippiesque free-spirit, she was in a long-term, same-sex romance that was beginning to break up. She had never been with a man, and we wrote long letters talking about her past. She’d been raped by a step-father as a young teen, then later molested by another male relative. Over the course of our writing, we became convinced that i was to be her first male lover. She was so smart, loving, and literate. Finally, after half a year or so, we met. We talked in a coffee shop for over an hour. It was very sweet…but i think we both realized something was missing. We hugged and went our separate ways. A year or so later, she appeared in my inbox again. I visited her in Connecticut. She’d had at least a couple male lovers in the interim, which had been pretty positive experiences. At that time, i was seeing someone to whom i’d promised monogamy, so we just held each other nakedly for a few nights, gently caressing and kissing a bit. The physical attraction wasn’t overwhelming, so on one level i was actually glad for my possessive lover at home (she, however, was anything but glad when i returned and told her about my trip). The visit was a beautiful experience in every way…made all the more special by knowing how important i’d been in helping her move past the demons of her youth. I cried for the human race, that my lover wasn’t even the tiniest bit sympathetic to Chrissy. I visited her again some months later, when i was no longer in a relationship. We shared spirits, music, and walks. Although it felt very comfortable, it still wasn’t the consuming attraction i’d been hoping for. We became sexual again, and she wanted to use a condom. Knowing how much i loathed them, i was content to tell her that we didn’t need to consummate in that way (which also seemed sensible, given my ambivalence). She was disappointed. One of the funnier moments of my life occurred while giving her cunnilingus. My behind was raised up, and i suddenly felt the sensation of a tongue in my crack. It was her dog, eagerly gettin’ in there, as they say (the kind of humorous injection that most sexual encounters are in dire need of). We drifted apart, which i didn’t want. I’m sure the break in contact came from her. I didn’t expect someone as spiritually advanced to walk away from a caring friendship for sexual reasons, but that’s okay. Perhaps she’ll need me again some day.

laura

WOMEN 75
I came across a personal ad from someone “looking for a pirate”. Having swashed a few buckles (or is it buckled a few swashes?) in TREASURE ISLAND, i responded. She turned out to be cool and quirky, into fairies and sci fi and renaissance fairs and online video games, with an offbeat sense of humor and fashion (the few aspects of Weird Al’s “White N’ Nerdy” that i didn’t embody, she covered). She’d been in the city for a couple years, and worked as a vet tech in an animal research lab. We started dating almost immediately, and were together for a couple months. She had fun friends, and lived in Queens. We took things slow physically, as she had some intimacy issues, having been molested by a father and then a brother. She'd also had some destructive, dysfunctional grownup romances. I didn’t worry about that (though in the end i got a bit steamrolled). When we finally had vaginal intercourse, there was blood on my penis afterward, which she said was the result of an abortion that had gone wrong. She said it wasn’t anything to worry about, and didn’t want to talk about it. But i wasn’t going to continue having intercourse with her if it made her bleed, and also not until she was ready to talk about things more openly. She had a bisexual side she’d never explored, which i found perfectly cool. She asked whether i’d be willing to have a threesome with another girl, and i said yes, with the right person. Sadly, the relationship soured before we explored that. I liked her a whole lot, and didn’t care about minor differences and incompatibilities…i was open to growing with her as far as we could. But in the end, i was too open and too loving. One night, i told her i loved her (love, not “in love”), and she didn’t handle it well. Another night, i innocently told her that i’d found one of her best friends attractive. It’s understandable that she didn’t handle that well, but i was just trying to be wide open…and i also had her threesome desire in the back of my mind. The relationship destructed soon after. At one point, she called and asked me to give her number to my brother John, as she wanted to fuck him. I did so, but gave Johnny ample warning about her questionable motives. I tried to stay patient and loving as she blew us up. Early on, a silly moment of pirating on the subway, making “arrrrhs” which led to “Ohhhs” and “Uuuuus”, led me to write a play about a silly sea where pirate bands have different “letters” they say in conversation. I was finally able to read it with her months later, and was so happy we were able to share that, as she enjoyed it very much...which avoided having our last memory be about hurtfulness.
Postscript: this is the first time that posting these memoirs triggered contact from a lost friend...Laura just wrote to me about a couple more of her darknesses i'd forgotten (a then-recent sexual assault) or never knew (anti-depressant O.D.s). She was touchingly loving in her tone with me.

A2

WOMEN 74
(a follow-up to WOMEN 57 - http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2011/02/blog-post.html)

I kept in happy touch with A and her new family when i moved north. I went back for an extended FL visit three years later, and stayed at their place a good deal. Their child was over two now, and so wonderful - little V cooed like a pigeon. Any memories of my years of being in love with A were out of my consciousness, as i continued to love she and E both as a couple and individually. They talked of getting me to move back. But all was not well - i'd known they'd been having troubles (mostly sexual). It was worse than i knew. One evening i got a call from A, asking me to pick her up. She was in Bonita on foot, having left E and their car. Once i got her, i found out that a lot of the worst behaviors from her horrible romantic past were being enacted anew, most notably physical/emotional violence lubricated by alcohol. I found out they'd even separated a few months back. The next afternoon, when E and V were on the porch and i was inside with her, she told me she'd been thinking about being with me. My spirit suddenly went looping into a space i'd never known. If you'd told me beforehand that a simple handful of words could ever affect me so, i wouldn't have believed you. I felt my being splinter. I'll be eternally glad i was able to respond in an unaffected way (my spirit was in piecemeal tatters for the next few months, living between my love for them and the feelings she had released in me). The next day, she spoke some words that may have been the most resonant of my life. She was talking about massage, asking whether i were still into it. I replied affirmatively. She said that E hated massage, and wished she were rubbing my feet that very moment. Why those words tore me down and left me quivering and alone in the universe, i can't exactly say...but in the months to come, a sentence churned through my spirit over and over, a sentence to her i hadn't been able to finish - "To be the one who gets to rub your feet every night..." I couldn't finish it, my mind wouldn't let me, i couldn't enunciate what i would do to be that person...but i'm sure it was the most profound unfinished sentence of my life. My word choice bothered me, though. Why did it have to be "the one"? In the months and years to come, my mind tried to come up with a solution...perhaps TWO mates for her...she could thrive with two (of course that probably applies to all women, but ridiculously so for A, with her sex drive and paradoxical personality). However, while she'd been saying these massage things, E was right in the room! I'd always been so grateful that he was at peace with my nebulous, quasi-romantic history with her. I knew how rare such acceptance could be. And here she was, blatantly comparing him unfavorably to me, right before his eyes. I cried inside. A had always had a blunt quality, it's one of the things i loved about her most dearly. But her bluntness was sometimes pseudo-intentionally destructive. A few nights later, she was tucking V and i into bed. He was already asleep, and she spoke of sexual desire for me. Such profound inner conflict (in me, but no doubt her too). I also experienced another sensation that was a first in my life - my brain literally scrambling words i was hearing. It happened once in FL, then again later on the phone. A was talking, and my brain just turned her words into a jumbly muck. I could hear the components, but my brain randomized them. Just stunningly bizarre. One of those times, she was talking about how she felt a kind of peace with me she couldn't compare with anyone she'd ever known (or something like that). What she said the other time, my brain fuzzed so well that i can recall no part of it. My reaction to V had been singular too...it was easy to imagine slipping into his life, as a parent figure. Where did THAT come from?? I'd never had a thought like that for any child. I talked with E, commiserating with him and trying to get him to open up. But he couldn't fully do so. A told me he was angry she'd involved me in their problems. There were other moments on that trip...she would share her perceptions on life and living, and once or twice i was just dumbfounded over how some of her views were so like my own wildflower ways. A couple months later, A and V were visiting E's parents in Connecticut, and she invited me. I hopped on a bus. I was determined that, in E's childhood home of all places, i would never do a destructive thing. It was a lovely couple days. A and i had some nice moments, including a freezing, nighttime skinny dip, but neither of us spoke about the things that had passed between us. After my FL visit, i'd sent some e-mails to E and not heard back (but that was typical for him). The worst thing i did in Connecticut was follow her up the stairs one night after she'd gone to bed with V. I stood outside her door. When she'd said goodnight, we stood face to face and had a long few moments of silent soul-sharing. I finally turned around and went back down. A month or so later, i got the sense that she was re-dedicated to E, and sent her my support. I asked for one small favor, on the phone - to let loose my spirit's turmoil, which i'd written down. She listened, and a great load was lifted. The difference between the new feelings she'd stirred in me and the drowning love i'd experienced those years earlier was that, for the first time ever, my spirit rose to a place of possibility where she and i were together...and the beauty of that dream shook my foundations. Dreaming of some improbable three-way marriage, i went back to my lonely life. I knew that her shadow would loom over my spirit (and love life) for a good while.

chinacat, regina

WOMEN 72-73
Chinacat
A deadhead i met online, she lived on Staten Island with her ten year-old son. She was a nurse and martial arts teacher. We shared a nice correspondence. We met a few times at my home in Jersey...did some outdoor stuff, listened to music...one evening we cuddled, and things got mildly sexual. But i backed away because of the distance (with two bodies of water to cross in not always the most timely fashion, getting to her might take over two hours), and because i wasn’t as into her as she was me.
Regina
A fun woman i met online, an ivy league actress. We agreed we must do MAN AND SUPERMAN someday. The night we met, we wandered around Manhattan. She was bi-racial, and had an incredible, smallish afro. I half-seriously joked that i would date her just for her hair. It was just startlingly, beautifully soft, i couldn't stop touching it. After a few hours, she said that she was feeling very sexual, and she could either go home to masturbate, or i could come with her. I told her i didn’t jump into sexual relationships, but at the very least i wanted to hold her while she took care of herself. Her apartment on the upper west side had a cool kittycat and a cool vibe. We talked awhile, then got ready for bed. She made a fun happy noise at the sight of me naked. She was a bit out of shape, but very cute. She became sexual, and took delight in disrobing as we held each other. She was almost apologetic, saying she hoped i didn’t mind her getting naked too. I told her of course i didn’t mind. We gave each other baby kisses, then she masturbated while i held and caressed her. I’d wanted to do that with a woman for a long time...i'd even thought that every sexual relationship should start that way. It was beautiful. We shared some more sexual cuddling in the morning. I felt that i might not end up being profoundly into her, but i was open to letting whatever unfold. However, that night was our last. We e-mailed for another week or two. She apologized for being a horndog our first night, and i happily assured her she had nothing to apologize for...but eventually i just stopped hearing from her. Inexplicably. Maybe i had morning breath.

lakota

WOMEN 71
A very special human being, a poet and social worker who had recently been honored for her work helping indonesian tsunami victims. We met online, and shared a wonderful correspondence for a month or so. Soul mate poetry-swapping kind of stuff. Her words were beautiful and bohemian and powerful, with a singular spiritual sexuality. She loved my writing too. We shared flirtatious calls. She'd been a dancer, until a parachuting accident. She had a young son with a learning disability (which she didn’t mention until we met...though it wouldn't have kept us from meeting). I visited her Brooklyn home, and she made a wonderful dinner. We watched a film, and she invited me to sleep over. I happily accepted, and we shared her small bed. Being good bohemians, we slept naked, sharing embraces that became sexual. I barely kept from penetrating her...i can remember how intoxicating it felt and looked, as my penis lay in the folds of her ebony vulva, a drop of semen indicating how close i'd come to ejaculating. It was amazing...but i knew i was rushing things, for me. The next day, i wrote to her that i'd felt a bit over my head with such quick intimacy, and requested that we take the sexual side of our relationship back to square one. I never heard from her again. I think i was also afraid i wasn’t who she needed at that moment, so i didn’t fight her silence. Did the reality of a young son in a house with no father figure get into my head? Yes. A few years later, in the anguish of loneliness, remembering how beautiful our one night was and how warm and comforting it was to share our spirits, i tried to contact her. The best i could find was a postal address that might or might not have been hers. I never heard back.