Seeing THE boy, first installment

We met on a street corner. He was coming from a full day of work. I was coming from half a bottle of wine with dinner for courage and an energy drink to combat the time difference
The entire week I was preparing for this, I hadn’t seen him in over a year. I didn’t know how things would go. Would he still be interested, would I?
I told all my friends not to worry, this is just drinks, that’s it. We’re two old friends catching up after 5 years of a tumultuous relationship consisting of fantasy and disappointment. This was just a drink, catch up and then walk away so I can go live my life; closure.
The second I saw him all that shit went out of the window. I knew exactly what I was doing that evening, I was fucking him. We walked to a bar downtown; he’s holding a briefcase. I make some snotty comment about him having a real job and needing a briefcase; he counters my snotty remark by showing me the contents of his briefcase. Half a Subway sandwich. His attaché is a lunchbox.
He takes me to one of those fancy nightclubs that most cities have. According to my friend, it’s the swankiest place downtown. To me, it just seems like all the other generic nightclubs I have been to. Dark maroon walls, gothic/modern binary, $10 drinks, too loud music, bottle service. It’s a Thursday and the place is quiet when we get there. After our first drink the after work crowd has landed and the music is thumping and the bottle service is pushing in on our little corner. He’s trying to impress me; this is what he thinks I’m into. I do, a little, and I’m flattered he was trying to pick a meeting spot that he thought I would enjoy, although I would have preferred a little hole in the wall where we could talk, snuggle and perhaps get a little inappropriate.
We’re sitting too close, like people who want to get inside each other. I’m probably smiling too much. We make small talk, school, his job, funny stories. I laugh too much and he moves in closer, putting his hand around my shoulders. I look up into those green eyes and smile. I want to do this, I can’t do this; I’m going to do this.
I want to stay like this forever, the tension, the ease. We’re old friends and shy (yet freaky) lovers. I want to hold his face; I want to gently touch every part of his body and then hit him so hard so he can finally feel what it’s like to love him. I want to do all of this right here in this yuppie bar.
I want a quiet booth where we can flirt and catch up. I ask him if he knows anywhere near here where we can get a beer that doesn’t cost $7, I feel like a PBR.
“Well there is a bar by my apartment”
Now I know his apartment isn’t close, this is not a hop skip and a jump. This is a $25 cab ride or a 30 min train ride. I make a face at him that basically translates to “oh really?” He gets a little flustered; maybe worried that he misread my signals. Now, I wish I can say no to him, have some backbone, prove to him that he’s not always on my mind. But at that moment all I want to do is see him naked, see what underwear he has under his baggy business casual.
“I’ll drive you back in the morning…”
He says please and of course I relent. We leave the bar holding hands, I lean into him for support; he gives it. I want this forever, walking confidently next to him, at his side. His hands are large and his fingers wrap around mine protectively, tender yet strong.
I love his hands, I hate mine. Mine are spindly and look like old lady hands. They’re small and jointy. Hs hands are long, surprisingly gentle and soft for all the sports he plays. His hands represent him entirely. They’re long and delicate; yet look like they would be at home doing manual labor.
We’re walking through the city hand in hand, talking about everything…nothing. I just remember that I was touching him. I get so emotional around him because its so fleeting and I have such intense feelings.
We go back to the apartment he shares with 3 other people. I’m loud, I’m always loud, and I can’t help it. Especially when I’m slightly nervous, I turn loud and flirty. I get like national anthem at a baseball game loud. He keeps shh-ing me, I tickle him and nuzzle my head into his chest; it’s where I reach. He wraps his hands around me and we stand in his small kitchen, my head on his chest. I think we both needed some tenderness, closeness: intimacy. I always wonder how a boy like this likes me. I’m not ugly, but girls fawn over him. It feels comfortable, but there is always that insecurity whispering in my ear.
We grab an large bottle of cheap white wine and two glasses and head to his room. He puts music on, lights some candles and we sit in the glow, shadows jumping off our faces
The rest is hard to write. I of course ruin the mood and get serious. I love this kid, I love being with him and sometimes I can’t keep my trap shut and just enjoy the moment. He says all the right things, but at this point who knows if it’s the wine, the late hour, or his hard on talking.
To be continued…

My friends are beginning to get married

I’m a wee bit lonely. Not that I don’t have activities I can do to fill my days. I truly do enjoy spending time alone. Hanging out can be a lot of work sometimes and it makes me tired and weary. I love people, I love socializing, but there are times when you want to be able to sit in your pajamas. There are only a few people I feel comfortable with getting comfortable (does that make sense?). I am ready to find that person whom I’m attracted to but can also be included in alone time. I am looking for someone to share downtime with. I want to be able to laugh so hard, I know I look funny. I want to be able to try some new sexual position or even just work out to an exercise video with them in the room and not be nervous that I 1- look stupid 2- might fart.
I think that’s love; being around someone who enjoys life so much, the big events and the small, that you don’t mind occasionally looking funny in front of. You find their funny faces endearing and they find yours cute. I think they call this intimacy.
I’ve had this with some friends over the years, that level of closeness. I let my guard down, don’t worry about being around them makeup-less and laugh until I almost pee. I want this with someone who I can also fuck. I want the added bonus of regular sex that most definitely includes funny faces and weird noises. I want my needs to be your wants, and your wants to be my needs. I want us both to be able to hold that warm squishy center that is vulnerability and finally break down all my walls.
My friends are beginning to get married, and I am worried I am either going to be alone forever or will have to start settling.

I just want to see you smile

I’ve been purposefully silent recently on the goings on with “the boy” and me. I didn’t want to jinx anything, also I don’t know if there is anything to jinx. Like always its 3 steps fwd 27,000 steps back. I haven’t spoken to him in over a week, actually one week two days. I waffle between this is good for me to love him to I’m wasting my time and putting myself through heartache. But for some reason we work, although he has the ability to make me hurt (emotionally not physically). I get all needy and self-conscious when I don't hear from him regularly, and he never seems to have his shit together, oh and lives two time zones away. Well besides all those things.
But through him, I am figuring out a lot of things, especially what I am looking for in a long-term relationship. There was a line in “Las Vegas” from last week that really struck me, I know I can’t believe I’m quoting a TV show that stars Tom Selleck, but cut me some slack. This woman was talking about finding your mate. You just have to find the person whose greatest happiness is watching you be happy [so simple, but so difficult to find]. But this comes from a specific place, not in a "I want to defer all ideas, thoughts and feelings to you so you can control the outcome, its more like let’s meet in the middle and appreciate what we bring to the table, no matter how bizarre".
I am happy when you put up with my eccentricities and are interested in them, not necessarily because they are yours, but because it makes you happy that I am happy. I love animals, I love them like the abominable snowman in those Looney tunes cartoons. I must love them, and hold them and name them all George. I smother all things fluffy. It’s a warped childhood fantasy I’ve always had. You remember when [insert Disney princess here] sings her trademark song in some sort of [forest, ocean, jungle, etc] and [insert cute doe eyed animals] come up to her and accompany her? That has always been my dream. Yet since this is the real world and not an animated fairy tale, wild animals do not so readily come to me, so I have to hunt them down or purchase them from pet stores. Which I did recently, I caught a baby mole. Mind you, I was with my dog and he had zero predatory instinct and actually was looking at me like I was insane. But I called “the boy” at work, and even though he was busy, he let me yammer on about this little mole [that actually looked like cartoon moles!!!]
The mole, plus the conversation made my day. I hope he knows how much that meant to me.

Oh yea, and we also had some steamy late night phone sex, that was great too ;)

Spy v. Spy

so i thought I would use this forum also to just air my dirty laundry and talk smack about myself. For someone who wants to be able to call the shots in the bedroom, you would expect extreme confidence. But sadly, that is not the case. Mind you, I do have some, but I am still trying to come to terms with who I am in a world of people who are not like me. I mean, I went to an elite university full of wasps and that totally freaked me out, not being included in things just because I couldn't trace my family back to the Mayflower and my family likes to eat "ethnic" foods and I tan easier than most. So therefore I have a sick desire to become, waif-like, blonde, and generally unexciting. It looks easier, they always have boyfriends (I never have one, I just have my stable of losers who flit in and out, but who I love desperately and get upset when they move on and find serious relationships that aren't me. Although I doubt I would want any of them around for more than few days without wanting to hurt them, and not in the good way.) I am not tall, I am not skinny, and I am far from the blonde boarding school girls decked out in their Lilly Pulitzer that I so despise and admire at the same time. I like my quirks, I just wish it landed me more decent men. This does then go back to the point that I usually like douchebags...
But if it wasn't for all the douches, I would have never found my calling. All douches (I shouldn't essentialize, but since this is my forum, I will) feel they need to take charge in th bedroom. And this always leads to me thinking of my "to do" list and having my head crammed un uncomfortable positions that make my neck hurt, and my self-esteem plumet. I feel that all men should make it their goal to make sure a woman (or man) feels comfortable when they have their mouth around your dick. I hated the humiliation I felt when this would happen. I don't like being on the recieving end of humiliation or pain, yet, when I took control, told them what to do, what I want and where they could shove their uncomfortable high school blow jobs I got excited, wet, and with the ones who found my excitement a turn on, things got fun. So I guess this is a post about my conflicted selves. The self who wants the bland barbie life with her blonde wasp who has missionary sex and only cares about their gratification (but this is only because of the gorgeous facade they display and parade at country clubs that won't accept me as a member) and the person who I am, yet sometimes I am ashamed of. She's weird and quirky, is a fan of high heels and slutty makeup and wants to find a man (maybe even a few) who want to explore what I want, because that is also what they want and maybe, I'll be at peace with who I am if I find someone else to walk besides me all the way?
so cheesy and lame, but sometimes we all get a little sentimental.