A conversation that would not occur so here it is

This is what I think about this faux relationship I have with B. I think in the priority list, I ranked near at the bottom for him. He started to behave as if he was treating me like a booty call. He said nice things to calm me down, he used the words "I love you" a lot, in both writing and when speaking to him, because he thinks this is a way to secure his position in my life.

When I asked him to discuss things, he said that we do need to talk. I initially thought that he meant that he wanted to talk about how to spend more time together, and to try to get to know one another like two real people in a real relationship, but I knew deep inside he just wanted to "talk" so that he could calm me down if he sensed that I was feeling anxious or wanted some sort of commitment or progress.

He would never change. He had lived all his life sleeping around, having multiple relationships at the same time, even in the alleged relationship we had, he was out there dating other women. I imagined that he had a few of these faux relationship scattered around the country. Some women wanted relationships with him, some did not, and I'm one of the "some".

Whenever I was feeling confident and secure in the relationship, he would then withdraw. There was no advancement, After two and half years of seeing each other on occasion, our relationship remained like a chapter ripped out of a novel, just the same chapter, never any progression to the story line, never climax, never an arc, never a real thing.

I found the entire situation mildly frustrating, though I have been in this situation for so long that I knew that if I got nervous nothing would come out of it. I couldn't possibly feel that he loved me if he can't make himself available to see me. To introduce him to any of his friends, to make a space in his life that allowed me in. None of that had ever happened, and would never happen. Not even a weekender trip, not even to visit him out of town while he's working would have worked. He had no intention to bring me to the broad day light. It would never even occur to me that he was like this before me, but I suspected he was, and he had always been someone who needed multiple relationships to keep his ego boosted and to keep him from not having access to pussy.

When he first said to me that we should have a talk, my reaction was really the simple. I wanted to tell him that we didn't have to advance our relationship if that's not what he wanted. It was quite alright to keep it status quo. I would eventually leave, because for me the stimulation must come from change, but I would be happy to give this a go, a try, a little longer time. I would need not to love him but I would have fun still when we did manage to get together. I would be happy to move forward the relationship if he wanted to give it an earnest try, but I think given his track record, he had no real incentive to start a real relationship where he would be sharing his life with one person and one person only. I had , on the contrary, a 12.5 years of pure monogamy. While I was okay being in a "dating" mode, I was better at being in a monogamous relationship.  I would like to advance this relationship, as simple as going out on a weekend on a real date, or not have him to flake on me all the time. Have some level of reliance of what he said would become a reality.

But I can't say these things to him. He had no interest in my words. He would only be interested in prolonging our arrangement, or preserving my interest level in this. In that regard, I felt sad and disappointed. I felt utterly sad that I could not make him to love me really. But that was not a surprise, or should not be. But I was not planning to change any of my behavior,, I still felt a strong pull from him, but each time he did things to disappoint me, each time he said no to seeing me, each time he made me feel like that I was at the bottom of his priority list, that pull became weakened.

We all each get with what we put in.

And that was going to be the conversation I would have with him anyway.

Emotional intimacy

For years I watched sad movies so that I could feel. Twelve years of putting my emotions on ice, now they are thawed out and I couldn't figure out how to find a place to park them, these misfits, these unimaginative, raw things called feelings.

This was a story that took place a while back. When the feelings first got thawed out and how I could have and should have done something different about my approach, but instead I ran the other way. Until we discussed it and changed our approach.

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He was telling me that my shirt was showing too much cleavage over dinner. He said that to cover it up. He cut me off when I rambled on things. He didn't want to hear it. Then he kicked me under the table for not wanting to tell him what I thought.

"You are usually very reserved". He'd say.

I was never really that open with him at first. I tried to stay on the surface. He was never really the type for me to open up my emotions with.

He trod carefully. He said the other night when I panicked and screamed, "Don't leave. Don't leave this car." he had never seen so much emotions or pain in my face. "It rarely happened. I only saw it once before. When I told my girlfriend of two years that I was leaving to move here, I saw the pain on her face was real. That night I saw so much on your face. It affected me. I told myself that I have to be more careful with what I say or do. I couldn't bear your pain. I couldn't bear seeing you in pain. It affected me." He said as he flicked some ashes from his cigarette. I smiled. I had regained my composure the next day. I was able to project an air of coolness by then.

But I knew exactly what he meant. I rarely showed emotions. I rarely let people know when I was hurting. I may shed some tears while driving in a car, alone, but I couldn't possibly let people know how I truly felt. I sought revenge to compensate for the hurt I felt. I detachedmyself by going to another person. I distracted myself.  I couldn't articulate how much I was hurt and how angry I was with the person who hurt me, so I shut down. But that night he saw the raw emotions I felt once. And that troubled him.

"Since then I wanted to be careful with what I say to you. I was worried about how I would make you feel. I saw so much emotion that night - I couldn't bear to hurt you again." He told me that evening all the things I didn't want to hear. I rather for him to have forgotten it. Instead he became so polite and so careful. He thanked me for everything I did. He went to places we went together. He became quiet otherwise.

It was not that long ago when we got into such a huge fight that when a small little thing came up, I threatened to break up. I yelled. I said terrible things in return, but I was sad that he did not fight back. He took it all in. And he let me vent, he got angry but he did not fight back. It was the third fight we'd had - I told him that I never fought with anyone. He was the only person I had shared that level of intensity with, not just FELT, but EXPRESSED.

That evening we talked. He didn't say much really. I told him that I knew that I overreacted and he started to feel so emotional. I told him that instead of being so absolute I should have been more rational. I apologized. he brought me close and  hugged me. He and I disagreed on the frequency we talked. I agreed with him on concept but I didn't want him to tell me that. It was more of the fact that he said it first that upset me. I was a brat. I didn't like to be challenged. So I told him that I never wanted to talk or see him again. He was hurt and I was hurt as well. In the end, we did what we could. We stepped aside and continued and pretended everything was okay. We became friends but we were not as intimate as we were once. That night I saw his tears as he drew me closer. Pretty soon our lips were locked and we kissed but I decided it was best to leave as is and not push for it. I didn't want to tip the balance.

Just like that, I apologized for my irrational bratty move. He stopped being so depressed because he thought that I didn't want to be with him any more.

We dated for some time. I loved how he looked. He was beautiful and charismatic. He had those eyes that changed colors from blue to green. On days when he combed his hair forward and dark framed glasses he looked Irish and on days when he wore those silver framed glasses and combed his hair backward, he looked German. When he smiled the world lit up and when we were together people praised us because we looked good together. People liked good looking attractive couples. We fit well together publicly. We did many activities and we laughed together.

Eventually it ran its course. But throughout that relationship I never yelled again. I never reacted poorly to his suggestions again. I stayed calm and I let my guard down. We talked about feelings and we tried to slow down at times to let each other to be heard. We even started to sleep together again. I had an overnight bag in his place. He had one at mine. When it ended we remained friends. Just like he saw the panic on my face, I saw his sad face when he cried. We were two emotional being together. When that relationship ended, I never could let my guards down again. I cried on my own when men hurt me, and I wished that he could be there to hug me when I was sad. Then, life caught on.

I missed that level of emotional intimacy to this date.

Friends are good to have

Had my usual pre-Christmas gathering with E. E and I have been friends for a year and half. We get along well. In a sort of very Scandinavian way. He's a chiller. Someone who is very successful in his professional life but incredibly grounded. And a hard core burning man goer. I always hear good stories from him, and I liked the stories.

We used to see each other lunch once a week, but as work has gotten busy and he's less accessible. But he's probably one of my most prolific friends out there.We have so much mutual understanding it's hard to imagine why in another life we would not have become partners. On the other hand, I think he understands that I have a family, and I understand he has his life and we sort of live our lives like Scandinavians. We are both reserved and emotionally closed off. But we tend to have a good time whenever we go out.

E likes to go dancing late in the evenings on his own. He's quite secure that way. He is one of the smartest guys I know and he's suave. I liked that about him. His middle name is the same as A's middle name and is the same B's first name which makes me wonder if universe tends to send a specific type to me but then again if I knew the real answer would I be happy with it?

We had a good time to catch up. We chatted about our upcoming trips. He's not going out of town but I was. We usually try to do something before New Year but we would have to see. It's always fun to meet up with E because he's one of the best person to chill with. I didn't have to be someone else. We talked about music, politics and books he's been reading. A would probably never be like E. A may be one day be like B. I couldn't imagine that though somehow. I did tell E about this annoying person who's been calling me. I couldn't deal with emotional intimacy on a day to day basis. I found that was perhaps the most painful thing to deal with, to talk about feelings. E knew that. We always just talk about surface like things. But they are fine. They are majority part of our life anyway. I sure hope E and I will continue to be friends. He's the most grounding force in my life.

I like friends. 

Finding our way

D was sending me text message saying that he was late. Whatever. He's always late. I had trouble picturing me with him day in and day out, doing stuff. It made me slightly uncomfortable. When we we were done he wanted to grab coffee. I kept my emotional distance because I couldn't get myself all worked up with him - seeing that he had been so incredibly needy lately, we both needed a break from this friendship we formed.

I took him to my favorite joint. He ordered food and bought me a drink. He saw that they were serving butternut squash soup. I told him yes it was great. He then told me that he went to Bristol Farm and bought butternut squash soup, poki and cheese and crackers on Friday for lunch. He said that it reminded him of me. I used to bring food to him when he was sick, I told him where I fetched the food, and he wanted to return there.

We talked about politics and technology. We talked about his pending move, things happened at work. We talked about things that mattered or not mattered. We talked about life. I started to establish eye contact again. I was hurt. He was hurt. I didn't know how we got there. It was a strange dynamic, because neither one of us wanted anything from each other. It was not even a physical intimacy or any sort of emotional attachment. It was more of a shock, an aftershock. We were so close for a short but intense period of time, and neither one of us wanted that so we stopped being so close and we missed one another. It was painful. I rarely felt pained with people. It was easy to keep that emotional distance. To keep them at bay but occasionally a strange bond developed and I couldn't focus on things. I couldn't focus on a life without D's existence. He loved doing things with me. We were great activity partners. I enjoyed that. I also liked the fact that his life was starting and mine was closing in on me. It brought me hope and joy.

I had been looking for steady companionship. I was not looking for one when D showed up. I was perfectly fine doing my own thing, minding my own business. But then we became close friends. More like girlfriends who shared thoughts than boyfriend girlfriend. It was never about that romance, it was about something fundamentally different, like he was part of me, and I needed his existence to feel whole, Yet it was NEVER sexual.

I didn't tell him about that guy who was chasing me again. That guy whom I've not spoken with for nearly a year, was getting obsessed with me again and started to call. I didn't tell him that another friend was beginning to want to spend more time with me than I could offer, he was just fresh of a relationship and he wanted to be with me more, but I can't stand that. I did not tell him that I was in love with B. He shared B's racial heritage and was half of B's age.  I needed distance, distance from men or women. I could only take them in small dosages. He did not need to hear that. 

He wanted to hear what we had. 

Wanted to go and have lunch at OUR restaurant. I didn't know we had one, but he wanted something that was just ours, and ours alone. So we found a restaurant one evening and we've been going back there ever since.

He was to leave town. I asked him about something more personal. But he said that he needed time. He said that it would be a few weeks to figure it out. I said, try two years.  

From 2000 to 2011,  I was in a very weird, different place, and then something happened, I did not get to where I was without the 11 years of completely different life path, but now that I was here, I couldn't figure me out any more. The problem with remembering the past, was that I had no future that would resemble any sense of the past. Once you have children, you could never be really who you once were. For me at least I finally picked up where I left off in 2000 and that person was still in me, I just didn't know how much of her was still left.

And really it was never going to be that version of me anyway, it was entirely a different person coming out of the shell. I couldn't tell D at all about me. I didn't want to tell him so much so soon. He was a curious case. I sort of feel heart break when we decided to redo the path we were on, though I didn't know why I was feeling so sad.

D wanted to go to this museum event with me. I suggested and he wanted to go before I had suggested. It would be after he returned from home. I said that was fine. 

I couldn't really tell what was what. I sort of drift from one mood to another.

I couldn't figure any of this out because I think he would be someone important. Someone who was different from the rest of the guy friends I had. I had begun to realize perhaps the choice all along was there. He came into my life to assure me that life was meant to be full of different intrigues. I had stopped wanting to sleep around in August. There were quite a few of them, yet I just was not interested in them. D was a different case. He wanted something greater and non physical, but I did't know what that was. I was constantly irritated by him. I wanted lesser of him. I could't handle intimate non physical relationship. I liked space and D wanted just be there, no matter what I did. I couldn't handle that. I wanted my space, and he wanted his space, but then he wanted more of me. 

I had no experience with this. I could turn my back on D and walk out but I couldn't face it. 

I was not exactly the most confident type. I suppose I would have to wait.

D said that we've known each other for a long while now. I told him, try 10 years, try something more than a few months. 

D wanted to be my best friend, until I die. He once told me that he wanted to be there, visiting me in a nursing home, when I was frail. I could only picture my old age with the person I love. Thus my future often had B in it. But in D's world, I was there in his old age, and him in mine too.

It puzzled me. It made me realized perhaps I couldn't know what was that men wanted of me. Perhaps we always chase what we couldn't have.

D and I broke each other's hearts in the process.

We were more than friends. But not sexual friends. We were not sure what that was, now like two blind persons, we must find our way back to each other's lives using every tool we could find along the way. We must stop hurting each other.

We must learn to love one another again.

The Clothesline

From that same window where I had observed sun rising from the sky, I saw two clotheslines hanging from one side of the house to the side of another house. A retractable wheel that allowed one to pull the clothes in and out, after they had been sun dried and kissed. There were four black shirts hanging on one of the two lines, the further out one, and three gray shirts and a pair of white underwear hanging on the line closer to me.

I stood by the window, where I often admired the rising sun over the bay, and I watched the clothes being blown gently by the southern trade wind. This was a beautiful apartment, one that I could get used to. One I had gotten used to, on occasion. The clotheslines reminded me of another house, another house I owned, a similar clothesline hung from the deck. It was installed by the prior owner. If you traced the line, you’d see it ending at the other side of the street on a pole. The backyard ended before the line ended. The clotheslines used the same mechanical component. I was always fascinated by it. I liked how it went on and on. On that deck I could see the bay also, the east bay. At that precise moment, I had a daring thought. I wanted to invite B to see my other house.

B stood next to me, and said, “Isn’t that cool? I wanted to do a photo documentary of the clothes that have been hung on those lines. It’s illegal to have clotheslines in San Francisco, can you believe it?”

"Such a shame." I answered. I liked clotheslines. I liked clothes hanging on the clotheslines. They smelled wonderful, like the sun, like the spring, like the air. They took on the surrounding environment. Whatever and however the world smelled next to them, they smelled like them. It became them. My old house in the hills had a clothesline, though they were not used. It was surrounded by eucalyptus trees. I wished that I had strung some clothes. At my house now, I had built two clotheslines in the backyard. But I rarely did my own laundry, my maid might have done something with the lines, though I was never quite sure. As she came in during the day, before my return.

In my French country home, there were two clotheslines as well. They were strung from the stone walls to the large pine trees all the way to the back of a deep yard. No doubt my previous owner, a middle age Bostonian blue blood woman, used wooden clothespins to clip on her colorful silk dresses she worn in the summer, next to the lilac bushes.

"Often they would have different colored clothes on the lines. There was a pattern." B continued. That day, it was rather monochromatic. B seemed disappointed. I pictured some days there would be a rainbow colored soft silk shirts all lined up. They’d be blown by the gentle wind, and instead of clothes, they would look like the colorful blue and red silk drapes hung just below the translucent plastic ceiling at a typical Southern Indian open market.

Earlier that afternoon, B and I laid quietly next to each other, we had drifted into sleep, after we’d done exploring each other. He asked me about my childhood after I woke up. So I shared some stories.

Once B wrote to me that he wanted to get to know me more, about my childhood, my life back in the motherland, and my background. I found myself telling B about moving to a high school where they had a dormitory and how I ended up in one when I was only 12. I had been out of the house since I was a young girl. B listened and occasionally asked questions. I had gone back to my journals from 1998. I learned that I used to tell him all those stories, or at least somethings about me, as he fed me green tea ice cream after we devoured sushi. In bed he used to say how much he liked me, how I was both fragile and strong. But B had forgotten about our past, our dates and our embraces. We were once close, and then we drifted apart, by the time we came back to each other, we had to start all over again. I knew nothing of him. He knew nothing of me. We were two strangers who were drawn to each other’s scents.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I’m part German. Part English or Irish." He answered as I examined two old photos of his ancestors on the wall. They moved to Nebraska. He said.

Last year while I was sailing in Europe, he visited his relatives in Nebraska with his son. I knew so little about him, yet I remembered everything he told me.

Under the sunlight I saw wrinkles on B’s face. I saw not the young man I first met but this mature man who held my affection.

I asked him what time our Christmas dinner was, he said, “on the early side”.

I laughed. “Yes so that we could take advantage of the early bird special for senior citizens. Like the Sizzler.”

He replied, “Yes, in two years. Then I could.”

In two years B would enter the middle age. I realized that I liked this version of him much more. We needed to both grow apart, to start different lives, before we could meet and be together again.

For his middle age birthday, I had promised B that I would take him to see my homeland, somewhere far and away, somewhere ancient, somewhere clotheslines were strung in every street corner, on which cotton sheets and baby onesies, young woman’s bras and grandma’s handkerchieves were hung.

What's for lunch

Scheduled a lunch. Thought it was a good lunch plan. But he was not in his office, he's working at home. To get some 2014 planning done. He said that he wanted to work on 2014 software. I wanted to see what it looked like but he won't show it to me, because it's not done yet.

I love him. Pure and simple. No other men compared. He was the one and only for me. This is my opportunity to happiness. I can't imagine being with anyone else. That's pretty final. I love him more than I love anyone else. It's just that after two plus years of seeing this man, and realize that all of my passion is tied to him and him only, it's pretty powerful. And liberating. He's the one I choose to be with.

It was the middle of the afternoon when I arrived. I had not read his note about him being sick later, and that I didn't have enough time. I was busy working. But it did not phase him so I went up. I just wanted to kiss him and strip down and lie next to him. We did just that after we had sex. I liked the way the room smelled. It felt warm and toasty. He was in a shirt and jeans. I could see his face. He's nearly 50. Two more years he'll be 50. I love him no matter how old he is. I still remembered him as this young, good looking man who adored me.

When I was on his couch I noticed that there were photos hanging on the wall. He told me that they were his ancestors. He told me that he was half German (I knew that), and half English or Irish (I guessed that much). I liked that combination. I always did. I never asked him much about his background or his family. I suppose if we were to have a future together we would know that about each other - one day.

He was telling me that he was a little under the weather. I wanted to know when we'd get together for this Christmas dinner. I wanted to sleep over but I asked because I was not sure. I wanted to be with him. Pure and simple. I didn't ask him what our lives would be. But I knew that he knew that I wanted to be with him. Leaving my life behind to be with him.

At some point you just knew. I couldn't go back to before. I could only be with him. I wanted him and I wanted to be in a world where he was not just a figment of my imagination. I wanted him to be there, for me, as a man, as my man.

When it was over he put back on his glasses. I liked how his eyes looked under the daylight. They were green. I liked how his hair looked. They were a mixture of blond highlights and gray.

I liked every part of him. It was strange to feel that way about a man I've been with, obsessed with, and in love with, after two plus years.

I wonder if those feelings persist and I wonder if I could be with him, for the rest of my life. 

Declaration

Emotional valve is on when it contains a physical component. It feeds one another and the bond is formed over time. When the emotional valve is on, I'm intense, passionate, caring, funny, giving, generous, sensitive, and I carry you in the forefront of my every thought. When it's off, I'm cool, collected, easy going, carefree, low maintenance, and I place no demand nor expectation of you. 

Usually, I'm off. 

Sometimes, while the emotional valve is on, the bond grows, eventually, a deeper meaning ascends. That's what I would call love. The two sides of me start to blend into one another, and an equilibrium is achieved. 

 

To achieve that equilibrium, it takes patience, the right person, timing, and of course, the passage of time. 

When the emotional valve is on, it makes the day shines brighter and life worth living.

And I now know what's like to blend the two. I love you. 

Leap of Faith

I finished my book. Finally. It's really just something I put together for B. More for me really, considering it's a documentary of my life with his. There were some gaps, Gaps developed when I thought that he no longer wanted me. I still am not convinced that he wants me. I fear that he does not and I feel that this won't end well.

I have managed to never feel this way for anyone for this long time.

I have decided that if one day we must take the leap of faith.

I hope that one day will be not just a matter of speech. I hope one day will be here, in my lifetime.

It is too late

Saw someone I used to date. I had moved on. Eventually. He had not. I could tell.

Spent a little time together. He wanted to offer something of his to me. I did not wan to take anything but I received it anyway. a piece of kevlar, the world strongest thread. I talked to him. I held his hand but I felt absolutely nothing but a slight sadness.

When things were over it was over. It was never meant to be prolonged. It was never meant to be remembered. He had not one but two new girlfriends. He was always very honest with me. He was never honest with them. I knew more about them than they know about him, combined.

I told him about my love for B. I need to be with B. I love him like no other. I need to be B's and B's only. He told me about the theories. I told him that I've never loved someone this long. This consistently. I need him like I need air.

Where do I go from here. I don't know.

But I do know that my ability to forget and to move on is pretty amazing. But when I love someone, it became undying love.

It is too late for him to have a chance with me. I've moved on. I should. I ought to. I have.

Where do we go from here

I set my alarm at 5:45. I don't like to be late to see him. I don't like it because our time was often so limited. I found the entire getting together and then separate thing exhausting because I love to be with him more often. More often than what he allocated to me.

He's funny. I think the more he knows me and knows where I'm at vis-sa-vis this relationship, the more comfortable he is with himself and his natural self is a very funny self.

When he sees me he kisses me he wants to be with me. I like that. I like that I'm his and I'm equally aroused with him. I can't imagine not being with him or being with others. I don't feel sexually charged with anyone else, not for a long time. I don't need to feel anxious around him any more. I just need a definitive ending. Whatever it is, I want it to be one.

He said that he wants to have a talk with me but not today. It sounded like that to my question he seems to have an opinion. He wants to have a talk with me. I said OK. I think at this point he knows where my head is at.

But where do we go from here? I don't want this to be a secret any more. I think this is a road that we are on that is not going to end well if either one of us is not on the same page.

I told him for Christmas I want to string all the stories and give it to him like a book. But I worry about the content because not all of it is flattering. I want to see him as soon as he gets back.

I want him and I need him. That's a fact. And one day I want to be free of secrets. I want to know when I go home I am looking forward to being with the person I've been madly in love with for years. I want to know that when the sun is down I'm with him and when the sun is up I'm with him.

I want to feel loved and I want to love someone.

I want that someone to be him. Perhaps that's what we have been looking for. We want to find that person that makes us feel alive. I have found the person.

But where do we go from here? How should we proceed? What changes one must make? What would he be willing to do?

If you love someone so completely so passionately, how do you go from point A to point B?

Being a mortal

When I was young and living in China, I was told stories of fairies. They descended from the heavens and came down to earth, to be a mortal, so that they could fall in love. I began to think that was not just isolated to fairies in Chinese legends. I began to think that was really how life intended to be.

You must become a mortal, to feel, to love, to cry, to know that your life as you knew it would end soon, and the life you'd start with the loved one, your loved one, would be full of treacheries, and there were so many unknowns ahead of you: 

"Would he love you till the end of the day? Would you love him? Would it be worth all the sacrifices you made? Would you regret it? Would you still love him if you knew more about him than he let on? Would you be willing to forgo your sheltered, bubbled, immortal life for the real one with him? Would he betray you? Grow tired of you? Stop feeling passionate about you? Would he leave you?"  

That was perhaps what love was really about. To take a leap of faith, to know the mirage may one day disappear after a sandstorm, but alas, you could feel, even for that brief moment.

To feel, is a powerful thing. I want to feel, again, sometime, some day.

On Getting Bored Easily

My week was long and difficult. In part I had taken on more than I should and I'm struggling to keep my interest level high. I have lots on my plate and most of the things are semi expected but not exactly.

My enthusiasm runs low. I find myself asking why I was so easily bored. I'm easily bored of people. I'm easily bored of my surroundings. I'm easily bored of a lot of things.

I can't keep up with this. Boy is cute. Boy is sexually not oriented my way. That helps me. But the mere encounters with him is tiring me out. I do not like him that much. I find his conversations boring. There are high notes. There are moments where he would say things that made me realize that I like him. There are other moments where I could not stand the sight of him. I'm bored of him. He wants my attention.

I want disengagement.

A man who I had not seen for months or heard contacted me to want to know if I was doing anything this Saturday night. I suspect it's his company's annual Christmas party and he wanted to take me out.

I had liked him lightly, and I was bored. Then for months and months I did not hear from him. I thought that he was gone for good but then he contacted me. Last year at this time we were seeing each other for some time.

I think he is ending yet another relationship and somehow he wanted to reengage me. I have no interest in him. I find the note funny.

One of my very good friends said to me that I must have some sort of power. Men tend to want to come back to me. They all do. I don't understand it but ever since I was very young men tend to want to be with me. No matter how or who ended it, they all want to see me after a certain period. They wanted me and they wanted to haec me stay in their lives. I got an email from C just the other day. He missed me and he wanted to see me. I no longer care.

I'm bored easily.

I suppose this is what happened when you love someone. No matter what other people do to you, they are just white noises. They do not exist. Your world exists purely with him. He whom you love. I have always loved B. All of the other people come and go and he stays.

I wanted to tell the boy to stop wanting to see me so much. Stop bugging me. Stop being so dependent on me.

I have gotten bored of many, C, D, E. Now this little boy.

I can't deal with them. I find them boring. I find them utterly boring, gay or straight. Sexual or non sexual.

Eventually I get bored of everyone. And I remain faithfully in love with B. No matter what happens. I know that I love him. I find that notion bizarre and undoubtedly strange. I guess that's what we are. We love who we love. That's the end of it all. And at the end of the day, there is only one person matters to us. 

Stress relief

Every once in a while we need stress relief.

It's not the act of sex mattered it's what it represented. It represented hope, passion, desire and escape.

When love fails, when you cannot give more than you could give, when you fear what you truly feel and when you know the inevitable is near, you try to escape, you try to go for that one person, one place, where love is not in the equation, and time tested passion lingered.

We should and ought to have that one person we all feel comfortable with, with clothes on or off, with faults and no faults, with history, and a possibility of non drama.

We should know who that is, and when to get together with that person. It could be weekly get together or it could be every few weeks. Time passing is not important, there is never gift exchanges or promises made, it is just all for fun.

I think we all have friends like that, friends, with benefits, but significantly more friends, than benefits, or benefit with friends but not with some level of trust or lack of expectations.

Not like he who loved me, he said that he missed me but did not want to see me, sometimes months passed and he did not call or email or want to see me.

Not like the boy who has grown so dependent on me, that not one day pass did he not call me or text me or want to hang out with me. He tells me everything and more. He said that he was not good at keeping friends and then I said, we are friends, what about us? he said, "but we are more than friends." I looked puzzled. I was unaware of my effect on the boy. I was not sure how to tell him that one day I should be bored of you, just like I had been bored of everyone before you.

I was not bored of B because I loved him. I love every decade or so. The rest I get bored but I won't leave them. I simply just started to prolong the gap between each visit. I did not care about anyone else. I only cared about B. I would do everything for B, but not others. So boy don't get too tangled up on me. Please don't.

I take care of the boy like he was my third child. But we have grown too close too fast. I had already lost my interest in him. I wanted someone, something else to substitute B with.

A cute friend asked me out on Friday. I was busy. So I said no, He said how about Saturday? We'd go and have dinner. Boy was curious but not sure how to handle that. So he wanted to know if I should change to lunch and invite him along. He wanted to be with me and a man. I asked the other friend whom I used to bed with, he said maybe, he would not be bored of this boy and he would be interested in having the boy to blow him.

"Have you told him about us?" He asked.

I had not. Not that specifically. I did not tell him that I had another younger lover once, who was very tall and very successful and we got along fabulously. He was married but he liked men as much as he liked woman. We were together for sometime until I got bored. I always got bored. The only person I could not get bored of was B. B was the real deal. The one who broke me.

Boy did not know that. Boy did not know much. Really. He was only a boy. He needed someone to take care of him. I was there to take care of him.

One day, one day he would fly away and he would leave me. I must leave the boy before he could leave me.

Someone always comes along. They all do. They all seem to appear and reappear.

Like C, D and E. When they were gone, they were gone for me. Except B.

There was only one B. 

In the End

In the end, what are we all looking for? Faith? Love? Someone to care about you? To care about someone?

To love and be loved?

In the end, we are always looking for that meaning of being loved and cared for by those who we love and care. It's that simple.

I love B. There has never been any doubt about it. I love being able to feel that level of intensity for as long as I rediscovered myself. But I know that my existence in his life is extremely limited. He's managed to put me inside a box and only takes me out when he wants to. He does not formulate any meaningful conversations with me. He treats me superficially and does not really want to be part of my life, not a real one anyway. I have convinced that the reason I allow it to happen is that # 1. I am in any rush to change my life, neither is he. # 2. I don't think he wants me full time in his life.

I know that he loves me back. But it's a limited capacity type of thing.

He approves my interaction with boy. Boy who has been very sick and I've been taking care of him. He's so sweet. Keep on thanking me.

I told him that I cared about him. He said, I care about you too. He says "You are so nice." I can't tell if he meant it to be a compliment or if he'd get bored.

I do care about him. Like he's my third child.

He's skinny bones. He won't eat when he's sick. I keep on thinking why is he so sick and when I see him suffering it hurts me.

I am concerned about him. I do think in the end we just want to be cared about and loved by those who care about and love us.

And another year is going by.

I want to ask B - "For Christmas all I want is for you to spend a day with me. Just a day. A day date. A proper day date."

Sickness

"Am I E?" Boy asked.
"No you are not." E was taken. I knew that.
I had everyone indexed. Everyone but Boy.

Boy was sick as a dog.
He was articulate still but drifted in and out of things.

I read my stories of him to him.
"Do you wonder how I feel about you?" He then asked.

"Yes." I said.
"You are the first person I met since I moved here, that reminded me of home. And since I met you, I started to think about a future."

"What do you mean about home? Am I the bridge between your past and your future?" I asked.

"No. It's because at home I have people I did things with that I enjoyed. I enjoyed nearly everything we did together." He elaborated.

"You don't like this, do you? You don't like pragmatic ways of describing things. You want romance. You want me to gently touch your face, your neck. you want romance. You want me to kiss your cheeks. I can give you that too." Boy was sick but not dumb. He's observant.

I read stories that I wrote about my love, B. I used to call him B. Boy knew his name. B's first name was Boy's middle name. Boy showed me his mother's photo. She looked quite a lot like the photo I saw at B's place. B's mother. They were both German. As I quickly learned.

I read "It has always been there" to Boy. Boy said, "This is so beautiful. I had not expected that." He critiqued a little bit but then he said, "You paint the world with your words. Your writing is so vivid."

I also wrote to record the stories that occurred between people and me. To keep my memory intact, I started to write down everything, just like B said that I ought to do. When I terminated my therapy sessions, I wrote even more, sometimes in multiple blogs to keep things separate and real.

Boy thought perhaps I was using him to get to B. I wanted to tell him that those days of "using" was long over. I had no interest in playing that game. I was sure of my feelings. I loved B and B only. I like being with Boy. He was an unique case. He did not bat for my team. Boy liked boys.

I liked Boy because he would never love me, like B did.

But Boy also had other encouraging characteristics.

Boy thought that I was special. I was the only person he felt that true connection with and the closest person he had on this side of the coast. He told his brother about me. His brother who apparently looked like Leonardo Dicaprio. "One day in a diner, someone approached him with a pad of paper and pen" In bed boy was wondering about his illness. What he had why he had not gotten better. He was not amused by my man flu video. He thought that I was making fun of him and he was upset. He snapped at me then by saying hurtful things but then tried to apologize. I ignored him until he panicked and texted me over and over again.

Boy did not make any plans to see me. He wanted to get better than we could do fun things. I did not make plan to see him because I didn't have time.

Boy grabbed my phone to record everything we'd done together since we first met.

List looked like this.

Blu drink

Hike

Naked Fish

Drink Oakland - District

Reported miles

Vista

Leopolds

Soup at the park

Kitchen fire

Stayed over

Haircut

Monkey king

Armory - beef jerky/wine

Sushi at purple roof

Stayed over wine & cheese

Berkeley Bowl

Pt. Reys Station

Driving BMW

Made fancy kale salad dinner

Falafel

Billy Collins

2nd dinner - Korean on telegraph

V stayed in 453

Uber to drop off

Return from bliZcon

Tuesday milk

Halu Wednesday

Saturday autumn Salon at johns

Green gulch zen center and miur beach

Uh oh .. Koreana plaza. Sickness!!

Visit. Tried poki and kombucha Russian, beard papa cream puffs, salad

"What is this?" I asked.

"Not writing. But recording. Key words so that I could remember every event." 

Boy made me dinner but set the kitchen on fire. 

We had cheapest vending machine food at the Armory one night, eating fifty cents jerky and having neighboring watchers to pass along their wine. 

Twenty four times of unique times we spent together. All platonic, all events driven, all had meanings and purpose, all kosher.

What now? recorded events so that we could eventually tally everything up to justify this fast growing friendship. 

His room was a huge mess but it took me about 2 minutes to clean it up. Dirty clothes in the hamper and shoes back in the clothset. I hang his rope and belt. I took out his cell phone from his jacket and put it on the charger. It had long been dead. Then I made a make shift garbage can in the form of shopping bag from the fancy food store in the mall. 

Boy got up and was feeling shocked. "How long have you been cleaning?" He asked.

"About two minutes." It was about that.. It did not even take that long.

But boy was sick and time flew by when you pass out.

Boy reached his arm out to call for me. He wanted to lie next to me. Have me to read more stories. So I did. It put him to sleep.

My stories. my blog, send someone to sleep. How long would he be asleep before he woke up again? 

Just before he fell asleep, he said, "I was going to not take Advil, until you got here, so you could see how sick I really was." He seemed to surround his action around me to either impress or prove a point.

I wanted boy to get better so that he could do things for me or with me.

We had something unusual forming. A different kind of relationship at last.

One that did not have a physical component but seemed brought the two of us closer.

Before I left for the evening, boy reached his arms out like a baby. He wanted me to hug him. So I did. Then he said, "What can I bring you next time?"

I sort of wanted to say to him, "I am not sure about next time. But we will see."

About a Boy

He said, “Good night. Call me in the morning.” I said “Okay. Good night.” He won’t be going to sleep. Not yet. Or perhaps he’d fall asleep and then wake up in the middle of the night. I said “I’m coming to see you, tomorrow.” He said, “That would be nice.” Then immediately he regretted it, “No, you can’t come. The place is a mess. You can’t come.”

"I’m not there to inspect your place. I’m going to visit you because you are my friend. You are sick. I’ll bring food from Bristol Farm."

"Okay." He accepted my request.

"I’m waving goodbye." He said. I imagined he was indeed waving goodbye, raising his weak, pale arms.

I hung up the phone.

In a short but seemingly lengthy period, a friendship of a sort took roots. It would be impossible, or at the very least, unlikely. Hurdles after hurdles. First I was ill, then he was away, and then he was back and we fought and then we tried to reconcile our differences, and then just when things were turning around, he fell ill. We made plans. Each week a plan formed. He had become an accessory of a sort. He went wherever I went. A purse size puppy, they’d call him. He was young, energetic, cultured, flexible, impressionable, pleasing and incredibly pretty. Women threw themselves at him whenever we showed up; and men, inappropriate age men, men older than his father, were intrigued by him. He was the perfect decoration that wowed and wooed audience. He was an actor, a boy hoping one day to be a man. He was bisexual, and he put on a good show wherever he went.

I became the talk of the town, for having discovered him. I was congratulated and praised, for having found him.

But in truth he found me. I was simply there, and he approached me. He was young and innocent, and he was open and persistent. I was less than interested, but I was sad and lonely. I was missing a young student who used to stay with me, he filled the void. A young man who adored life, worshiped me and responded to me as if I was his master.

Soon a quasi but completely platonic relationship was formed. It was not romantic, yet we fell asleep together like a couple sometimes, with clothes on, when we were tired of talking. When we were out together, we put on a show for people, at first people were curious then they just accepted us. They would say, “you guys look so adorable together.” We had style and energy, we were the topic of the discussion after the events ended. People pondered about our relationship.

"Were they involved? Is he straight or gay or bi? What was his story? Her story?"

I was asked where he was if I showed up alone. Soon people started to refer us by our first names as if we were one.

He wore those big plastic glasses that made him look a middle schooler. When he smiled the room lit up. He told me stories that he would not dare to share with others. He was funny, charming and seductive among men and women, but privately he wanted to curl up next to me, with his arms around me, and he would look at me as if I had failed him, somehow. I began to wonder what he had thought of this, this odd relationship, or whatever you’d call it.

"What you said, what you did, broke my heart that Sunday." He began to tell me. One night, after a late outing, he told me what I began to fear.

Was there genuine emotions involved all along? Did I somehow miss it? Had I ruined something? Did I make a mistake? If I were to apologize, where do I start?

I laid on his bed, legs crossed and head behind my head. I asked what happened.

He explained. Scene by scene. Blow by blow.

I began to cry. I had no memory of it. He began to cry.

I did not know what happened. That evening we talked. But it was not about romance or love or even like, it was about what he said and I said. It was about something that was of greater impact. It was about a friendship that formed in the most unlikely circumstance.

It was about two people, getting to know one another, each fulfilling the needs of the other. It was about life. About a boy wanting to be a man. A woman wanting to feel like a woman.

The reluctant sleeper

You sleep. You wake up. You fall back to sleep. You wake up again.

Time is running out. Hope is running low. Conversation, never starts nor finishes. 

Want to cry. So cry. Cry lots of tears, droplets of them. Onto the pillow, the soft unimaginative pillow. No earth-shattering thoughts or exchanges of hurtful words. Cry because that's what's left of it. The life not led. The promise not realized.

Declaration of love exchanged. Loud and clear. Really. Really. Really. Loud. It's real love. Heart breaking love. Simple. Untainted. Time tested. Love. If you have not experienced it. I urge you to make a go at it. At least once. At east once in a lifetime you should feel it in your heart. You should learn how it is formed.

Love: An idea formed not when you two are together but apart. The longing. Desperate longing of wanting, and needing to be together. The passage of time. The sitting across the table and when you look up it's the world's best looking person staring at you back. Smiling, and looking at you just so. You know you are loved. You can't stop saying things because silence will make you cry. You want to cry because you don't know what else to do in this world to will a different future. A future where only you and he would exist. A world where you don't have to wonder when you'd see each other again. A world where you belong with each other and you know that he knows that you only want to be with him and no other. Does he know how much you love him? Does he care? Does he know how much you want to just sit there and cry until all tears are dried out and that you can no longer feel? Does he know how much it hurts to love him? Does he really want to know?

"Do you want me to leave my family?" You finally ask.

"I don't want you to leave your children." He says.

"I know. I can't leave them. They are mine" You answer.

"Do you want me to leave my husband?" You try again.

"I don't want you to think that you'd made a mistake." He answers.

"Why? Why being with you a mistake?" You ask again.

He won't answer. So you weep. Silently, quietly, collection of puddle of water, tears. 

He enters you. "I love you so much." He says.

"I love you too." You are exchanging words of love again.

"You really do love me." He confirms his suspicion.

You wipe the tears trailing on your cheeks before his lips touch your face. 

"I do. I love you. Only you." You reply.

Sleep is overrated in circumstance like that. But when he's finished, you are left with nothing. You lay there like a reluctant sleeper. You watch the darkness unfolds and gradually the crack of dawn announces the arrival of the pending departureYou must leave soon. The room is quiet. This is the room where you have spent many nights over, over the years. You continue to daydream a little. You also remember last night's dream.

Say. "I dreamed that you were married." 

Answer. "But you know that I'm not married."

Reply. "I so wish that you were married. Like me."

He who suffers vicissitudes delivers the last and final line: "You are indeed married. That's not a dream. That's my life. I live that life, every day."

You cry. Voice cracked.  sleep no more. 

"Let's sleep a little more." He tucks you in and drifts back to sleep. It's going to be a long day. He leaves town again. You reluctantly follows. But you can't fall asleep.

"How long is your longest relationship?" You ask.

"With you. I met you ten years ago. At a canoe trip." He is drifting back to sleep.

"It does not count. Plus it's not ten years. It's fifteen. And it's not canoe, it's white water rafting." You correct him as you stare at the ceiling while the tears are now free flowing.

Dead silence eats up the warm bedroom. He's not answering. He has drifted back to sleep. Safe and sound.

You remember what's like to fall in love.

You remember because you fall in love every day with this man. You have always loved him. You have loved him since you were a child. Now you are a woman. You are his. But not quite. You don't know how to travel from point A to point B. But you are convinced that he's waiting for you at Point B. An alternate future where love is not just some words exchanged with bodily fluid. It's the essence of being. It's your home, and his too.

The journey to home is proven to be arduous one. All you know is the pain, the stabbing pain, accompanied or unaccompanied, by your declaration of love for each other.

Dinner

B took me out for dinner. It was just another warm San Francisco night. I think B knows me more than he let on. That's what's so strange about this. I cannot get over how good looking he is to me. I don't think my girlfriends felt that way. They all thought that I was crazy. But enough time has passed and I realized that the most important thing to me is what my heart feels. My heart feels the same. I love him and always will.

In the evening while I was sitting in the restaurant I was having a good conversation with him. I was doing all the talking. He was doing all the listening, with occasional interjection.

I told him about Errand Boy, about my girlfriends rallying to take care of me while I was in surgery and out of surgery. I said all that I wanted to say, he sat across the table and just smiled. He told me what he was up to. He was working a lot and he was doing things with his son.

When we got back he wanted me to get comfortable. I didn't realize that he wanted me to spend the night because he did not make it so obvious.

I told him that I loved him and I wanted to know where we were headed. He did not have an answer, he said, we will see. I took that answer as he did not know either. I woke up with a dream that he was married. So I told him so. He said, "That's not a dream for me. That's my life." I am married. He had to reconcile that every day. I love him. I cannot imagine my life without him. I cannot imagine not being with him. I asked him if he wanted me to leave my husband to be with him. He said, "I don't want you regret. I don't want you to think that's a mistake." I don't know what he means by that, I guess he is worried that he would be coming short of my expectations and if I did leave my husband for him, I may feel that this is a mistake and that he cannot meet my expectations? He said that he thinks about waking up with me every morning and conceptually what that is like.

I asked him what his longest relationship is like and he said that it is with me. I can't imagine that he's never had a lengthy relationship. I simply can't picture that. It's so easy to be with him.

I can't imagine not having him in my life. He's often in and out of my life, and sometimes I do not hear from him for days on end, but I still love him no matter what. I keep on wanting some concrete future but perhaps there is none. I keep on thinking there is another explanation as to what and how I feel, but there is none.

He thinks that I should have some fun with that little boy. I think he's crazy. I don't want him to be with another woman. He said that he isn't with anyone but me. But how could that be? He's never been monogamous before. I can't imagine that. I ask him why he'd let me explore, he said b"because you need to come, and because I know you love me."

So I go on and think that this is how my life will be. I play the role of wife and mother. I am a mentor to EB, and I love B. I can't and will not be able to change my heart. He's the only person who matters to me. Without him, my heart will die; without him, my world is of permanent gray, without him, I shall no longer be me.

I no longer refer him as my boyfriend. To me, he's an extension of my being. He's my other half. I am complete with him in it. I will wither without him.

Vulnerablity

While in the hospital, I thought a lot, cried a lot and just sort of sunk into a funk. I was in a lot of pain and the recovery period was longer than expected. I just drafted. I wanted to cry. Lately I have found myself crying a lot.

I think I push people away. I deny myself happiness and pleasure. I refuse to think that I could have them all. I push everyone away. Some wanted to stay with me so they do, they stay but they don't know how to make sense of me. They tend to have this really bizarre thinking about me.

C called while I was in the hospital and again tonight.

EB, aka Errand Boy often talk to me daily, and I don't want that to happen so much. I need breathing room.

Those were hovering during the last two days.

But really the only person I miss, the only person I love is B.

I can't imagine a world without B. I can't imagine not loving him, wanting to be with him and change my world for him.

I'm drowning my sorrow with the lack of definitively future with B.

I want him and only him. He's the reason of my being.

Yet I can't imagine that our lives ever would change. He would change for me.

So I would find a spot, for instance, in the hospital and just cry and cry.

I miss him more than he would ever know.

I love him more than anything else in the world.

But in reality, I must learn to distract myself, work, and be with my children and just be really not think about it.

The ship has sailed. I could no longer find happiness in my existing world. If my happiness is to be with him, I don't know how to get there, and my sorrow followed me.  Permanent sorrow. Permanent doubt. Thinking... Tomorrow is another day. I must learn to be tough, to be not vulnerable, to be incredibly determined that I shall be OK.

Heart breaker

As if daily phone call not enough, he has started to planning our days together. Each and every day involving something about seeing me. I don't generally despise it but he seems to be without any back bone, everything is about me. Putting me in front of anything, anyone. He's popular, there are screaming kids who adore and worship him. He's cute, a hipster, a very quintessential young kid who's gotten well advanced for his age. But he is not aware of his star power.

Not yet.

He's become so involved in my life, and so in tune with everything that I do, he pleases me to no extend, and he does everything that he can to put me in the center of everything.

I know his type. I am really good at crushing his type.

I don't know how to slow him down. He is having a huge uninvited, self made crush on me. Everything is about me. Every little thing is about me. I can't handle it. I find it tedious. Boring, I find that he is suffocating me.

Every day he wants to do something with me. Every evening he wants to be with me. I can't do that. I have grown up stuff to deal with.

He wants me to be in his life and he's seriously falling for me.

I don't want to take advantage of him. I just want to be left alone. I don't know how to do that without breaking his heart.

This is a nightmare.

One moment I am enjoying the attention and being put on a pedestal, the other moment I have to tell someone that I can't see them anyway, even as a platonic friend. I don't think that's what he wants and I can't be anything more.

This is crazy.

How do I break someone's heart? I hate doing that. But that's inevitable. I have to.

Walking, wounded

Boy asked, “Why, why are you here? Why?”

Woman looked bored, “Why not? You bring me pleasure.”

Boy laughed, genuinely, “Yes, we’ve only just met. It’s as good as any.”

Boy tried to sound deep, “I’ve not felt this way ever since I was with my ex. I couldn’t help it. I am afraid that I’m obsessed with you.”

Woman looked at the ceiling, her usual bored monotone kicked in, “Don’t get obsessed. No one deserves to be obsessed over. This shall pass.” Women wanted to comfort the boy.

Boy would not give up. “When was it the last time you laid on the bed and talked for three and half hours with anyone?” He asked.

Woman was taken aback by his comment, she thought deep and hard, she had a horrible memory, she barely remembered how she met this boy and ended up striking this connection. “I supposed that would be years ago. I had often just fucked and fallen asleep after, or I got up and just left.”

Boy was finding his assessment to be of merits, so he advanced, “This is a relationship, whatever form it is, this is a relationship. You can’t deny science. We have chemistry. You like me. More than you let on.” Boy stared at the woman’s face. His green eyes no longer masked by his glasses, which he had taken off and set aside, like the woman’s lover often did. He stared at the woman’s face, and he started to shake his head.

"Is everything alright? What’s wrong?" Woman asked the boy. She had appeared to be far away and lost in thoughts, now she was concerned.

Boy held the woman, and said, “You really don’t know, do you? You are so pretty. I want you.”

Woman was dumbfounded. “Why? I could be as old as your mother.”

Boy started to laugh. Boy had a very young voice. He was only out of college for two years. He was new to this world that the woman had inhabited for years.

"You are very pretty. When I first met you, I thought you were my age. I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t even pretend that I was only half interested. I can’t play games with you. I just want to spend as much time as you want to spend with me. I want to wait for you. I can’t believe this." Boy was shocked by his honestly, moreover, boy was shocked by how little his words affected the woman, this older, mature, mysterious woman who was so captivating and mesmerizing to him, that all he could do was to follow her order and do the things she commended him to do. She was calm, unimpressed with the compliments he paid to her. She was genuinely unaware of her affect on him.

He was the Casanova and he was the one who called the shots, but not here, here she wore the pants, and he was powerless and helpless under her gaze, her touch, or her dismissiveness. He wanted to do anything and everything to please her. It was that pure and simple. He did not realize that under his alpha male exterior was this submissive little boy who wanted to be dominated. This woman, this mature, petite, tiny woman had something over him, he did not know what it was, but he gave in. It was an instinct that led him to her, now he was under her spell.

He knew something was not right the moment he met her. She was drinking a glass of red wine. She liked wine but had low tolerance. She had to drive so she insisted that he finish hers, after she had already taken a few sips. “There, drink mine.” She pushed the glass over to the boy. Without saying a word, boy took the glass from her and drank obediently. Then, he was shocked. He took her order without hesitation and that surprised him. He had no free will under her spell. He wanted one thing and one thing only. He wanted to serve her. She was caring, like a dom should, and she gave orders naturally, and he listened.

She had a good teacher. Once she was like that, she was the submissive one and the dominant one abused his power one too many times, he was careless and overplayed his hand, so she walked away and never looked back.

This time, this time was different. She liked to be in control, and she took care of her sub. She knew the rules now.

When the boy did not listen, she punished him, by being silent with him for days, boy was afraid of that, he wanted her affection. He needed her affection to feel alive. He did things for her because he knew that bringing her pleasure made him happy. When she was satisfied, she would reward him, with that gentle touch, the returned kiss in the darkness, the noise sometimes she made when he aroused her, but mostly she rewarded him with dead silence, quietness, and icy cold demeanor. She was methodical and she was distant, she showed little emotions but when she did, she ignited the room. Boy wanted to be part of her world, boy counted the ways she impressed him.

The walking wounded woman. Her eyes filled with sorrow, her emotions subdued, her voice soft and her body glided. This made the boy wanted to sing for her. He sang well, he was a Base II, he sang beautifully. He performed on stage, he took voice lessons, he was at ease with the camera, he was good looking and charming. He was witty and charismatic. Yet with her, he was speechless half the time, the other half he just stared at her. He was smitten by how pretty, how poised she was. An older woman with experience and maturity, and she was full of stories.

Boy remembered everything he did with the woman. Boy remembered how he tried to kiss her many times and she brushed him away, until one night they were out at a vista, middle of nowhere, on a wooden bench overlooking the bay, she sat quietly and watched the fog rolling in with the boy. The boy was telling jokes, and finally she was laughing at his joke and his face was all of sudden inches away from hers. Unexpectedly she pulled him closer and kissed him just so, and his world was turned upside right there and then. For a brief second, she allowed herself to be close to him, and the boy became grateful and hopeful.

He wanted her to stay with him always, he wanted her to sleep with him, wake up with him and put her head on his chest so that he could protect her in a way man would, not a boy but a man.

Woman looked at this boy, this terribly swept away boy who thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Woman knew every move this boy was about to make. Women anticipated and laughed at his childishness. But woman adored the boy in a strange way. This boy reminded her the love of her life, who had ceased to exist, who declared that he loved her and then disappeared, leaving her walking wounded.

"We are alike, you and I." Boy said.

"I can’t even pretend that I only half liked you. I can’t. I just want to be with you." Boy eagerly declared his like for the woman.

Woman stretched in his bed, her fully clothed body was carefully preserved by this boy, who would not dare to touch her bosom or her waist. She had not wanted this to be a sexual relationship. Woman was clear at the very beginning, yet the boy remained cautiously optimistic in his pursuit of this woman.

A walking wounded woman, a hopeful boy, a story yet to be written.

A boy and a man

Boy was eager to please. Boy wore glasses because that was how he normally looked when he was not on camera. Boy was lean but not skinny. Short brownish hair, fair skin. Asked boy what color of his eyes were, he said, "Blue Green, sometimes blue, sometimes green." She scuffed. How could it be? She wondered.

Boy read her mind, and said, "They changed colors. On good days, they were green. Other days, they were blue." That evening boy's eyes were blue. A few days later, boy met her at a park bench, boy brought soup freshly made the night before for the girl. Girl was pleased by how spicy the soup was, celery and carrots diced into tiny bits with Italian hot sausages. It was delicious. Girl liked soup on cold days. Boy wore his glasses, with pale skin, thin lips and a tight flannel shirt that looked good on him. Girl never dated a boy who was only 24, not even when she was 24. Boy sat next to her in the park bench and gave her soup to drink. Girl said "thank you" while looked at the boy. Boy had green eyes just like he said. Green, piercing eyes. Boy had a very Germanic feature. She noticed. Boy's mother was German and dad Irish. Boy's younger sister was a platinum blonde. Boy was blond once. Boy looked like the young version of the man girl was in love with. Girl felt a tuck that was so unnatural so sudden girl wanted to throw up.

"How could it be?" Girl was thinking universe had a sick sense of humor. Universe went forward 24 years and gave her a man she loved. She fell in love with a man when the man was only eight years older than this boy. Fast forward fifteen years. Man was 48. Universe delivered a young affectionate passionate boy half of the man's age. This boy had the same name as the man. This boy looked like the man. This boy would do anything for this girl. This boy put the girl on a pedestal and admired her.

Boy was oblivious to all this. Boy had no idea what a 48 year old looked like. Boy's been out of college for two years. Boy just moved here. Boy was corn fed and innocent. Boy liked the girl because she was different than anyone he's met. Boy wanted to please the girl. Boy was happy to do anything for the girl. Boy was mesmerized by the girl. Boy wanted to give up his freedom, his young fans, his women, to be with the girl, in whichever capacity. Boy was determined.

Boy grew up in the east coast, and moved to San Francisco a year ago. Boy worked a block away from the girl. Boy had three girls whom he was involved with, but boy wanted the girl because the girl was exactly what he liked: Pretty, powerful, strong, and not at all interested in the boy in a romantic way.

Girl was quiet, yet when she spoke she meant it. Boy's constantly excited when he was around her. He wanted to please.

"I want you to check in with me every day." Girl would demand in a quiet, nonchalant way.

Boy felt all the blood rushed out of him, he was so turned on by the girl's simple comment that he was unable to contain himself. "Yes. I'd do that. For you." Boy said in a compliant way.

Boy wanted to kiss the girl. The girl pushed the boy away. Boy was disappointed but endured. Boy wanted to know what it was like to be with the girl. The thoughts did not leave him.

This was going to be a journey. Boy was not wondering why. Boy did what he knew best. Be charming. Be persistent. Be cute. Be available.

Boy was neat. So neat that he put everything away and folded things nicely. Boy was into clothing, fashion and boy was into his hair, his glasses and physique. Boy was fit, looked great on camera and boy was very good looking and he knew women liked him that way. Boy was like the man the girl loved. Except he was half of the age.

Girl was annoyed by the boy mildly. Annoyed that the boy was a carbon copy of the man she loved. Annoyed that the boy made her the priority. Annoyed that her life would become complicated if boy wanted anything more from her than she could handle. She wanted a clean, complication-free life, not some intense spring-fall romance with a boy who could be her child.

Boy flashed her big bright smile and wanted to hold the girl's hand. He was aroused by the girl and wanted to do anything to please her. In that really unusual dynamic, boy was no longer the Casanova that he was reputed to be; he became a man who was trying to earn a woman's affection.