Love Affair of a Life Time

I had not seen him for 3 weeks. I did a short count, and it was just over three weeks. He had missed me, I could tell. He wanted to know where I was headed, I told him San Diego and he wanted to know whom I was going with.

For a man who did not interact with any of my friends, he surely knows a lot about them, or of them. I tell him everything. When I saw him, I naturally wanted to go down on him which he later would comment that many women did not like that. I used to wonder about how many women he's been with while dating me, but now it did not matter. I knew that he would date and that dating others would not result in the same outcome.

Surely enough, he told me that for some reason we are a perfect physical match, he finds me beautiful, that he will never meet anyone like me, not even close, is what he said to me. I think I believe him, there is no reason for him to lie about something like this. He has me. He knows that I love him. There is no reason to tell me all these things to keep me around. I'm around. He knows that too. He tells me these insanely romantic things because he loves me. He says that he likes being with me, my nakedness against his. He wanted to take me to go somewhere, in May. I think he will make it happen because I think on an annual basis he likes the idea of going away and having me there with him.

He shows me photos of him when he was a baby. I took a photo and he did not like it. I told him that it's for me and me only. One day he'll be old and I want to take care of him. And I want a photo of him when he was a baby. His mother made that baby book for him, written in German. She was a very Germanic woman, Bavarian, and I like my Bavarian man just so.

We laid in bed after he fucked me. As usual he tells me things. I liked that. I used to have so much anxiety around him. Last September was when it peaked. Then by January of this year I was finally to feel a sense of peace.

When I think of him, and wish that I could be with him, my eyes well up.

When we talked hypothetically if we were together, I told him that I might get bored. "Then you'd find another guy. I'd have to find a girlfriend. I don't want to find another girlfriend." He did not like that idea very much.

Today he told me that no one will ever love me as much as he loves me. I asked him why and he said because I know you so well. I know you the most. 

I WILL NEVER MEET ANYONE LIKE YOU AGAIN. NOT EVEN CLOSE. 

He said. He does love me and I know it now more than ever.

It's not the love one would experience day to day. But it's the only ever lasting love I've ever felt.

I told him imagine a day we'd be together. Finally. Be together. He could not imagine that. He just likes to spend time with me, from time to time. I want to spend time with him, day in and day out. Take care of him. Be his one and only.

You know how much this really hurts? I want to tell him that while he loves me, I fucking get heart torn out with the thought of him not with me. I HAVE NEVER LOVED ANYONE FOR THIS LONG.

Imagine a love affair of a life time. I once saw a girl whom he was affiliated with holding a sign that says "I want a love affair of a lifetime." She did not get that from him, sadly, he loves someone like me, but I think I might have stumbled onto the love affair of a lifetime.

Now all I could really do, is to walk away.

Sunday Afternoon

He walked with me, in his backpack, he packed my 5 inch heels, my Roots wallet and my phone. He carries them on his back so that I could be free of carrying anything at all. He cared about me that way, he also liked that I was free handed, so he could hold my hand and walk through the park.

He was tall and had long arms, I'm short with short arms, our hands barely touched, yet he held mine tight. When I saw him, I often rested my head on his shoulders, we embraced like that often before we were set out to do things.

I greeted him with little kisses, planted on his mouth, through his beard, beard that he grew just for me, for I liked men with beard, men with beard turned me on, I liked older men and he was older by only six years, yet he looked so much older, for I looked younger than my age.

Poppies and rhododendron were blooming in the park. We took side path, path less traveled, across the fields and onto Cole Street. He asked along the way as to whether or not I'd traveled this way, I said, "no", and he was satisfied. He liked to show me new things. I showed great ignorance around his neighborhood, for I had not been to this side of town much. My experience was mostly around hipper neighborhoods and yet his neighborhood breathed life. People were less transient. They set roots like he once did, and they never left.

He put our names on the board, the wait list was long. He used my name because it had 4 syllables and his only had one.  We waited in the shade under a tree and the wait was lengthy yet I did not care about the first thirty minutes. I enjoyed the sun and the warm Sunday afternoon, where he held me with his arms and occasionally kissed me by lowering his head, I felt his mouth on my forehead.

I knew he adored me though he'd never admit that.

At nearly 2 PM we were seated. He asked for a bloody mary and I asked for coffee. We sat across from one another in a small cramped space, and enjoyed our meal. Said very little of anything. We were so different, I spoke so much and yet he spoke so little. He asked several times if I liked my food. After food in my tummy I was visibly happier, and he took that as a sign of an approval for this restaurant. He knew how I liked the food just so. With him, dining was always adventure.

When I went to the bathroom he searched for change in my wallet and found a $10 bill and added it to the tab. When I returned he said that he had gone to my wallet and fetched $10. It's less than what I owed, but he often made sure I paid less. Sometimes he paid for me all together.

We took our leisurely walk to the bakery down the street and fetched sweets. He bought things for me and we then took our stroll back to the park, finding hippie hill and sat ourselves down and ate the treats.

I laid sideways, my head resting on his thighs. I told him that I was his girl. He was happy to see that. When I came out of the bathroom I caught him looking at me, making sure I knew where he was sitting, and when he knew that I had recognized he turned away, pretending that he was not worried. I knew he cared about me. In his ways, and that made me happy.

People asked me about him. All I could say was that he made me happy. He's not handsome, he's slim and tall, he's losing his hair, he did not have any fancy degrees, he had a boring profession, he was into playing music, he did not have a fancy car, nor owned any real estate, he was simply an old bachelor who had never been married and who was used to being alone.

Yet he took me in. We got up eventually to go home, his choice, not mine. We walked all the way to his house where we rested some more. Both naked and in bed, in his bed, my favorite bed, we fell asleep after sex, his hand holding mine. When I woke up I did not want to wake him, so I let him continue holding my hand, while I closed my eyes and listened to him breathing.

Such was a Sunday afternoon. It was the first and only afternoon like this I have had in nearly 20 years. I don't know who he was and why he came into my life. But here he was, the one and only who made me so happy and so content. I would trade a lot of my worldly possessions, to be with him.

All because he was the first person in my life, who took me out on a brunch, held my hands, and napped after.