I deleted his phone numbers, in haste. Then I had to dig it out. It took a while. I had to go back to an email from April of this year. He had written beautifully before, lengthy emails, contained emotions and feelings and rich content. He wrote about his day, what he did and where he went. He told me a lot of things. Things I imagined he did not share with others.
Friends told me that he was a private person. They knew very little about him. He was quiet and offered no private life of his own. But I knew a lot. I knew that his father remarried. He had a young wife who bore him a daughter, half of his age. The half sister was not so smart but she was pretty. His mother was remarried and now living back at Rhode Island. She used to live in Florida after divorcing his father. But she decided to move back. His father was charming and had a lot of ladies. He finally was able to marry a young woman, I did not know how he achieved financial success to marry a woman half of his age, but I didn't ask. He had an older sister, who lived in Los Angeles and was in the movie industry. His sister was married and divorced, now living with a cat and was always going on dates and not able to find a man who wanted a fifty some year old wife. As a result she complained a lot to her mother, their mother, and then their mother called him to complain about his sister.
He liked to call himself an engineer, but he was more of an artist. He created things with his bare hand. He developed beautiful designs and he created beautiful drafts and then he cut the raw materials into small pieces waiting to be assembled. He started to go into work on Tuesdays so that he could advance faster on his project. He took meticulous photos and then sent them to me, and report to me about his progress.
At some point he stopped telling me about his girlfriend. A woman who was a nurse at the general hospital, a 37 year old blonde who was not easy to talk to but he kept her around for years, because she would always come back to him. He liked that. She was controllable, and he chose to be with her so that he could focus on his energy on one woman. He was not comfortable being with two women at the same time. I saw him when I was still involved with several other men, he never did ask and I never did share. I just assumed that this was going to be an acceptable arrangement, I didn't want exclusivity. He seemed to be OK with that for a while, and then he stopped wanting that arrangement. I was becoming too intense for him though his action spoke volume. He enjoyed speaking to me, telling me about his day, sharing his life with me, and his stories. He admired me and respected me. He wanted me to be in his life in a way that he didn't expect others to be.
He took care of me. He understood my sense of humor. I understood his. He told me about the books he read, and he told me what he thought that I might like to read or watch on youtube. He reported to me about his whereabouts, even though I had never asked.
He knew that his decision hurt me, and for that I thought that he felt a sense of regret. But when you said something, you couldn't take it back. I had moved on. But my decision of stop dating, leaving the dating circus, was so unexpected and he felt responsible.
I could tell from his words and the way he caressed and hugged me. He treated me like an injured animal, and he wanted to protect me from getting hurt by him, and to do that, he cuddled me.
I could do no wrong at this point, in his mind. I was his protectee, and he was going to be my protector.
He served a purpose. With him, I was finally able to get rid of B. I severed my emotional ties with B. B was cruel and manipulative, B never loved me but he claimed that he did. B never even acknowledged the receipt of his birthday present that I sent him, or any emails I sent to him.
B had broken me, but C healed me, then when he got scared of his own feelings, he felt that he had betrayed me and thus he was again becoming closer to me.
Such incongruity.
On my march towards wholesomeness, I missed sex. I missed sex like I missed my limb. It was devastating. I told C that he could no longer make any sexual jokes. It was cruel to taunt addict with coke when the addict had only been clean for two weeks. Addict had no reason to believe in herself, but her sheer will would see her through the dark tunnel.
I asked how C felt about fingering. C thought for a second, from naughty to wholesomeness, it was definitely a wholesomeness behavior. But C also knew that I never was able to orgasm via fingering. But supposed that was all I had in life... C thought for a moment, and offered it up to help me. "Only if you wear medical glove." I added. C had them at home. In his lab. He would finger me to orgasm, in his glove. He was not unhappy with this experiment. "What about safety glasses?" He asked. I said, yes. And a London Fog coat to boot. The description of fingering me to orgasm was becoming more and more visually kinky, as if the whole production was just a prelude for some raunchy sex orgy to take place in full force later on. Except there would not be any sex. I would only want C to finger me, until he was tired and ready to call it the day.
I knew C would do that. He would do that because C was still aroused by me, deep down, I knew that he wanted to fuck me, but that door had been closed.
I liked to see C again when I was back. I missed lying next to him on the couch, letting him to tell me things I did not know. I liked when C took his hand and grabbed hold of mine, I liked C because he was my harbor. I had gone from A to E and back, I just wanted C to hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. I wanted to have someone to hold me and let me cry until I had no tears left, and I wanted someone to kiss me and love me back the way I loved him.
But there was never going to be a happy ending like that. In my world, I had to believe that someone like C was the best that I could do. Someone like C would be able to hold me and caress me, and tell me that French Toast was excellent for dinner, just like how New York Times reported.
Just like that, I went from C's lover, to his sister, his daughter, and there was really where I'd remain. For the rest of my days.
But sometimes I wondered if I could love again. And when would that ever come? Did I deserve to be loved just so? I did not have an answer. I should not seek.
I could still find love. I thought. One day. Just not today.
Friends told me that he was a private person. They knew very little about him. He was quiet and offered no private life of his own. But I knew a lot. I knew that his father remarried. He had a young wife who bore him a daughter, half of his age. The half sister was not so smart but she was pretty. His mother was remarried and now living back at Rhode Island. She used to live in Florida after divorcing his father. But she decided to move back. His father was charming and had a lot of ladies. He finally was able to marry a young woman, I did not know how he achieved financial success to marry a woman half of his age, but I didn't ask. He had an older sister, who lived in Los Angeles and was in the movie industry. His sister was married and divorced, now living with a cat and was always going on dates and not able to find a man who wanted a fifty some year old wife. As a result she complained a lot to her mother, their mother, and then their mother called him to complain about his sister.
He liked to call himself an engineer, but he was more of an artist. He created things with his bare hand. He developed beautiful designs and he created beautiful drafts and then he cut the raw materials into small pieces waiting to be assembled. He started to go into work on Tuesdays so that he could advance faster on his project. He took meticulous photos and then sent them to me, and report to me about his progress.
At some point he stopped telling me about his girlfriend. A woman who was a nurse at the general hospital, a 37 year old blonde who was not easy to talk to but he kept her around for years, because she would always come back to him. He liked that. She was controllable, and he chose to be with her so that he could focus on his energy on one woman. He was not comfortable being with two women at the same time. I saw him when I was still involved with several other men, he never did ask and I never did share. I just assumed that this was going to be an acceptable arrangement, I didn't want exclusivity. He seemed to be OK with that for a while, and then he stopped wanting that arrangement. I was becoming too intense for him though his action spoke volume. He enjoyed speaking to me, telling me about his day, sharing his life with me, and his stories. He admired me and respected me. He wanted me to be in his life in a way that he didn't expect others to be.
He took care of me. He understood my sense of humor. I understood his. He told me about the books he read, and he told me what he thought that I might like to read or watch on youtube. He reported to me about his whereabouts, even though I had never asked.
He knew that his decision hurt me, and for that I thought that he felt a sense of regret. But when you said something, you couldn't take it back. I had moved on. But my decision of stop dating, leaving the dating circus, was so unexpected and he felt responsible.
I could tell from his words and the way he caressed and hugged me. He treated me like an injured animal, and he wanted to protect me from getting hurt by him, and to do that, he cuddled me.
I could do no wrong at this point, in his mind. I was his protectee, and he was going to be my protector.
He served a purpose. With him, I was finally able to get rid of B. I severed my emotional ties with B. B was cruel and manipulative, B never loved me but he claimed that he did. B never even acknowledged the receipt of his birthday present that I sent him, or any emails I sent to him.
B had broken me, but C healed me, then when he got scared of his own feelings, he felt that he had betrayed me and thus he was again becoming closer to me.
Such incongruity.
On my march towards wholesomeness, I missed sex. I missed sex like I missed my limb. It was devastating. I told C that he could no longer make any sexual jokes. It was cruel to taunt addict with coke when the addict had only been clean for two weeks. Addict had no reason to believe in herself, but her sheer will would see her through the dark tunnel.
I asked how C felt about fingering. C thought for a second, from naughty to wholesomeness, it was definitely a wholesomeness behavior. But C also knew that I never was able to orgasm via fingering. But supposed that was all I had in life... C thought for a moment, and offered it up to help me. "Only if you wear medical glove." I added. C had them at home. In his lab. He would finger me to orgasm, in his glove. He was not unhappy with this experiment. "What about safety glasses?" He asked. I said, yes. And a London Fog coat to boot. The description of fingering me to orgasm was becoming more and more visually kinky, as if the whole production was just a prelude for some raunchy sex orgy to take place in full force later on. Except there would not be any sex. I would only want C to finger me, until he was tired and ready to call it the day.
I knew C would do that. He would do that because C was still aroused by me, deep down, I knew that he wanted to fuck me, but that door had been closed.
I liked to see C again when I was back. I missed lying next to him on the couch, letting him to tell me things I did not know. I liked when C took his hand and grabbed hold of mine, I liked C because he was my harbor. I had gone from A to E and back, I just wanted C to hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. I wanted to have someone to hold me and let me cry until I had no tears left, and I wanted someone to kiss me and love me back the way I loved him.
But there was never going to be a happy ending like that. In my world, I had to believe that someone like C was the best that I could do. Someone like C would be able to hold me and caress me, and tell me that French Toast was excellent for dinner, just like how New York Times reported.
Just like that, I went from C's lover, to his sister, his daughter, and there was really where I'd remain. For the rest of my days.
But sometimes I wondered if I could love again. And when would that ever come? Did I deserve to be loved just so? I did not have an answer. I should not seek.
I could still find love. I thought. One day. Just not today.
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