Encounter

Candles, lit. Sandalwood? Four of them on the coffee table. The living room smelled good. Too good in fact. She examined for signs of a dead body. It had to be somewhere, buried. He who killed them now tried to entertain her, or rather, to be entertained by her.

A pillow, on the floor, near the foot of a chair.

She arrived, in a coffee color suit, with leopard skin belt and heels. Her hair tight up. She was on the phone. "Look, I have to go. I'll get that information to you tomorrow." She hang up the phone and looked at him apologetically.  He embraced her. They appeared to have known each other for sometime, there was no need for pleasantry. He was in a blue checkered button down shirt and jeans, and he had been waiting for her arrival for nearly two hours. He kissed her and she was feeling a bit shy.

She knew what was expected of her. So she knelt down on the pillow. He sat down on the chair. She started to unbuckle his belt, and then she unzipped his pants. He let loose of her hair. There was no words exchanged. She knew what she needed to do and he was wasting no time at all to let it happen.

When he was done being serviced, he lifted her up from the floor and moved her to the couch. He removed her clothes and laid her on the couch. She was not ready but he forced himself in. It hurt her, he was hurting her, but he was not going to let this stop him. She was feeling a sharp pain and her soft opening was torn. There was a lot of friction. As he continued in his singular motion, she sensed her muscles going from tense to relaxed.. Her body parts responded accordingly. The opening of the lips was becoming soft and wet like the way he had hoped. "Good. And now it is ready." He felt it too. He pounded her in that position for sometime, and then lifted her legs up so he could penetrate her deeply. Eventually he pressed his body onto hers, crushing her floral peach colored necklace. She heard several piece falling. It was a beautiful architectural piece that she picked up at an art gallery in Beaune, France. He had broken her necklace at last.

There was a level of intensity that she felt that was unlike their normal interactions. "Why, why are you so intense?" She asked.

"You know why." He said. "You know."

"Tell me. What is it?" She wanted to hear him to say those words.

"I love you.." His answer did not surprise her.

When he finally collapsed, she was surprised. She wanted it to go on forever.

After a shower, she walked around the house naked to find him in front of his laptop.

"Are you dry?" He asked.

"Yes." She lied. Her shoulder was laden with water.

"No, you are not." He could see the water from the reflection of the lighting.

She giggled.

"Come. let's lie down." He suggested.

Then she joined  him in bed.

He held her and fell asleep with lights on.

At 2 AM he was up fetching a cup of water and catching up on emails.

At 4 AM he was rubbing himself against her. When that was not deeply satisfying, he asked her to go down on him. She put his equipment inside of her mouth and sucked on it until it was hard. Then he got onto of her and shoved his erection right into her mouth as she deep throat the fuck out if it.

"You are so good at giving head." He would comment later on.

She had a good teacher. It was the free internet porn sites that he had introduced to her when they first met. She also had an oral fixation. She liked the feeling of having something in her mouth and feeling it grow.

"When was the last time you fucked another guy?" He asked.

"In July." She said.

"That was a long time ago." He had women outside of this relationship. She used to date men outside of this as well, until she was unable to give herself to them. She wanted her body to be his and his only.

"Did you give head?" He wanted to know the details. It turned him on to know she was with other men.

"Yes I did." She used to, but not any more. She used to have sex with others. She was more carefree then.

Everything since July just stopped, everything but this thing.

He flipped her over. In that spooning position he rubbed himself against her. She liked how she was getting used by him, in whichever fashion. She liked that she was able to please him, to serve him. It went beyond the normal relationship dynamics. It could only be understood by people who were like her. People who enjoyed being submissive and derived pleasure from that role, even pain, was a pleasure in this relationship.

"I want your ass, baby. So I can own you." He talked as if he was in a BDSM porn.

Yet she liked it. She wanted to be owned by him. In the years that she'd been with him, it became clear to her that at the root of this relationship was her submissiveness to him and his dominance over her. That role she took on with him was the exact opposite of the role she played in her everyday life. Thus it liberated her.

Last time when they met he positioned her in a bath tub and proceed to piss all over her. She liked that too.

She especially liked when he pissed directly into her mouth, onto her hair and drenching her body. She liked being used by him.

They used to watch porn together. Now she watched the kinkiest porn on her own and wanted to reenact with him in private.

It happened once in a life time.

He was going to be this life partner for her.

And it was going to be fine. Just the way she liked it.

Raining Night

Rain, it rained. Pouring rain. When? I did not know.

In the evening, you spooned me, my body arched into you as you embraced me, in that position we slept. I couldn't believe how much I slept, it was early when we turned in.

I had not anticipated to stay over. Yet with you it was never clear. You had a certain way about you. As I learned. It had been a long time since we first started seeing each other. There were things that frustrated me. There were things that I learned to live with. You were not an easy man to be with. You withdrew and became non responsive at times. It was as if you needed time to retreat from me to regain your love for me. I had always wanted to fall asleep with you when it rained. It took more than two years for it to happen. Last year at this time I had given up on you. Even when you invited me back, asked for me to be with you, I had doubts in you and my faith in you, in us. Each passing day our relationship evolved, eventually it became something unrecognizable. But I learned a lot about me. I learned that I wanted you because you wanted me. Your desire for me fueled my desire for you. It was illogical to fall in love with someone only because that someone loved you, yet in this case it felt right.

In the middle of the night I woke up to the lights in the hills. There was a tower lit up. It was the Coit Tower. I realized. I had never seen the lit up version. Once I had a boyfriend who lived not far from you, he and I often hiked up and down the Coit Tower. It was after you, the first time.

There were many things I did not know about you. When I asked I never got a response. Why did you not want to write anything back? Why did you know how much it hurts me when I did not hear from you, yet you did it often?

Yet, this dynamic of ours worked. In so many ways I knew it was not logical, but I knew why. It was simply that we formed a sub and dom relationship. I liked being submissive to you, even though exteriorly I was often the dominate one in life. It worked for us to be this way, somehow.

"Do you miss me?" I would ask.

"Yes, I do. When I miss you, I wish that you were here with me, doing things, being with me. I miss holding you." I wondered if that's how other people missed others.

"I miss you too. But when I miss you, my entire body hurts. It hollows me." I said. It was the truth, really, when I missed you, it was not about wanting to be with you at that moment, it was about feeling a sharp pain in my heart, and my eyes were often immediately welled with tears. When I was alone, I'd often weep. It was not voluntary reaction, I did not wish upon myself. It just happened. I never felt this way with anyone else.

That part I did not know if you understood. I fundamentally just wanted to please you. If you were unhappy with me, it made me sad. If I was unable to feel your presence, your love for me, it cut me through like a knife, and when I missed you, when I wish that I was in your arms instead of being alone, or being with others, it hurt like hell. I weathered it so many times, yet it never got any easier.

In varying positions I curled up next to you in the middle of the night. I took a lot of time finding just the right spot. Sometimes I stared at the ceiling. It was difficult to imagine what lied ahead.

Is being with you once in a while good enough? Perhaps yes. Because I couldn't foresee a future where you wanted anything more than this. And in this relationship dynamic, I did not care for being in control. I only wanted what you wanted. And I'd settle for good enough, for you.

Is love changeable? If so why did ours feel permanent?

I wondered if life was supposed to be this way, this permanent state of longing, for someone, for some sign of change, but nothing had changed, and nothing would. There was no way out of it. It just kept on going, like my love for you. 

High Concept

Last night I had a dream. In the dream I was getting off the lift on my snowboard and you were on your skis. You unzipped your ski pants and asked me to give you a blow job right there and then, in the snow, as you stood to the right of the Comet Express lift. I was on my knees and did just as I was told. Everyone just minded their own business. No one paid any attention.

Over the years I often had erotic dreams that resulted in orgasms, the person in my dreams remained faceless, now whenever I have erotic dreams it was always you.

As I mentioned I think the good amount of physical separation for me would be a week and half, leading up to it is this incredibly intense yearning, that seems more physiological than emotional. After that 1 1/2 week mark, the longing gradually dissipates like the retreating fog, eventually the idea of being with you becomes a high concept and I'm the writer with a permanent writer's block: I'm at a loss for writing the final climax. I think those dreams help me to create that arch and the imminent climax. 

In more than one ways, being with you each time feels like writing a story without knowing how the story would end. I need the high concept, and I need to find a way to write an arch, and the climax. Would the two find a way to be together in the end? Would they part ways? Would they fall in love? Would they break each other's hearts? Would they live happily ever after? Would they grow sarcastic and unforgiving? These are the questions I pose for the two of us.

Relationship Under Review

The least cultivated relationships are often the most surprising ones.

I have been friends with him for a long time now. It starts out like any relationship I've ever had with most men: a physical relationship, and it grows overtime, there has never been a moment of feeling uncomfortable with each other, and we never ever fight, get upset with one another, so we just let it grow.

We start up as lovers, then we become good friends, we stop being lovers, and we become better friends. It is not a decision that is forced upon me, it is a choice that I made based on a multitude of reasons.

1. We are very compatible as friends. He and work in the same industry. He is a lot younger than I, but he is mature and we had a lot in common in the mobile world. 
2. He is my equal. He earns very good money, he is into the same kind of music, food, fashion, art and he is very comfortable in his skin. He is confident like me.
3. I have become increasingly involved with another man and he basically does not like me dating other men. 
4. I never felt an emotional pull with him. Because we know this is going to be short lived. He is married like me and he is happy largely in his relationship with his wife. He knows that I am married as well and have kids. He likes talking to me about them. 

With him entering into a new job with a huge upside, he is feeling more confident and he wants to be associating himself with people who are successful and riding on the technology edge. We both know that our interaction will likely to increase. In more than one occasions, he was going to take on jobs that were close to me and now he's literately moving next door. I suspect the fact that he's not moving - he was going to move to London or New York has settled our relationship dynamics slightly. It made me less concerned about him moving away and we'd continue this statue quo. It may even make him feeling less anxious about leaving. I don't know what men think. I generally do not know how they feel about me. I tend to not to think about them at all. I never really give much thought about him. It has been one of those gradual process that until recently, I did not even know that he likes me.

Status quo meant having lunches, me being introduced to his new firm (I want to go there!), and basically staying as a platonic friend. I can do that. I excel in that. He's into the late night rave parties. I like those too. He has been a long term Burner, I'm not but I don't dislike that he is. He is passionate about everything Burning Man the same way I'm passionate about SCUBA diving or trail runs. He is a trend setter. I enjoy a man who is stylish and sexually ambiguous. He's married but he likes men as well as women. It's the new generation thing. I like that a lot. He is a tall blond blue eyed Scandinavian, and has that very laid back Scandinavian attitude, where one is not puritan like an American. One gets jealous or upset with the other person. I'm not that like. I try to become jealous with men but I end up at the same place. I can't really feel that level of jealousy. It is a manufactured feeling. I do get jealous but it's not because he likes someone else and chooses to spend time with them. If that ever occurs, I just get sad and I leave. I get jealous on men's past behaviors, the way they treat others over the way they treat me. And when that feeling is experienced, I spend a day or two to adjust and then I make my exit plan. It will never be because a man is having sex with another woman that I leave him, it is when I become bored of him. I become bored of him when he ceases to serve a purpose in life. That purpose could be that he ignites me, he is good in bed, he's intellectual, he's fun and exciting, but once that purpose is gone, I am bored and I tend to move on.

In the recent weeks I have realized that he is becoming more attached to me in that the frequency of our interaction has increased. For a while he only responded to my text every other time, and he would often skip a week or two before wanting to get together for lunch. Now he aggressively asks me out for lunch or get together for a drink after. I often decline. But it's nice to be on someone's mind. At first I am thinking that he no longer wants to hang out with me, then I realize that perhaps his lack of response is work related. Now he's getting a new job, and he's no longer stressed with his old job, he's himself again.

For all of the men I have ever come to contact with, he is the only person who os the most compatible in ways that I could only describe as "the late arrival soul mate."

We loved food. Good food. We loved to travel. He had lived in Sweden and I loved that about him being so connected to his roots. He is into the same kind of Euro DJ music. We can talk about music for hours.

We often do not see each during late August and early September because he's gone to Burning Man and I've gone on my vacation. But somehow we pick up our relationship after anyhow. I realize the reason that our relationship works  well is that we were similar and we really do got along as friends. And I rather man become my friends than my lovers.

When we come into other people's lives, we actually do not know what kind of story we'd create. It's possible that we enter a relationship thinking that we want one thing but we actually prefer another. And often surprises are good.

I am always really easily bored of others. Most people bored me eventually or quickly. Besides the man who I am having a physical relationship with, he is the only equal I had. He knows that being with me means that he does not have to worry about taking care of me. I always pay half of everything, sometimes I'd pick up the tab. I do not need a man to take care of me, but if he is to be super special, I need to know that he loves and cares for me. He must treat me with respect, and ultimately be okay that I am an equal and he is not be intimidated by me.

Today as we walk around the water,  he asks me what I was going to be doing this weekend. I can't figure out why men want to know what I am doing all the time. B does the same. The more they feel they like me, they want to know what I am doing and who I am doing with. I told him that this weekend I was going to snowboarding, and next weekend to Harbin Retreat. I am going to do these alone because these are expensive events. I often do things for myself because others could not afford it to do it with me, even when I offer to pay lodging they would not want to pay for the rest. So from that perspective, I wish that he and I could have done these things. And I wish the same for B.

Perhaps a perfect relationship must involve two financially secure person who can be complimentary to each other. I am a type A. so I prefer my partner more laid back. I want to be able to go out to eat a fancy meal and not have to worry about being on a budget.  I want to be able to be spoiled and spoil the other.

I want to be able to discuss current events - Kiev, China, the latest buyout of internet darling, etc, with someone. When I was younger I was unreasonable caustic. Overtime, I've calmed down a lot. It takes someone who is intelligent to keep up with me. If there is anything I learned from my therapy, is that I need to spend less time trying to befriend people I really don't care to be friends with, and I need to spend way more time with myself doing the things I like to do. Just like when I was in my mid twenties. A perfect friend is someone who is an atheist, liberal, passionate about something, sexually liberated and not possessive. They are hard to find. I should spend more time reading, writing and seeing the world, and less time talking to people I really don't care to be friends with.

A good relationship is always hard to obtain. I have never thought we could develop such a strong relationship as friends, and I have never given any thought about when it might end, but at this juncture, it would appear that he's interested in being a friend, and I'll let it play out.

The Sweetheart Ball

Called the "Sweetheart ball", this semi public venue was perfect for a ball. The downstairs had a nice staging area, with an open bar, and chairs and couches for people to sit in. Ample bathrooms.

I arrived in a white and red dress with bright red Italian stockings and Mary Jane platform shoes. With a long wig.

Upstairs was largely empty but filled with beds and mattress. Lots of clean towels, bowls of condoms, lubes and Purell.  It was more of a sex party than a ball. It might be the only type of openly sex oriented party in the city. But a well organized one, in that no one was forced to do anything and you did not have to have sex to attend the party (take me, I never have sex in these events, I have been going for some time now, I went there to primarily watch people having sex, and engage in conversations with participants, and sometimes I played the games these parties had, and even more so, I often enjoyed the entertainment these events put on).

Two scantly clad black chicks, one skinny one voluptuous, were dancing on stage with D.J. music. Women in costume, in lingerie, in dresses, in all sorts of make up and wigs were showing up in troves. Where were the good looking men? I couldn't find any, but I was not looking to talk to any men. I simply liked being at a sex party because I liked watching people having sex.

Upstairs along the walls were these large endless beds, in the center of the room were two BDSM spanking benches. Black, leather, and perfect for spanking. I found it rather invigorating as a man had bended his girl over on the bench and he was fucking her from the back. It was not so much that the fucking that excited me, it was the fact that he was fucking and no one was gawking that made me happy. I liked watching people having sex in parties. It felt surprisingly visually stimulating and calming at the same time, with slight arousal but not overly so. Two beautiful girls entered with a skinny boy. They put the clean bath towels on the bed and the girls started to make out as the boy watched and then participated. Another beautiful woman started to join in and another man joined. It was obviously a planned orgy arranged by these people, they soon had one corner of the room.

A cute younger Asian woman was giving a much older white man a blow job at the opposite end of the room. She was sitting on the bed, and the man was standing in front of her.

I went downstairs and noticed more and more women were on the dance floor, there were more women than men and the women were flaunting their gorgeous bodies. A woman with large bosoms had nothing but breast petals on her nipples. I would like to wear something like that to a party if I were to go with someone who I was sexually involved with. It would be a bit too much if my role here was to observe and watch others, and not participate.

A super cute girl was standing at the bathroom line, she was waiting to change her dress out and show up only with her lingerie. As I learned later on. I went up to talk to her. She had dark brown hair, with nice bangs, she looked like a brunette version of Kristen Bell, and possibly cuter. I liked that look. Soon she told me that she was here with her boy. "That boy", she pointed to the couch that was occupied by two super awkward boys. I so wished there were cuter men out there. Boys were not cute in this ball.

She asked for my story. I told her mine. In events like this, I did not need to hide. I did not have to be who I was not, and I didn't need to disclose too much. I said just enough. She was getting intrigued. She thought that I was 29 like she was. "I'm letting the boys to get acquainted, to make out a bit before I join in." She told me as she entered the bathroom, disappeared from the view.

I lost her afterwards for a bit as my companion for the night, an awkward man who was completely out of his element, was having a nervous breakdown. He had realized that once again, he was not cut out for this. "I can't meet anyone here. I can't talk to a girl. I'm no good. This is why I don't go to bars." He said to me over and over again as he became increasingly frustrated with his inability to fathom the courage to walk up to these women.

"Women here are flaunting their sexual energy here. You don't need to do much. You just need to go up there and say, 'you look beautiful', and then they would be yours." I encouraged him but he would not listen. He was too busy feeling insecure to listen to me.

So I walked around, and stopped by the eye make up booth, to add some colors to my face, she put a nice design around my face. I made a mental note that I MUST wear my fake eyelashes next time.

This is why I love San Francisco. Everyone can just be who they are. No one looks you funny because you are a bit of a freak. They don't just tolerate it, they celebrate it. It's perfectly fine to be who you are and not worry too much about what people think of you. I love art, music, outdoor activities and read, but I also love watching people having sex at parties. This type of parties provide exactly the kind of stimulation I need. I am undersexed and over worked.  This is a relief for me. Where I can be anonymous and be perfectly fine left to my own device. I have learned that my perversion runs deep. Only one person gets me and allows me to express myself in ways others fail. But my interaction with him is super limited (creation of his doing, not mine). Therefore, I have to go out of my way to augment these needs of mine. 

When I located my lost, increasingly depressed friend upstairs, I saw this gorgeous woman, large but not fat, was pushed against the wall and her partner was fucking her. She was naked and so was he. I liked how her face was never shown from my point of view. After he fucked her for some time, he went down on her, from the back he was eating her out, presumably to arouse her some more.

At that point, I saw Kristen Bell and her boys were getting up from the bed. They had finished the first round of threesome and they were heading down for a drink. The boy did not enjoy his girl paying attention to me, as she lingered to speak to me, he yanked her to drag her downstairs. Another no no in my world. An insecure little man was a definite turn off for me. I decided to move on as a man was now bending over on the BDSM spanking bench and a woman in high boots started to spank him. I noticed that none of these people brought a spanking paddle. I found the paddle to be exceptional good for spanking. And frankly these people were doing it for show and not for actual pain induction. I personally preferred a bit of pain.

My inner monologue was going on full steam at this point when my friend decided to head to the foyer. The organizer, Polly was bringing on performances and we got a good view from the balcony. Two people were having sex on stage as part of their act.

I remembered going to Power Exchange in 1998 with this blond boy who was into Harbin retreat and smoking pot. He had moved to North Beach from Boston, having graduated from MIT just a couple years earlier. I had gotten tired of my bicoastal relationship with my then boyfriend going to school at Harvard. I thought it was serendipitous he and I should meet. We met through friends and ended up on a similarly routed trip in Europe.  By the time we hit Florence and Venice together, we were in love. We saw each other every week and we were practically spending every weekend together. With any amount of intensity like that, it would not last. Boy did not last. He was my age and too immature, at least that was what I told myself.  But he was the one who took me to a show where I saw people performed on stage, having sex, and then drawing blood on each other, and finally pissing and pooping on stage. That was the late 1990s, and I passed a lot of judgment back then.

Two more acts later I began to fade. I saw a woman next to me was updating her Facebook status, it started with "wow, you won't believe the kind of crazy party I'm at." She then proceeded to describe the sex party. I could tell this was her first rodeo.  So I left her to continue as I was getting bored with my surroundings. I wanted to see more real live actions. So I went back into the large bedroom. There were about twenty people now on the endless bed. All naked, all having sex in varying positions. I was vastly disappointed that no one was being fucked doggie style on these beds.

As more people entered the upstairs bedroom to fuck, I was heading downstairs as I was being told by my friend that he had to leave. The party reenforced his insecurities. And he knew that he was getting into a foul mood and he did not want to be there any more.

I was just beginning to have fun.

Alas, the evening was winding down. I had been to yet another successful San Francisco underground sex party being held no longer at its prior location on Mission and 21st but at a large venue. I was happy that I went, I was happy that people could be who and what they were at such parties.

I intended to dress nicer the next time!

Sex party for Non sexually active people

Went out for late night music in the Mission with a girlfriend. She asked what I did this weekend. It felt a bit of blank. I went to this sex party, though as an onlooker, gorgeous women and men, but I did not go home with any, came home to sleep alone in my big house, and it felt alright. It was not that I did not get propositioned.  Attractive, seemingly normal man approached me as I was existing and wanted to strike a conversation. There was a chance that I'd be up for a threesome. Upstairs orgy was going on. Downstairs was purely for performance on stage and disco music.

Her gay friend wanted to come the next time with her and me. He wanted to find boys. She was not that interested. But she would go, if she was  escorted. I did not know if I was interested in going with them, but I liked watching people having sex.

I went with a friend who was neither my lover nor my future anything. He was an nonentity. Ever since B and I had exchanged some serious talks I stopped fooling around. It was not that I couldn't. For instance, as I was driving home, alone, I got a text from a man I used to fuck, he wanted to get together either at my place or his, his wife was out of town and he had been on hot pursuit. I said no, but I knew that he would have been a perfect fuck buddy, great sex, no strings attached, always used protection, he was otherwise in a monogamous relationship. But I did not want that any more. It was as if he was a way of reminding me what I used to be like, before I decided to give my relationship with B an earnest try, and see if it would mean that we'd end up together or eventually split up. Thee was always men hovering around, but I did not care about them.

This was something that I learned about myself, once I knew what made me happy, I no longer desired the companion of men. I often did things on my own. After the girlfriend left, I continued to listen to local band, indie Balkan dance music, which I had always loved. I was perfect good on my own. Having been all around the world, many times on my own, I was exceptionally good at being on my own and never worrying about anything or anyone. I did not need a companion to feel comfortable in different settings. I also knew my likes and dislikes. I did not like dive bars with seedy people, I liked good music in cafes. I did not find being with women or men in a bar filled with cheap liquor and cheesy music interesting, like the Make Out Room, but I often went there because that was what my friends wanted to go. I preferred indi music venues. I was perfectly good on my own, without talking to anyone or talk lightly with some stranger. I did not feel left out.

Just like at the sex party. I was not having sex with anyone, and next to me a man pinned a woman to the wall, she had voluptuous body and he was fucking her from behind. Then he kneeled down and started to eat her out from behind. Another man had bended a girl over on a long skinny chair and he was fucking her. There was a huge orgy at the corner, some beautiful women had stripped down to nothing and started to work on each other and the men around them. It was like the 1970s porn shoot, but with much better looking people and much more natural.

People asked me why I liked watching people have sex, so voyeuristic, so vulgar even.  I told them that I was an exhibitionist, I was abused as a child, I was a born nudist, I was a nymph, I was a sex addict. I loved sucking on a cock, having the guy to give me a facial, to come into my mouth, to fill me with jism, to spank me, to hurt me lightly, to shove me around, to fuck me as if he was raping me.  I had lost my sensory boundary. I found watching people having sex mundane, even. I knew we were not born to be monogamous creatures, and having sex with a person did not mean that you loved the person - You simply needed to satisfy your urges. On the flip side, you could be deeply in love with a person but did not have sex with just that person.

But as I reflected on my path and my future, I also begin to think, as you progress in your relationship with your loved one, you must learn to stop whoring around, so that you could devote yourself to one person and one person only.

Part of me felt that I was maturing. Part of me felt that I was being so puritan. But all of me felt that I loved him, and that was what counted.

Contemplation

"Come to my house. I'll cook for you." I invited him as he drove me to work the next morning.

"But you don't cook." He looked at me funny. As if he was worried about the food I fed him would be subpar. 

"I used to cook." I told him that I was a good cook, once. I made mean Thai curry.

"I have dumplings. My father made them. You can just heat it up."

"Does it count your father's cooking or yours?" He asked.

We went on like this for a while, on Battery, as he passed my old building. 

"You used to work here." He said. Perhaps he remembered how he used to drop me off. At the beginning, he used to court me, picked me up from my office, dropped me back up and then when he kissed me goodbye, I felt that I was as school girl, first time in love. Then he broke my heart and I just went away for a while, regrouped, but with much wary, you could have innocence once. I had long stopped dating. When I first met him, it felt like dating for the first time: I did not know any of the rules. I did not know what it was like to be asked out, how to play it cool. I was simply, ecstatic about falling in love, I was that naive, in my late 30s, like a teenager. I was tedious, and intense, I was easily hurt and quickly broken. Then, like anything else, I wised up, and grew up. In lieu of a young girl desperately trying to win a man's affection, I became contemplative, slow to react, and ultimately filled with sorrow but knew how to put on a brave face to handle any unforeseen situations. Perhaps the best way to describe this, was when all the hopes were gone, you became hopeful again. You had nothing to lose, so you no longer feared anything.

He proceeded on Battery, which turned into 1st. I told him to turn right on Howard, and then left on Second. He said, "Our office used to be here." 

I all of sudden remembered his old office, it used to be on 2nd and Harrison, and I had been there once or twice. It was the very beginning, and I had brought something back from Germany for him.

"You always bring things from your trips." He commented that morning.

When I flew ANA business class, I had picked up two small pouches of mouthwash. I thought of him because I knew he was obsessed with mouthwash. I thought it would be cool for him to have a portable mouthwash, as if it was a small pouch of tissue, except it was filled with liquid. Those Japanese knew how to package things.

While in Asia I had found things that I thought that he'd like. It was just coincidentally I found a hat that was essentially the same style as his red one. I knew that he might like it, and he did.

I knew the perfect present for his birthday. It would involve me heading to France, which I would be doing in July. I would get a piece of vintage art, something with crisp lines or an old photo image, and have it framed here with light wooden frame and give it to him for his birthday. I knew the exact kind that he'd like, the exact kind that would match his decor.

In varies points of my life, I altered between being complacent and being deeply unsatisfied. There was always a possibility that he'd leave me. Perhaps out of self preservation, perhaps out of my own very nature, I fantasized a life without him as often as I fantasized about being with him. I'd live in this world like I was on a people mover. I would be going forward without even trying, when I arrived at a new location, I'd check it out, I'd live in it but the place would never be lived in.

Once I wrote to him that I thought he and I would have been great friends, because we liked the same things, same activities and shared same interests. But we got sidetracked by the sexual chemistry we developed for each other, and forgot that we were still rather alike outside of that. Now we would never be able to develop that level of relationship.

I thought about him in my idle moments: he at work, he at play, he at home, he falling asleep. I wondered what my life would have been had I never crossed path with him.

In the middle of fucking, he would quiz me and ask me if I was fucking others. I used to. But not anymore. I told him that each and every time, as if to assure him. He in return would then tell me that he had not been with any other women. When I asked him why, he said that because he did not want to. He only wanted to be with me, he only thought of me.

I sort of did not believe him. I couldn't believe that he could go three or more weeks without sex because our interaction was so limited, but I did not think he needed to tell me anything, I would have fucked him even if he did sleep with others, I was never the jealous type. I liked women as much as I liked men. But for him to keep on telling me that he only wanted to be with me, even there was no real purpose of it, seemed a bit like his way of declaring a permanency, or wanted to assert a certain level of control. I always knew he liked to be in control. I was easily controlled by him, because I wanted him to control me.  

I was dim-witted at times. I had told him that I was thinking about moving to Asia, and he immediately told me that he did not like the idea, because he did not want me to go. I sounded surprised when I said, "Really? I did not think you cared." He gave me a weird look. For one reason or another, I had been trapped in this world of not believing in anything he ever said. He told me that he was not seeing others when we first dated, and yet he did. He told me that he cared, but then he disappeared from time to time. It was hard to believe that he would actually care, and it felt most of the feelings I experienced was one directional. In some sense, this mentality worked for me. Because deep down I feared intimacy. If my feeling was returned by him, for real, if he truly loved me, where could it go? How could I stand the thought of being loved by him? In truth I did not want to acknowledge that he did care.  I thought of my being with him was simply a sense of convenience: it was convenient for him to choose to be with me, because I was not demanding and I required no promise of monogamy from him.  I had trouble believing in his love for for, not because I did not want to, but because I feared if he did truly love me, I would not know how to handle it. 

This was how I derived the conclusion. He was okay with me being married but not okay with me moving. I did not want him to feel okay that I was married. But he said that it just happened that way. My being married was a fact. My wanting to move away was a choice I would make. I wanted him to feel happy for me with my career, and he did not want me to go away. That scared me somewhat because his wish of me staying put meant something. I found myself stopped entertaining the idea of moving because of what he said, and that angered me a little. 

It was extremely difficult to acknowledge that he cared about me, enough so that he did not want me to move; yet he had no problem with me being married. 

For all those times I asked him about his opinion of me being married, and he said "no I do not care", I question where this relationship would lead, how and when, whether it would end. 

Where does the road end?

I always thought that if you keep on going in the same direction, you'd eventually run into a wall. The road would end, unexpectedly, and you'd stop traveling forward. You'd be facing an inevitable end, an invisible wall appeared from nowhere and you were stuck.  It was never too soon. It was always the right time.

I had expected that would happen with B. One day I'd realize that he no longer wanted me, and I'd be at the end of the road, it was not even a folk, it was a dead end and I'd be left wondering whatever happened to him, me, and us.

B came to my office last night to pick me up to see a show. He'd never been to my office before. I brought him a few things in Asia, he liked the green hat, so he put it on right away. He said to me, "you knew me." I always liked to think that I knew him but I couldn't tell if I knew him or if I knew just a version of him. He was complex in my mind.

We stayed until after 10 before heading to his place. I took my overnight bag, and he had his. He often stayed at his son's place, who lived with his son's mother. They were not married. I often imagined that he had a wife or a girlfriend but he insisted that I was his only.

I told him during our outing that seeing him made me felt relaxed. But my threshold was low. My threshold was a week and half. After a week and half of not seeing him and having sex with him, I felt anxious, like my brain stopped functioning, I thought of him often, he occupied my entire idle mind. After being with him, my mind was clear and I was in a state of hopefulness. That hopefulness mode would last for approximately a week and half and then I would run out of steam. I would begin to worry if it would end, I would begin to plan my exit path, in case he'd left and I'd run into that invisible wall. I couldn't possibly feel this way with anyone. I had never felt this way with anyone.

In his house he removed my clothing. I was naked and lying in his bathtub and he bathed me in his hot liquid. Then he went down on me in the tub. Our perversity felt so natural. He wanted me to piss but I felt that I couldn't be that free with him, not yet anyway. I needed more time to get to that level of comfort. We soon moved into the shower, where I was cleaned and fucked in varying positions by him. B murmured in the shower that he loved me, or at least that was what I imagined he said. I was covered in raining shower. He asked me to go down on him, so I was kneeling down. I was in that position for a long time until he lowered himself to kiss me. I was covered in water and my face was drowning as he was fucking me and kissing me.  I loved his cock in my mouth and inside of me. I loved being close with him. I had never felt this way with anyone else. My body was molded to fit him. It felt like I had been created and put on this earth, so that I could meet him and be with him. I couldn't feel much else but a sense of peace and urgency at the same time. Peace because I was with him. Urgency because I knew this would end and he'd fall asleep and his passion for me would end, and I'd start that same waiting cycle again. When he was with me, I felt that he was mine and mine only. And I was his and his only.

I lay my head on his chest to fall asleep. He woke up in the middle of the night. He had a headache and insomnia. I wished that I could help him. I wished that I could ease all of his pain and suffering. Yet I just lay there, watching him tossing and turning, and I lay there awake, staring into the ceiling and wondered where we would go from here.  At one point, he flipped me over and started to fucking me as my legs are closed and I was laying on my stomach. He asked, "You loved me fucking you this way, don't you?" I moaned. In truth, I didn't care how I was fucked. I just wanted him do whatever he wanted with me. Whatever pleased him, pleased me.

He remained to be the love of my life. I had never felt this complete with anyone else. He asked me if I was fucking others. I told him no. I thought to tell him that I sometimes thought of fucking others, but I had stopped since last summer. I couldn't because I only loved him. And at some point, love became an unwritten commitment. I would start fucking others again, if he decided to leave me. It was that simple. When I made a promise to him, not just anyone but him, the one whom I loved, I had to keep it. I asked about him, "Are you fucking other women?". He said "No, just you. I only think about you. I only want you." I did not know if I believe him or not, but I did not really care.  I asked him when he stopped. He said "A year ago. At the beginning I was with others." He told me. I knew that's not true. I knew in June he told me that he had sex with a red head, a couple weeks before I saw him. So the last time he told me that he was having sex with others was in May. And I suspected that he was seeing others in July and August as well. It was not that long we made this an exclusive deal, not by enforcement, but by simple realization that a deeper connection was made when we availed ourselves to no one else.

As long as he loved me I was okay with it. I did not just want him any longer. I needed him. That much was for sure. But needing him did not mean that I need to possess him. I was okay with him being with others. Perhaps what I needed to know was the truth. When did I become this way? I did not know that. But it was not overnight. It took a lot. A long time for me to realize that I could love someone, feel something, with someone, without the physical commitment. And when I loved him the way I did, there was nothing that he could do to truly break me from him, unless he would tell me that he was ready to let me go. My love, at the core, was hinged on his love for me. If he stopped loving me, I would cease to love him. This was why at times when I wanted to stop feeling the intense sensation of love, longing and tenderness what I truly hoped was for him to stop loving me and letting me go. Because that was the only way for me to be set free. When he stopped loving and wanting me.

What if this was how the story would end? What if I would not run into a wall, invisible or not, there was never a wall. What if he would allow himself to open up to me, slowly, gradually, over time, he could see my heart as he could see the clear sky, it was really never that complicated, it really required very little interpretation or masking. It was that I loved him, unconditionally, now and for the rest of my life, for as long as he loved me and wanted me back.

What if he knew and was convinced, because he finally could read me, that I had never loved any other being, another soul, like I had loved him? What if, no matter what he looked like, how old he'd get, whether he was wealthy, poor, insecure or confident, I would still love him? What if my wish was really only that simple? My wish was that I needed him because I could not live another day without him. What if neither he or I ever experienced, or believed true everlasting love, but it just happened to us? What then? Where would this road end? What would we do, then? 

It's Time

I sat on the porch, make up free, in a beanie hat, in a long trench coat, in my comfortable flat boots, smoking a Dunhill cigarette. He snapped a photo of me. Side profile view. Then he showed it to me.

Earlier that evening, he got into the car and started to laugh. I had warned him that I'd be make up free, hair tied up in a bun. My long wet hair twisted and tied at the back of my head. My beanie hat and scarf wrapped around my head, my face and neck, and short dress exposing my calves and legs, until where the orange boots picked up the rest of the exposed skin.

In another word, I thought that I looked like a dork. He started to laugh and said, "I've never ever seen you make up free like this."

I got immediately upset, "Stop fucking look at me. Stop. I'm not going to work or going on a date. So leave me be."

He got defensive, "That's not at all why I laughed. I just have never seen you like it. You looked so cute. You look so much better without it. You are cute without make up. But you are like, you could be my friend. Not some made up chick going to work at some fancy job. I like it. You look great."

I could tell that he was staring at my profile view as I was driving and he was admiring me a little, in his really boyish way, he was also snapping photos and putting it in his keep sake.

"Soon I won't have you any more." He'd told me before but I did not want to feel the finale was upon us. I also did not feel that was entirely true. He was leaving but not that far.

"I'm going to miss you." He'd say over and over again. Initially I was all just being polite and strong and then finally I told him that I'd miss him too. He was like a best friend who is a male, who's bi or gay but who is not really someone I was ever physically involved with but was rather intimate in an emotional way. We were close once and we drifted apart, and sometimes we'd act like best friends, and other times I felt that we were million years away. But I needed him. Like I needed air. I just did not know how to tell him that without sounding like a weak person, a fool.

I finally told him that I had cried. I had not handled his departure well. He had not either, but he had a way to suppress his feelings.  And I think he'd be okay, and he'd eventually be okay.

I already pictured a life without him in it. I would not be able to do all the things that I want to do. I would not have the person to go shopping with and talk about clothes with. I would not have him any longer.

I would be sad and lonely and I would feel that my affection was not needed anywhere, and I was not needed anywhere.

I was sitting on the porch and he was flickering cigarette with me.

"I like Gitanes, and Dunhill, but I liked Gitanes more, I think." One French, one British.

"Once, in between B, and while with B, I was seeing someone else. I was smoking a pack of cigarette with that guy, a young man, who loved Gitanes. He also liked face sitting. I'd have to sit on him for half an hour, or even more. He liked sucking on my toes and licking my ass. He was into all sorts of kinky stuff. I tell you, you think threesome with two guys are fun? No, it's a lot of work. As for facesitting, you can be on top of guy and he's eating you out, and after half an hour, you just want it to stop. It is so much work and it's nothing like what you see on porn." I was being very talkative that night.

He was laughing again. I was not sure if he was being uncomfortable or thought that my story was genuinely funny.

He told me stories of his past too. I was not that interested. But then I was not really interested in much about him other than he admired me and he kept me company on occasion.

There lies the dilemma. You can like someone, even become dependent of someone but you don't necessarily need them all the time. They are your safety net. The person to call when you are bored, tired or simply needed to vent. And no matter what happens you know that they are there for you.

I'm losing my safety net. He's losing his.

One day we both may cease to exist in each other's lives. One day this was just like it never happened.

One day would be fast approaching.

Like many things in life, things are never what it appears to be.

I'm sort of relieved and sad at the same time. But I know it's time. 

A's departure

God forbid but I'm not dealing very well with A's pending departure. I found myself crying... a lot. I think it's because I have not fully examined my feelings towards him and maybe I think when he leaves I'll be sunk into a deep hole and I would have trouble dealing with B all over again.

He was the closest person to me for a while now. We talked all the time. We saw each other all the time. He cared deeply about me, even though he was a kid.

He was the one person who got me. He adored me and respected me. We took turns sharing our lives and he knew more than other men ever did about me.

We fought a lot. We cried a lot. We laughed a lot together. And I hated him for all of those little things he did I did not like.

But I loved him. In a nonsexual completely unexpected way I loved him. I loved him like he was part of me. Now he's going to be gone.

I want to see him and talk to him about how I really felt but I can't. I worry that I'll be a total mess. So I become a total bitch. I am trying to push him away even before he leaves.

I start to look at opportunities abroad. I want to leave here for good because he's leaving me. None of this was a rational behavior. I think if B decides to move away tomorrow I would feel resigned, perhaps even relieved because now he could finally leave me as I had asked him to let me go before, he was able to finally exit my life, and I could finally tell myself to stop loving him.

But with A, we never had a chance to resolve the dynamics, we instead just became close friends who occasionally did things and frequently talked. I am terrified of losing him, yet I know that I won't because we'd still be good friends.

I alternate feeling relieved and feeling upset about A's departure.

And I fear that seeing him will make me cry. So I make up excuses for not allowing myself to see him.

That's how it is, the one person who had finally cracked me, is leaving me. And the one person I don't want to exit out of my life, the only person, is leaving me.

I can't believe how much it hurts.

I also can't believe there are different types of love. This type of love, the kind that does not involve a physical component, really takes a toll on my soul.

I think I'll keep on crying, instead of telling him how I really feel.

Saying No

He emailed me the day the other day, "Where are you?"

I said, "I'm back."

He then said, "What are you doing tonight?"

I replied, "Working."

Then the phone rang. It was his name. I've deleted his name from my phone directory twice and I finally gave up. I used to answer phone call and not know it was him, and he was someone I used to avoid.

I saw his name blinking on my phone and I hesitated, but finally I picked it up.

We chitchatted. He was always very pleasant. Powerful men tend to be very convincing and friendly early on.

He told me that he was waiting for someone to arrive from a plane ride, and he was at a place waiting for that person. Then he invited me over. He gave me the name of the restaurant.

I said, "Never heard of it." He then said, "No, we have been there before." I couldn't remember it. He described the location and I said, "It was not me, you were with someone else." Whenever I couldn't remember something, I think the person I was speaking to got me mixed up with someone else. I never went with him, just like when B told me that he took me to some club to listen to some comedy show, I said, "That was not me. You got me mixed up with someone else. " Or when B returned an earring that did not belong to me, and lost a white dress I left at his place. Men mixed women up, and my default assumption was that I was one of many to a man, and therefore I was easily confused with someone else.

He insisted that it was me. I finally realized he was right. I did indeed forget. We went out on a date that evening. I was late, exceptionally late. He was being really patient. He called me kiddo. I was not a kiddo, maybe to him I was but not to anyone else.

"Come over and keep me company." He said.

"I can't. I am almost home." I replied. I knew that answer contradicted my earlier claim of "working".

"Some other time then." He was disappointed.

I had not talked to him for months, I thought. But that was not true. He and exchanged texts right around the New Year. I had wanted to catch up and he wanted to drive a bargain by getting me to be with him, physically and I said no.

I really could not remember much about our interaction, but he remembered it well. He appeared to think that I was seeing him. I reminded him that we'd broken up year ago, after June, before July was the last time I was with him in a fairly intimate way and I did not like it. I couldn't possibly be with him because I was in love with another person.

For a while he tried to call and text me, and I refused to answer. In the end he got frustrated and he was gone from my life for a while and I enjoyed it, the peace, the lack of inappropriate demand of me doing things to him or for him.

He would then write, "what do you want? What kind of relationship do you want from me?" I would ignore. I loved watching powerful men trying to conquer women as if I were their projects.

He drove over to see me. I did not ask for him to come to see me but he wanted to see me so he did.

He tried his touch on me again. I did not respond. I stared at him, and said, "No. I don't want it."

He went to bed early. He traveled all the time. He had to leave town again so he wanted to see how much I could comply before he went away. But I removed his hand and  I looked at him and said, "No."

"I don't care." He said.

"But I do. I don't want this." I insisted.

He withdrew.

"Send me a picture." He demanded.

"No." I answered.

He realized for the first time that I was not joking. That made him wanting me more. He was used to calling all the shots and he wanted to see if I could budge. He wanted to know if I could be his, again. He missed me. I was generous, gentle, adventurous, submissive, and I was fun. He wanted all that but then the rug got pulled under him. One moment I was his then the other I was gone.

When I was only twenty two, there was a partner from a similar consulting firm in Chicago liked me. We went out, and I thought sex was at best mediocre. I kept in touch and used to send him postcards wherever I traveled. One day I got an email from him, asking me to stop, because he got engaged.  I stopped sending cards. I did that religiously with all the men I was involved with, it save me some stamp but he was nothing special. Years followed I started to get an email from someone who I did not recognize, every time it was "I'm in San Francisco, do you have time to get together?" I ignored him for years on end until I finally got curious, and I would reply, "Who are you?" He replied, "I'm xx from Chicago. We used to go out." I remembered writing back, "I thought you told me to stop contacting you back in 96, after you'd gotten engaged." He wrote back, "That relationship had not worked out. I've been thinking about you for years now. I'd like to see you again." I told him that I had moved on.

He somehow reminded me of this Chicago man. He thought that he could go away and have himself a nice relationship and then it did not work out and he wanted me back. It had happened several times now. I knew the drill. I knew how men think.  They wanted what they could not have and when they had it then they started to become complacent and they stopped trying.

He was tired. He went to bed early and got up early. He had two kids, all grown. I was often told by men that they wanted a clean new start when they met someone else, and inevitably they all wanted to get back in touch with me and wanted to will a different outcome.

I had seen this in my twenties, I have been seeing it recently.

"I need to call all the shots. You can't be telling me what to do." He whined. For a grown man he truly behaved like a child.

"I am not trying to call the shots. I simply wanted nothing sexual from you." I said, this time firmly.

"Then no deal then." He answered.

"I never wanted a deal." I replied.

"Okay." He said, starting to get up.

"Are you seeing anyone else?" He stopped midway and asked me.

"It's none of your business. And there is no 'else'. I'm not seeing you. I am seeing someone. The same person." I answered.

"Is he giving you what you want?" He quizzed some more.

"No, he's not. I want more sex. More interactions. He gives me very little of both." I was being honest.

"Then why can't you be with me? We can have good sex. Fun times." He was being flirty again.

"Because I don't want to. I just want to be a friend. I love him." I was being matter-of-factly.

He started to chuckle. "He's not there when you need him. He's not giving you enough sex. Sounds like a lose lose proposition."

"It's for me to decide. I don't want this with you. Just friends." I insisted.

He was always an impressive dresser. I liked how he looked. I liked how he was dressed. I liked how tired he appeared to be at ten o'clock. I liked that I was able to say no to him and he appeared to be listening.

He wanted to prolong our conversation. I wanted to go home. But we did become friends once, until he wanted some more. Now it would appear he wanted to extend the relationship to more than friends again and I was not having it.

"When do you go back to Boston?" I asked him.

He went to school in Boston and was very involved with his private school.

"End of May."  He answered.

I told him that I was going to be there, end of May, early June.

He would be spending a month in Europe, like I, except an month early.

He gave me his itinerary as if I cared. As if we still dated.

He seemed to recall our dates more than I could ever remember.

This is how I am: when I say goodbye to a man, I say goodbye. I mentally erase my encounters with them in my memory, and I forget the times I spent with them. I forget their names. I even forget the specific events that I used to write about in my blogs. I simply push them out of my memory well, and they fade into the past.

More than once I told B that he should find someone else. "Go find someone else, and leave me." I'd say.

B would always respond, "I don't want to be with other women. I just want you. You are perfect for me." I would look at B, wounded and hurt, "why me? why me?" I was angry when B refused to let me go. One thing that B did that no one else did was his ability to deny my wish of having him to let me go. I don't like to to the responsibility of leaving someone. I want them to say no.  I was weird that way. Most people wished that their partner never to leave them, I always tried to push them away. Sometimes they comply. Sometimes they don't. When they don't, I'm at a lost.  I'm horrified of intimacy, I'm terrified of being vulnerable.  I much prefer staying on the surface, and never rock the boat. I'm a fragile, easily hurt person. Yet on the surface, I'm strong and completely worry free.

He wanted to see me again, even though I'd told him no way.

"Tell me when you are going to be available." He demanded.

"I thought you just said, no deal." I reminded him that his request contradicted his desire of seeing me again.

"I like being dominant. You keep on telling me what to do. That's why there is no deal." His repetition was becoming too irritating to me.

I knew being defiant turned him on, even though it was not my intent.

He would try me again. I would again, say no.

If you love someone, set them free

Saw A tonight for dinner. It was a last minute thing. He was being cordial. He told me that he'd miss me. He was happy about the opportunity, I pushed him to take this job, and I told him that I wanted him to finish his college. He agreed. He was being very cheerful, but a little sentimental. I felt that he's a blank slate. He needed to be shaped, molded and worked on. But at the same time, he adored and respected me a lot. We were like brother and sister, and we were like lovers without a sexual component, and we were like mother and son, but most of all, he was my closest friend for a while now.

When he told me that he would miss me I just gave a shrug. I said, "Life is long, this is just a temporary thing." He was being emotional a little bit, but I was being calm and nonchalant about it.  In the short period we have gotten to know each other so well. I had fallen in love with him in a non romantic way, it was not logical, but sometimes you could form a relationship that was not based on any physical component. You just felt a connection. It was him who brought me out of funk and introduced me to a simpler time, where I was not obsessed with B anymore.

When I finally left I started to cry. In the car, alone. I realized his departure broke my heart. I had only cried for B before. That was entirely different. I was crying because I thought he no longer wanted me, no longer desired me. With B I was a woman. I was vulnerable.

With A I was a confident, secure, powerful woman who was always taking charge and giving directions. I liked how A made me feel, even though I was not attracted to him in the slightest. He was gay, or bi, but that was the not reason I liked him. He was a bit of a blank and I liked that he would never be able to hurt me in a way a man I was attracted to would do. But, he gave me hope, and he made me feel confident in many different ways. And he genuinely loved me.

There is something to be said about being loved by someone so completely. I would be lying if I did not imagine having sex with him, but it was overpowered by the emotion of adoration and love. He was a pretty boy. It was never the sex that got in the way, it was the lack of sex that made this relationship so powerful.

He was my default go to person. Every week, we hung out. We did things together. We ran, hiked, traveled. I wanted to do something for his departure. I wanted to assure myself that this relationship did exist.

He never liked B. He told me that I need to leave B, for good. I told him that I loved him. I wanted to have someone to want me sexually, and I wanted to have sex. He took a look at me and said, "You have not tried hard enough. You never tried."

"I did not want to try. I can't. I'm married and I am not putting myself out there." I met people from time to time. I met him, for instance, on a bus, of all places. I met E that way too. I met T on a golf outing. I met C at an art gallery. I met N at a bar. In varying degrees, these men are still in my life. They are just friends now.

I couldn't tell A that his pending departure may put me back in the hole with B. I was quite capable of handling my complex feelings with B when he was around. A served as a distraction. He gave me a purpose, a selfish purpose so that I could feel a sense of belonging. He actually belonged with me. He was also the voice of reason. He was able to sway me away from feeling too strongly about B, and he kept me in check when I was involved with B.

A told me that he needed to save some more to travel with me to Korea. He had to delay his trip because he wanted to go back to school.

I told him that he should do all that. Get fit, go to school, date a few girls. I remembered how I used to be with a man whom I loved once. He was living away from me, and when he called me he told me stories of women he used to date, perhaps still dated, and I remembered thinking to myself, "it's okay, he loved me." I always had an innate ability to disengage with men I cared about. I also remembered when all was set and down, he became so in love and infatuated with me, that he proposed to me.

I did not marry him. He moved from the east coast to southern california, in hoping that it was closer to me and that I'd change my mind. I never reconciled with him.

I believe that if you loved someone, you have to set them free. If they loved you back, they will return. They always do.

It's time for me to set A free. I need him to leave here, so that I could grow up too and face my own feelings for B, this time, alone, and without distractions. 

An End Not Too Soon

When I learned about A's potential departure for a job down south, I was ambivalent about it. In part I felt guilty hat I actually felt happy with that outcome. I should be feeling sad. I should feel something about his pending departure. We were close. We were quite close for sometime. But I felt happy that he was leaving. When he told me about his potential new job when we first met, I was sad, but he met me and he decided to stay here, and he did not want to move down south. And as our relationship progressed, increasingly I felt that I preferred for him to leave here. I didn't like attachment. I especially did not like it when he was becoming too close to me.

His time up here was to be limited. I suspected that he'd be leaving before the end of the month, most likely in the next two weeks. Ever since meeting him, I noticed that his life was filled with chaos. He was sick for a while, he was moving his office, he went away for a conference, he was sick again, he went back east, he wanted a relationship with me, and when that did not work out for me, he wanted to stay friends. He wanted to go out once a week, he wanted this and that... it was taxing. I felt that I had a kid.

So when the job thing surfaced again, I encouraged him, and I knew he sensed that I wanted him to leave. I remembered he was nearly crying when I told him last that he should move down there. But this time, he was being more adult about it. He wanted to advance his career, he wanted to take a job down south as I suggested that he should.

I liked that he was going to leave me soon. It was coming to an end sooner than expected. I wanted him to leave because I wanted him out of my life, in a way, that made me sad because I should feel more, I should feel that I wanted more from this relationship. After all he was an important component of my life. We were not physically involved, but we were close. He was close to me in a way no other men could. But ever since the beginning of the year, I was feeling that he was pulling away, but not in a natural way, it was as if he was hoping to put some distance between us so that he could feel less intense about us. I in return felt that I was needing some space so that I could feel less conflicted about my relationship with him.

It's never good to justify to yourself what you were doing.

I had to justify it too much.

He told me that he had decided to take the job after all. I told him that it was a good decision. I sounded so rational and so even keeled. I asked what he was doing for the rest of this week. He said that he was packing. He was going to do some packing, some jogging but he was available. And he wanted to see me. I sort of feel that I was feeling sad. I was sad because I think deep down I had complex feelings about him. It was not a natural one, it was an unexpected feeling. When he was in my life, I wanted him out. When he was going to leave my life, I wanted him to stay, but I did not know how to manage that conflict. I was very bored of our interactions for a while, and I knew he felt unsettled because he could not focus on one thing.

I told myself that putting some distance was going to be good. I could still be in contact with him. I'd see him. Flying to Southern California would not be difficult. H'd likely come up here, and I could have him stay with me. We may see each other still. He had asked me to travel with him. I found that request a bit strange but not strange enough, because we had done many things together, and it felt natural to be doing things with him, though I was not attracted to him physically. I was mostly bored. Yet I cared about him.

Once an ex boyfriend told me, "There is something about you. They always come back. They all do." When I ended all of my liaisons for a while, after I thought I could quit B, I had a conversation with this ex. He said, "They all come back to you. I don't know what it is with you. But they all do." I thought his words for a while. I didn't understand it.

Then I realized, as time passed, that he was right. Every single one of them wanted some form of presence in my life. I had calmed down significantly since I started this journey, I felt that I went through a mini 20-something struggle. As an example, a high powered partner of a large consulting firm and I were involved for a little bit. When I told him that I could no longer see him, because I was in love with someone else, he was feeling rejected. For months I did not hear from him. Then he started to chase me again, with phone calls and emails and text messages. When I did not respond to him, he became even more clingy. Eventually the power was shifted. He went from a man who demanded a lot of attention and needy to someone who would bend backwards for him, to a man who was desperate for just an opportunity to see me. I resisted. It was not going to go anywhere, I really could not advance my relationship in any shape of form. But he continued to pursue me. He called. He tried to be friendly. He tried to stay on the surface but he wanted more. Yet I couldn't give anything more. I didn't want anything with him, in June of last year I ended it for good. I had not looked back. The moment I ended with someone, I ended for good, emotionally and physically.

Yet, I was never really good at severing all ties. For every person I met since I started this journey, I kept in touch with him. No one could predict what the future holds, but I knew very well that life was meant to be a continuum. If we were lucky, we could possibly find someone we were crazy about, and if were luckier, we may even be able to hold their affection for a while. If we were truly gifted or blessed, then perhaps we could touch their lives in a way that made them remember you for the rest of their lives.

I felt vulnerable sometimes, but I had ceased to feel sorry about myself or my situation. Perhaps that was the inner strength that we were looking for to get us through the day. Perhaps that was what attracted these men who still wanted some form of presence in my life.

I looked forward to this ending with A. Because I knew instinctively, a new beginning was to be had, somewhere, with him, not with him, with someone else, or no one at all.