The Gods are always smiling at me. Sometimes they look like the Joker and chuckle like Jabba the Hut. But they smile. Sometimes its loud witch cackles, sometimes twittering giggles. They never laugh AT me, only for me.
I am loved, I know this.
I live an exuberant, grateful life. I say thank you often and rarely, if ever, utter “why me”. The why is on its way and will make itself known, I know this.
What gets funny, and I imagine the Gods and Angels sitting back and having a good laugh, is when I think I know what is going to happen. They are just hanging out up there with these proverbial wrenches to throw at me every time I make a decision on how things ought to be.
I had a date on Wednesday. Beautiful man. Exceptionally talented photographer. I wondered what he was doing asking me out. Not just asking me out, but somehow seeing I was in distress and literally offering me a day off from the world.
I have long been fascinated by the idea of Sanctuary. Knock on the door of any church, claim sanctuary and ta da, insta-refuge.
That is what this felt like. Sanctuary.
I went to a strange man’s house on the first date. Never underestimate the drawing power of a pool and a meal I didn’t have to cook myself. I sat down and did the math. It had been 3 calendar years since a man made me dinner, 5 years before that and before that, pretty much never.
I also asked around about him. And lo, the Lord said let there be Facebook so you can see if you have friends in common and findeth out if’n the man is safe and he was and it was good amen.
I tried to walk into this with no expectations. Not even about how he looked, and he looked GOOD in his photos. Kinda like Khal Drogo. Tall, exotic, tattooed, beardy. I didn’t stand a chance really.
I heard a rumour he was a little man-whorey. Revolving door of women. Girls seem to last a month or 3. I figured alright, I will take a turn. See how this goes. I figured I could win-win it. If he was a douchebag, I’d fuck him and leave, politely shutting the door on my way out. If I liked him? I had to hold out for at least a day, otherwise I ran the risk of him going ghost, and I would absolutely deserve it for being that easy and typical.
Don’t forget, I am a slut. I love all the sluts, whores are people too.
I love sex and I want to have it, it’s not a commodity, it is an act I love to partake in. I was just hoping that were he to be a douchebag, it would not be at such a level as to cause my vagina to slam shut faster than the door on my way out of it.
Turns out the few hours we spent chatting online, he was telling the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me oh god.
He is a good man, intelligent, single dad, evolved and a damn fine cook.
I tried to not sleep with him when I realized I liked him. Told him why, right before he fucked me, the first time. We had a good chuckle about it, all of us, Gods included, I could hear them over top of me moaning and him growling.
And yes, I am writing this with a bag of frozen peas between my legs.