Drogo: Why are you telling me about your date with someone else?
Me: Give it a minute, it loops back to you, and I didn’t fuck him so hush.
Drogo: Okay
The conversation ended with me saying “do you know how hard it is to storm out of the CN Tower?”
I didn’t but I wanted to.
This was Sunday.
On Saturday I was up in the sky for the second time that day.
I had a forkful of really good salmon 2/3 of the way to my mouth.
He said the thing and time stopped.
The fish hung in limbo.
Time slows down when adrenalin hits. Fight or flight.
I guess it could have been worse, he could have reminded me of his girlfriend while I was flying the plane. I wonder if I could have kept my hand off the door latch. Unlikely. Sometimes my hands fly on their own.
I know I speak in metaphors a lot. But I really did fly a plane and he really does have a girlfriend.
They are in an open relationship. Apparently she ironed his shirt for our date.
I said he reminded me that he had a girlfriend because I knew.
If you call the passage of 100 days and I am supposed to recall something said off the cuff when I was drunk something I should ‘know’.
I forgot, memory just erased it. She does that sometimes, neither here nor there until I am 1,815.4 feet up in the air with a bite of salmon poised to enter my mouth and all of the sudden my memory snaps back so fast I get mental whiplash and my appetite and happiness dissipate at lightning speed. I dropped the fork.
“Remember?” he said, “I told you she was older and you said ‘no wonder my internal cougar alarm is going off’.”
Oh I totally said that. I wonder what other clever shit comes flying out of my mouth when I drink, I could probably write a book.
Fight or flight.
There is always a third option. Remember Colossus from the X-Men? Perceives a threat and this liquid metal covers his body rendering him bulletproof. Ya, I did that.
You see dear reader, this is the dramatic conclusion to about 100 days wherein I thought I wanted a boyfriend.
This guy planned such a spectacular date that I felt like a princess instead of my usual which is stripper/booty call/backup plan. I put on a false front, pretend it doesn’t bother me, but it does.
“Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, and passed over” A Perfect Circle.
I mean I make myself disposable, I really do. I date in fits and starts and multiples. I have back up plans/lovers. I am a stripper, hard to take seriously.
Two kinds of men date strippers, pimps and guys that don’t really like you that much. If feelings do arise, then a choice must be made. Mine is self-evident. I strip, period.
I shouldn’t say that. Someday I will be done.
There is another kind of man who dates strippers. Male strippers and porn stars.
The guy that took me up in the sky is those things.
I thought I had a chance. I was wrong.
The next 24 hours were spent a) with Drogo and b) realizing how much I like my life as is.
I needed a little shake up I guess.
I needed to have what I thought I wanted handed to me and snatched away.
I also needed reminding of how I feel about open relationships.
As we sat in the car on the long awkward ride home he kept saying ‘but you have other boys’.
Aye, I do. Less than before but more than zero.
If I did somehow end up in a relationship, I would lose my lost boys. Gently, but they would go. I do not carry old baggage into new relationships. It’s unfair to everyone.
I have also stated that I am by nature a monogamous creature. I am. Sometimes Vagina and Heart just agree, all others cease to exist and I am happy.
I am perfectly capable of and willing to be in an open relationship. I have tried on those pants before and they didn’t fit, but I know why and where they need to be taken in and let out.
I dated a guy who was bi-sexual in my 20’s. I knew when he snuck off to indulge with boys. I just let him. What hurt me is that he felt shame about it instead of telling me. His shame turned to guilt and begat violence. I didn’t dump him for cheating, I dumped him for hitting me.
Once upon a time I invited another woman into my marriage and what killed it was the history that existed between her and my husband. They were cruel. I went swimming in that polyamory pool and it was so caustic I almost melted away. They actually made me lose my physical self. 30 pounds, 30% of my flesh.
After I walked away from my open marriage I almost walked into someone else’s. Cared for a man so deeply that I held his hand walking through the mall with his fiancé grasping the other hand. Watched him beam with joy and was happy for him and vicariously through. But I couldn’t ignore the pain in her face, nor can I stomach being secondary. Lesson learned.
We will speak in detail of the Black Wedding another day, but know that on the day he married her, he called her my name 3 times. I wasn’t secondary at all.
I am no pain dealer*. I walked. Never looked back.
I told the Porn Star I needed a few days to mull things over. He inundated me with journal entries, books, messages, fb likes and had my friends asking about him.
You can’t give me 3 days? What other rules won’t you follow? The answer is all.
And my answer is No.
I came down from the sky and went swimming in the pool of Drogo. He is water to me. Cleansing and refreshing. We laughed/scoffed at the idea of a relationship. Neither of us wanting to give up our kingdoms.
Drogo remains my primary. I will cancel anything with anyone if he wants to see me. He is the Peter Pan among my lost boys. He is also my friend, which is paramount.
I am hoping for my own sanity that these bouts of wanting to be in a relationship come few and far between, like Star Wars or the Gunslinger series, years pass with nothing.
The gunslinger walked through the desert…into a galaxy far far away.
(*Alfa)
