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The One Week Relationship: The Fairy Tale

January 15, 2015

Wednesday, January 7, continued

“Hi. You awake? Can I come over for a minute?”

“Sure.” He answered.

I wanted to see him. I just wanted to see his face and hug him and kiss him. That awful meeting with Mr. Gray just solidified to me that I wanted to be with him. I drove up and knocked on the door. He let me into his cute little house. It was different than I imagined. Neat, intentional, decorated. Not too man-cave-ish. A grown-up’s place. He rented a room to a friend and she was sitting in the corner, like a sulking teenager, a blanket up to her chin. “Hey, Cathy,” I said. She raised a hand slightly. A movie was playing.

“I’m not disturbing your movie watching am I?”

“No, I have it on my hard drive,” he said. “You want some privacy?”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

He showed me around the place, the bathroom, the extra room. There were little plastic figurines on a shelf. “What are these?” I asked. “Yeah, I haven’t told you about that,” he said.

He took me into his room and closed the door. He held me and asked, “Did you have something you wanted to say? Did something happen, something disappoint you?”

“No,” I sort of lied. “I just wanted to see you.”

He kissed me and pulled me onto his bed. We made out and it got a little heated. “I could pack a little bag with pj’s and a toothbrush and come to your place,” he whispered. My “take it slow,” mantra was fading fast. He was turning me on. We wanted each other.

“Do you want to come over?” I asked.

“If you want me to.”

“I do want you to,” I said.

“Ok, go home and text me after you get there. Make sure this is what you really want,” he said.


I went home and tidied up a bit, straightening out the bed. I put my extensive Sade playlist on. My version of Barry White.

“Would you please come see about me?” I texted.

“Absolutely,” he responded.

He came over and with very little foreplay we were in bed together. He was really good. Right up there in the top three, maybe top two. I really enjoyed it and I felt a connection with him. He seemed to enjoy himself, he seemed to be into me.

At a heated moment I whispered in his ear, “Lennon, what took you so long?”

“So long to what?” he said.

“so long to find me.” I said.

“We wouldn’t want to be doing this in our 20s,” he said.

“Yeah, but a couple of months ago would’ve been nice.”

He laughed.

After an appropriate amount of snuggle time he got up to go.

“You’re leaving?” I asked. I hoped that he would stay the night.

“I asked if I needed to pack a bag and you said, ‘no,'”

“I did?”

I pressured him too to stay. I was surprised that he was going. But he was wise to say no and go home. He wasn’t comfortable yet and he hadn’t planned for what had happened that night. I was glad that he did what he wanted.

I fell asleep easily.

Thursday, January 8

My son was sick requested some take out Pho. It was cold and rainy. I skipped my walk and brought him the soup. I went home, ate and took a shower before my scheduled movie night with Lennon. We were going to watch The 100-Foot Journey. I showed up in comfy clothes. Cathy was away. He offered me some Indian-ish food he had just cooked. He served me wine. He was talking the minute I entered. There’s no awkward pauses with Lennon. Words flow out of him like a babbling brook with an endless source. His font of trivia, facts and knowledge combines with his life experiences and way of looking at the world to result in the most unusual and fascinating conversationalist I’ve ever met. I wanted to write down his quotes.

I’m used to a more fluid, adaptable banter. Lennon doesn’t like to have his flow interrupted. But it’s difficult to get a word in without interruption. He accused me of having Attention Deficit Disorder. He got a little annoyed with me a couple of times, getting back to his train of thought with a “anyway,” or “as I was saying,” after I had taken a brief tangent. I picked up on this but it was hard to know when to jump in. Conversing with him was like trying to jump into double dutch jumprope. You had to watch the flow and get in sync and jump at the right moment or you’d fall on your face and embarrass yourself. After about the third time I sensed his annoyance I joked, “Wow. You realize this is going to end badly, right?” We laughed.

He made fun of my Sade selection the night before. “Sade? Really?” he teased. “What is this a late-80s made for tv movie.” I was embarrassed. I hid my face. “I misjudged my audience,” I confessed, thinking of the other times I had played Sade.

We had a lot in common. We shared stories of rebelliousness, of quitting jobs out of a sense of justice. “It’s not the best quality for career advancement,” he said. “Tell me about it,” I said as we traded stories of righteous indignation.  There was so much that we could share and understand about each other. It was like finding someone I should’ve known all my life.

He allowed me to watch most of the movie uninterrupted but I had to ask him to stop and go back a couple of times when I missed some dialogue.

After the movie, we made out and had sex in his bed. It was very good, again. I told him he was a good lover. He told me it felt different with me, just one of many signals he seemed to giving me that he saw us going somewhere. We were lying on our stomachs looking at each other, talking. “You said in your profile, you wanted to date,” he said. “But we’re kind of beyond dating, don’t you think? I mean, now it’s about outings and spending time together, right?”

I was surprised to hear him say that. We were one week in, if you counted the first conversation. I thought about the night before, meeting Match guy. He didn’t know that. We got up to dress. I put on my pants and he reached into his closet and pulled out a t-shirt and threw it at me. I put it on. He wanted me to wear his t-shirt. It was one of the cutest things a man has ever done.

We went back into the living room for more wine.

“I have a story to tell you but I’m not sure I should,” baiting him of course to drag it out of me. What a bullshit thing to say. It’s basically saying, “No matter what I say after this, just remember, not telling you was always an option.” I told him about the Match guy. I told it like one of my funny stories, animated and exaggerating the negative qualities of Mr. Gray. He must have thought I was talking about something that happened weeks ago.

“Five minutes in, all I thought was, ‘I’d rather be with Lennon,’ and I called you as soon as I was out the door, to see if I could see you.”

“That was last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

His demeanor changed.

“I’m going to have to take some time to process this.”

Process it? I thought. I wasn’t expecting that. He was actually upset that I had met someone. I was upset that he was upset. It was an unexpected reaction. Shit, I thought. Did I just fuck this up? 

We overanalyzed the situation for another hour or so, a bad habit we apparently share. He tried to articulate his feelings. “I’m disappointed,” he said, “I guess I just hoped that I would be enough….that meeting me would mean you didn’t want to meet someone else.”

It was just a meeting, I thought.

“What if you had liked him,” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I would’ve said, ‘I like you but I just met this guy and I want to see where it goes.'”

I didn’t understand where he was coming from. I had come straight to him after the meeting. I wanted him. What was I missing?

“I want the fairy tale,” he said.

A man said that to me. “I want the fairy tale.”

The night ended a bit awkwardly and I went home. I cried in the car. Was it over just like that? I was a bit dizzy. I recapped the past seven days.

We met on the same day that I agreed to meet another stranger. For the next five days we spent time together and shared more with each other than most people do in months. When I met the other stranger, all I wanted to do was be with him. So, I spontaneously sought him out and that was our first night together. It was so good that I whispered in his ear, “What took you so long to find me?

If that’s not the fairy tale, I don’t know what is. Nicholas Sparks would be jealous of that screenplay.

Was he just missing what was in front of him out of ego or insecurity? I wondered if he was a glass-half-empty-nothing-is-good-enough kind of guy.

I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

It was up to him now.


to be continued….




From → Rantings

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