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Mr. Houston Part III

March 23, 2016

The next morning, we slept in again. I made coffee and chocolate chip pancakes.

When we were lying in bed, looking at each other Mr. H asked, “Do you want me to stay tonight.”

I paused for a minute. “No,” I said.

He laughed at my frankness.

“I need time to decompress before going to work tomorrow.”

We sat on the sofa and talked again. I found myself talking a lot. About my mom, my past. He listened attentively.

We watched The West Wing, a series I know by heart, having watched it a ba-zillion times. He had listed it as one of his favorite television shows on his OK Stupid profile. It had been a contributing factor to my decision to reply to his initial message.

I asked him what episode he was on. “Season one, episode four,” he replied.

“You’ve only seen three episodes?!” I asked in mock anger. “That’s it. Get your stuff. Get out.”

He laughed and pulled my legs closer to his chest. We sat, watching The West Wing, drinking coffee, my foot on his cheek, gleaming white next to his brown skin. It was a moment of bliss for me as I watched him laugh at the parts I saw coming.

He wanted to go out for food, so we found a brunch place and had the buffet with mimosas. It was after 1pm. As I was pulling out of the driveway of the restaurant, headed to a drug store that sold Tom’s of Maine products, he looked at me and said, “I’m going to break your heart, aren’t I?”

I put my head down on the steering wheel. “Oh, God, Mr. Houston,” I replied, “Why do you have to say things like that?”

He had given me conflicting signals over the weekend. He liked me a lot, he said. He wanted me to come to Houston. He told me how great I was, how happy he was to meet me. How glad he was that he came. But he also made it clear that he would be seeing other people, having sex with other people. That he didn’t want to “jump right into another serious relationship.” He asked me if I would do the same. I have a hard time handling that. Once I have a possibility in my head, I can’t handle pursuing another one.

When we were back at my place, he was all packed and ready to go and we sat and talked a bit more.

“Do you think you want a relationship with me?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Is that something you’re open to?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said.

We kissed goodbye and I watched him walk down the hall, his head turned back toward me until he was out of sight.


Later that night he texted me and asked me if would bother me if he slept with a friends with benefits situation he had going on. I read the text and sighed. It was so annoying. Was he looking for permission? He wanted me to be ok with it, thought I should be ok with it, but the very fact that he was asking meant that he knew there was a genuine reason why I might not be.

“It’s your choice to make,” I replied. I’m not about to start telling somebody what to do or play the role of the jealous girlfriend, “fighting for her man.”

Of course, I can’t turn off that romantic side of me. I want him to not want to be with anyone else until I see him again. I want him to be able to chill out on the dating/sex scene while we explore what we might be to each other. That idea seems to be extinct in this dating culture.

It’s going to be Pumpkin Patch all over again. I’ll end up ending it because I can’t handle being one of his irons in the fire.

I told him I would drive to Houston from a work event I have in northwest Louisiana in two weeks. He seemed excited about the prospect, talking about where we would go.

I want to give it a try. I’m going to try for a limited time to be ok with the idea of “dating.” With the knowledge that he is still playing the field while we get to know each other. It’s late March. I’ll give him until June. If it’s not a real thing by June, I’m out.


hahahahahahaha…….like this is going to last until June! I crack myself up.


From → Rantings

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