One of my closest friends is suffering. Her life sucks at the moment. She wants to get dressed up and fucked up and fuck some stranger.Except she is married, and they are monogamous. I get it. I told her I would break my 11 years of sobriety to go out and get crazy with her. I want to get all sweaty dancing my ass off feeling a little tipsy too. Sounds fucking fun.
To NOT to be a Mom or a Wife or A Sober Woman for one night.
But just a sensual, sexual woman. Freedom.
I sent her the fantasy about the York Bar that I wrote for Highland Park. She begged me to write one for her. I told her I would try.
I have just been stood up by Highland Park- perfect time to write.
OR so I thought.
Here it goes:
I couldn’t write anything. I had a block the size of Texas. A block of resentment and sadness I could not shake.
I put my phone on silent around 9 pm most nights. But this night, I kept it on. I wish I had not.
Highland Park texted me around 10:45 asking if I was still awake.
I felt the adrenaline rush when I read his words. My rational logical mind screamed “DO NOT REPLY! DO NOT REPLY!”
But every cell in my body screamed “REPLY!!!!!”
I was awake. Could he come over to talk? Of course, he could. He was over in 5 minutes.
We held each other at the door, slowly feeling each other’s body, before he told me quietly, “I am so sorry.” I told him I didn’t know what to say. That it sucked. He visibly crumbled a bit. He doesn’t want to hurt me. Ever.
We debated while embraced that we had a short amount of time and did we want to spend it talking or having sex? We agreed that some serious talking needed to happen, but it is hard for us to talk if we haven’t connected physically yet. So we took care of that. It was super hot at first, standing where we were, my clothes came off, and we backed up against the couch. I lifted one leg so he could enter me. Standing, we made love for several intense moments, before I decided to lie down with him above me and looked into his eyes. And that was when he lost me. I felt numb and sad as I went through the motions. He had a good time. He eventually came. Inside of me. Even though the last time I asked him not to. But I knew I had a morning-after-pill left, so I wasn’t too upset. I wanted to keep a part of him with me. I feared I would not see him for a long time.
When he finished, I turned around and laid back with him on top of me. I tried touching myself to come but after a few minutes realized I was too sad and hurt to follow through. So I stopped. He looked at me, asking if I came? I said no. And I looked down. Not wanting him to see me cry. He didn’t say anything after that. He bowed his head and took his hand, covering my forehead while I wept. Rubbing my furrowed brow with his thumb. I felt so small sad and safe. I didn’t say anything for a long time until finally I told him about the parts of my fantasy I left out. I felt him take the information that I was in love with him into his body. But still, he said nothing. We sat up. I covered him with a blanket, and I put my pajamas back on. Then we talked. For an hour. He admitted that he stopped himself from saying certain things to me. I admitted that I needed to let him go, but that it was hard for me. That I didn’t want to be second to anyone anymore. I wanted to be first. His first. And I knew that was not going to happen so I had to move on.
He talked for a long time about his wife. The troubles with communication. I related. I supported. I tried to help. I told him it felt sort of inauthentic for me to keep befriending her when I had such strong feelings for her husband.
He understood. He holds back a lot. He wants to say things but he can’t.
He gave me an insanely passionate and loving kiss before he left. He said there was so much more to say.
I suggested we say it to each other after his wife and daughter leave in a week for ten days on a trip back East. He asked me if I could wait that long. I said I could.
I felt like I had to. Like I didn’t have a fucking choice.