Tantrum. Throwing shit against the wall. I am so frustrated. Angry. Mad.
He’s all kinds of wonderful.
Smart. Funny. Witty. Sexy. Cute. Stylish. Creative. Artistic. And kind. A GOOD man.
And the sex is not what I want it to be.
I want to feel satiated and satisfied.
I want to be manhandled and handled with strong confident hands.
I want to feel fucked and tired from all the fucking.
Maybe he’s too “good”
Or maybe I am just too used to disconnected trauma sex and can’t tell the real thing when I see it? Feel it? Taste it? Lick it? Smell it?
THEN…he went to his mother’s memorial in Bishop last weekend and I wrote him a poem. He added to it. We have a playlist going. We made dinner together. We fall asleep peacefully. I reach for him in the night. He is the most nurturing man I have ever met. He makes me laugh. He uses big words that turn me on. He is a perfect example of attraction rather than promotion. I went to an AA meeting with him on Sunday morning. I did not say I was a newcomer. Not yet. I was not ready. Still not ready to share on a group level. But we went to breakfast afterward with some of the people from the meeting and that was really special to me. To have some fellowship. The connection and the camaraderie. Then I left for the Echo Park Wellness Fair where I got my hair braided and had a “soul card” reading. I asked my soul to tell me something I wasn’t hearing. The three cards I picked were Grace, Awake, and Energy. And with that first card Grace, a HUGE lightbulb went off in my head. That this whole time, I have been out drinking and not being sober in the world, completely terrible things did not happen NOT because I am NOT an alcoholic, but because I have been in some sort of Grace. I have this inkling that I can no longer argue with myself that I am loved, adored, and carried through this life in a truly remarkable way. Sean is my Eskimo. And my love. I am so incredibly grateful for him in my life at this time. I hope it lasts. I truly do.
Because…the sex is something else now too. It has transformed. I remember the exact moment that it did. I went over to his house at night. He grabbed me and kissed me passionately at the door, we quickly made it to his bedroom. Clothes off. I laid down. Naked above me, I looked at him in the soft light from the broken Ikea lamp by the bed, and not only was he incredibly handsome and sexy, but it suddenly occurred to me that I could trust this man. I could. I could let him in. He would not do what the others had done. Something was different about this one. As I sank into the down comforter beneath me and felt his weight descend upon me, a sense of knowing, and deep comfort swelled up and enveloped me in its warm embrace. I could relax. I did relax. I was safe.
And the sex was GOOD.