27 hour “date”- part 1

Can it really be this good? Am I paying attention? I am. I really am.

Saturday

I’ve just gotten home from being with him 27 of the last 29 hours. I had brunch with two girlfriends two of the hours. I arrived at his place at 5 yesterday. We sat down on the floor with our drink and talked about Skeleton Woman, our day, and everything else. Two hours later we thought we should get some food going. He made the salmon I brought over, added salad, and asparagus. He took care of everything and I just let him lol. It’s lovely. He’s lovely.

More talking after dinner. Our communication is off the charts. Now and again he gets on a little train and heads down a long story track but I like learning about his life. Just sometimes he wanders off the track and starts trying to figure out details that don’t really matter to the actual story. So what? So do I, I’m sure. A few of those times when I’m sharing some story that’s fluffy he jumps tracks and doesn’t focus. He does jump back though.

But when I’m sharing something important he’s locked in. He doesn’t freak out at my tears, both sad and happy. He finds out what is going on. This happened several times in the 27 hours.

I arrived at his place Friday evening around 5 to see him sitting and reading. Bestill my heart. I sat in front of him and we talked. He’d been reading the Skeleton Woman chapter so we talked about it for 20 minutes or so. Then at some point he says, “I was nervous about my body then I saw yours was imperfect and I felt better about myself.”

Ouch.

It hit me like a slap. He thought my body was imperfect. Now I’m not a hard body. I know this. But I’ve worked really hard to get rid of some voices that tell me how imperfect it is. I’ve worked hard to see my body as perfect and healthy and of course I definitely have room for improvement but I’ve learned to feel sexy in my skin as I mentioned in my Dear Scarlett letter back in May.

I had to talk about it. I wasn’t going to take this home with me to turn over in my mind like a piece of rotting fruit.

“Hold on,” (I do my best to recreate these convos but know I’m only getting the gist). Tears started forming because this was hard, “so you are saying my body is imperfect. I’ve worked really hard to feel like it is perfect.”

“You said in the blog you were squishy in the middle,” he pointed out.

“Yes and then I realized my body is perfect and yet real. I think that’s the word you are wanting. Real.”

I already knew from him telling me one million times and how he responds to me that he thinks I’m very beautiful, everywhere. I knew he wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. But I still didn’t want that in my head. I want to keep things cleaned out, no dregs of “I wonder what that meant? What does he really think,” etc. So I asked. I was vulnerable. He didn’t mean whatsoever that I’m imperfect, just wrong word choice. We talked, I cried, he apologized for being a dolt and we moved on. I did look in the mirror a few times and felt that shitty voice point out my squishy middle but I slapped it away as best I could. I’m not feeling great about this quarantine stressed out carb-loaded body but I’m not going to hate on it either.

I’m proud of myself though for stopping things right then and getting it right.

We are both committed to doing that. And it feels like if you keep checking in, seeing what the person meant, asking questions, that it’s going to help form this great foundation and form a habit of staying in touch with the other and with ourselves.

I’ve also had tears for happy moments because the connection we have is something I didn’t know possible. I told him I’ve been thinking and writing in 2020 about what I want in a relationship. I told him I hadn’t shot high enough. What I have with him was better than I’d imagined. I’d written I hoped the guy would read a book. Fuggedhabout reading about the Life/Death/Life cycle and Skeleton Woman, discussing it with me in depth, writing about it and posting on his goddamn mirror. No way I ever thought I could have that with a man. My bar was too low.

He is a musician, The Drummer ya know, so music is to him what words are to me. He had made a playlist of music that was meaningful to him for different reasons. After dinner he played each song and told me it’s impact on him. He was also seeing what I liked or didn’t like. I liked all but three or four, loved many of them but truly enjoyed seeing his musical journey through life. His passion for music makes me happy.

We headed off to get naked and I felt a bit nervous. It had been since Sunday, five days, and Sunday had been “otherworldly” as I wrote. He had been concerned I’d expect that every time. Uhhh no. It wouldn’t even be fun to do the same thing every time, although it was epic and I do look forward to it sometime in the future in whatever capacity it happens. But I got in my head a little and I think was a bit tired and just wonky, not 100%. That all went away after cuddling, kissing, talking more and mmmmm damn we enjoy each other.

We talked MORE after sex. Yes we both have lots of words lol. Then we tried to sleep.

I still can’t wind down and let go to be able to sleep. For one thing I’m so excited to be there. For another I’m not used to touching someone while I sleep and we were right on top of one another. I dozed but didn’t sleep much. He got up early and I did sleep hard until 9. Then he came back to cuddle and talk, got me coffee while I got ready for the brunch.

You’ve made it to hour 21 darlings. The rest will be on another post.

I’m trying to do this justice. I can’t write about all of it as so much happens. I’m trying to give a sense of it though. I just feel like it’s not good enough. Like I need to be taking a writing break every hour! We keep breaking new ground together.

I’m trying though. I will try to do better at writing every day so it’s fresher in my mind. And being a better writer to try and get at the details that make it interesting.

Photo by Yan Miranda on Pexels.com

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