(no subject)
The first awkward moment comes when she pulls out my chair, unexpectedly, and it is almost a power struggle. The obvious negotiation between us, and the conscious suppression of my ambivalence. Isn't this what I wanted? She is a gentleman to a fault, has not missed a step: she brought me the perfect flowers, complimented my outfit, and as I stepped into the restaurant I felt her hand on my back, guiding me. She reaches across the table for my hand, leans forward and looks into my eyes. I feel myself beginning to wilt under her gaze, and do my best to lighten the mood. She may be the first person I can't make laugh, though; she gives me half smiles instead, but they do not reach her eyes. I've never had someone look at me with such explicit, single-minded, erotic intent for such an extended period of time. I proceed to waste most of my food as I rack my brain for new responses to her declarations that she finds me attractive.
Later, she kisses me too hard, with too much need. I try to relax, lecture myself about being available and open to possibility, by which I mean that I am trying desperately not to think about you, to lose myself in this kind woman's kisses. This is not who I am, I am not the girl whose fear sends her into arms that feel wrong in every way, arms that belong to someone who just wants to fuck me. She asks if we can spend more time together, and I extricate myself as graciously as I can, send her on her way with a bouquet of white lies. It hits me that I am actually choosing going to the gym, going grocery shopping, and doing work over having sex.
I know this is unfair. I should be a dating pariah, off limits to everyone but you. Even worse, it is proof that I am past being able to replace you, even past wanting to. I don't care anymore about the 500 miles between us, which might stretch to thousands in the next year. I am scared witless, but it doesn't matter anymore. I hear your laugh on the phone, hear the affection as you tease me about my inner dyke, and I am so relieved at being understood that I want to cry. Even better, I hear the relief in your voice after I tell you that it wasn't a good date, that I missed you. I close my eyes, draw my knees up to my chest and let your kind, tired voice soothe me. Somehow you have turned listening to me into an art form, so unassumingly that I almost missed it. You see the contradictions and complexities, find beauty in the flawed reality. I don't know if I deserve this kind of acceptance, though, this total willingness to see me as I am. It's actually terrifying, because your perception of me seems to have no preconceptions, no rules, and therefore the possibilities are endless.
Later, she kisses me too hard, with too much need. I try to relax, lecture myself about being available and open to possibility, by which I mean that I am trying desperately not to think about you, to lose myself in this kind woman's kisses. This is not who I am, I am not the girl whose fear sends her into arms that feel wrong in every way, arms that belong to someone who just wants to fuck me. She asks if we can spend more time together, and I extricate myself as graciously as I can, send her on her way with a bouquet of white lies. It hits me that I am actually choosing going to the gym, going grocery shopping, and doing work over having sex.
I know this is unfair. I should be a dating pariah, off limits to everyone but you. Even worse, it is proof that I am past being able to replace you, even past wanting to. I don't care anymore about the 500 miles between us, which might stretch to thousands in the next year. I am scared witless, but it doesn't matter anymore. I hear your laugh on the phone, hear the affection as you tease me about my inner dyke, and I am so relieved at being understood that I want to cry. Even better, I hear the relief in your voice after I tell you that it wasn't a good date, that I missed you. I close my eyes, draw my knees up to my chest and let your kind, tired voice soothe me. Somehow you have turned listening to me into an art form, so unassumingly that I almost missed it. You see the contradictions and complexities, find beauty in the flawed reality. I don't know if I deserve this kind of acceptance, though, this total willingness to see me as I am. It's actually terrifying, because your perception of me seems to have no preconceptions, no rules, and therefore the possibilities are endless.