last week, in anticipation of something that would challenge me, i asked the owner for help. "please tell me what to do." he was putting me in the situation and i asked him directly and simply. he was traveling, he was pre-occupied, a few days went by; then a lightbulb broke over my head. i knew he'd just say suck it up. so i did and concentrated on what was most relevant to me, what would allow me to behave in the way we both desired. mostly, i succeeded, but i just plain refused to consider what i knew would be an inevitable facet.jump-cut>>
unexpectedly, i ran into the owner upon his return. he was waiting for a date. i knew about her, and had even scoured my apartment to make it gleaming for any potential hijinks. she was woefully late, and i frankly couldn't believe he wasn't more irritated. i was thrilled to see him, yet felt misty that i was not *to see* him. he was there for her. i was told, " don't be sad," even though i was. i wasn't angry or acting out or behaving irrationally, ya know? i had missed him and there he was right there, looking gorgeous -- but waiting for another. so, yeah, shoot me for wanting you. did he mean in some bizarre way to cheer me? i don't know. it felt like invalidation.
(a post-script here in fairness: after over an hour of waiting he wound up putting her feet to the heat. she balked and didn't show. i got pizza and mmc. lol. she messed up. he's wonderful to be with, at table and in bed.)
next day, up there>>
plenty of chores for me and we had big plans, which involved an actual start-time, and to my nerves and his happiness, this other woman with whom i simply don't know what to do. i had asked. i had admitted i was flummoxed. he didn't care. oooooh-k. my problem, but my hackles were up as soon as i heard her voice, so i just stayed quiet.
she went to the bathroom almost immediately. (hey, long train-ride, lol.) he came to me. he kissed and fondled me. i felt my rigidity, but could see the fire and joy in his eyes. i realized my arms were folded and i was unconsciously holding him at bay. i stopped. i let go. i wanted him too. like a fever running though me.
over dinner, he coaxed her to tell a story from her blog: "spanish danny." eyes cast down and her voice full of hesitancy, it brought a whole new meaning to my mother's oft-said, "it's not what you say, but how you say it." the owner seemed genuinely charmed, so i knew it wasn't the time to share my multiple johnny anecdote. once i loved a man who was tall, dark and handsome, played rugby professionally and broke my heart twice. his mates called him irish johnny. he was of irish extraction, but by way of australia. his friend, who wooed me after the 2nd shattering, was johnny black. he wasn't, but he drank it. another in their circle was johnny o'. irish johnny was also an "o", but arrived too late to catch that sobriquet. there was also big johnny. johnny without an adjective was 1st, i guess.
the concert was brilliant fun. i felt madly in love and so happy he brought me.
i pretended she wasn't there.
there was copious alcohol.
i had to do something that i never ever want to do. never. not in fantasy, not in my dreams, not in bed. never. in this case, i had to do it to someone i don't like, don't find appealing and who did not want it. how do i process that?
yes, i did what i was told. ok, that part is good. the rest? i just don't know. maybe i just won't allow the feelings up since i spent all those days sublimating? i really don't know.
eventually, she reached critical mass and fled to her cocoon. she hid, silent, until i left in the morning. he and i slept, fucked, slept and fucked some more and laughed alot. yet all the while, i was so conscious of *pretending* we were alone. it was bizarre, but i was too wrecked and work loomed.
i didn't hear from him the next day. he was just back and i had lots to do and social plans. after a venue change and a few drinks, i ran into an ex. it had always been casual. he liked to handcuff me to the bed, but he was never a keeper. he told me i looked great, and for once, i actually thought i looked ok. good hair day; sweater set, seamed stockings -- retro and flattering.
timing is everything.
i came home and cried.
next night, the owner called. i knew he'd had a bad spot with the future ex. we chatted and laughed and it was great to hear his voice. it's always so nice to know he's thinking of me, ya know?
after awhile, i admitted i was struggling with saturday. i asked if we could wait to talk about it. it was late, and i was still confused.
he
got
so
angry.
much has been made lately that "my feelings don't matter". i am trying very hard to keep my hand off the fire of what is looking to be an adventure in dehumanization. objectification is hot for me. this is terrifying.
i also struggle with not wanting to be a bother.
he was furious.
he accused me of being presumptuous.
he hung up.
i was/am terrified.
i sat by the window and waited. i feared an express lane drive to midnight midieval punishment.
i'm at a loss. utterly.
if my *feelings don't matter*, i don't know how i can stay in a place of emotional vulnerability. am i supposed to? or shall i just drag myself to a place of defeat and loss of hope? what is life without the potential for joy?
even this, i just don't know.
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