He had just braided his fingers into my hair and said he was happy I didn’t have extensions.
I smiled, “What kind of girls are you fucking honey?” He didn’t answer.
“You have never seen me shiny or strippery.”
“Nah, I like you like this.”
“I just got out of the water, I look like a sea witch.”
“Nah, this is you. Beautiful.”
Every once in a long while I am handed a sincere compliment with no agenda. I hold onto them like diamonds.
I’m the first to admit I am insecure. He sugar coated it and called me humble, but we will get back to that in a minute.
“She’s just margarine. Fake, plain, toxic in large doses, only so much eyeshadow and Snapchat a girl can take really. And I know he was engaged. So that’s that then.”
We both chuckled and he took me upstairs. I kept waiting for the guilt to kick in but it didn’t. He came out of the shower and laid down next to me. Kept telling me how strong my hands are as I kneaded this muscle or that one.
It didn’t start out that way, I don’t usually double dip with ex’s friends, and I haven’t slept with someone one of my girlfriends liked since I was in my 20’s. Except Moonface but I saw him first. PIC wanted him and instead of taking one for the team, I took one for me. She got over it.
And I took one again for me, this man, with his honey coated tongue and fingers made of molten steel pulling me apart and putting me back together. Saying all the sweet things first with his mouth, then his hands, then all in.
Right before he remarked that he loved we could just lay together mostly naked, and there was no pressure for sex.
“About that” I said. “I was waiting on you.”
He grinned a Cheshire cat grin and
Flip
Switch.
I do love that flip.
Switch. From tender to intense. From gentle to bestial. From reverent to wanting.
I was not disappointed.
“Do you trust me?”
In that moment I realized I did.
FUUUUUUUUCK, there is nothing sexier than a tanned, buff, naked man standing beside the bed while my legs quake, asking that question. Except what happened after.
…
I started writing this, scrapped it and started again. I was on a self-imposed gag order about where I was going and what I was doing but I realized by the time I got to sit at my laptop everyone would know. So here I am. Committing memories to the archives. The thing about driving for days is you have a lot of time to think/remember. I have driven 10,000 kilometers over 7 days in the last 18 days. Not including city trips and the quarry.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. My shoulders hurt, I never want to eat at Tim Horton’s again, and I already need another oil change, my 3rd this August. But I am calm and I am Zen and I am happy.
They say living well is the best revenge. I say no revenge is the best revenge.
The opposite of love is indifference (so pay attention now, I’m standing on your porch screaming out, and I won’t leave until you come downstairs) The Lumineers, Stubborn Love.
Ignore that last part in parenthesis, I refuse to stalk. Maybe I shoulda, but I won’t. Not my thing. Clear invitation or I ain’t coming. Preferably 2 or 3, see above. I am insecure.
I just really like that song and for once I would like someone to stand on my porch and scream my name. It’s been a long hot minute since anyone threw pebbles at my window. It was romantic though if memory serves.
Almost threw pebbles at the aforementioned ‘his’ roommate’s window during a heatwave a couple years back. I said so, jokingly once and he replied, “You could just call you know, you never call or text.” I didn’t. See above where I am insecure and need 1-3 invites to go anywhere.
Where was I going with this?
…
Oh ya. It was weird that I messaged him at all. Hadn’t seen or heard from either of them in a while.
“Are you at home? I feel like swimming.”
“I am, let’s go.”
(later)
“Do you trust me?”
I nodded.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
I can’t remember if I had done this before or if I just watch way too much porn, but DAMN.
He hooked his arms under my knees and lifted me up like I was light as a feather; he was stiff as a board.
OH
MY
GOD
GOODGODDAMN
So where does the revenge come in?
It really doesn’t.
To fully understand we must cross reference with events that occurred in June 2018. A friend, that I am no longer friends with, let’s call her Becel, and I wandered down to the beach for a swim and a tan and came back with an invite to dinner by 2 beautiful men.
The one I liked, liked me and became my summer fling. The other two, not so much.
Mine, I found out later, was engaged to a girl back home, far far away. So I left it and him alone.
My friend in question? That friendship has dissolved in a vat of sulfuric acid, ripped dresses and unpaid bills.
Now usually I carry a lot of gilt for a non-Catholic.
I get more sad than angry. Carry the hurt instead of lashing out and hurting others. And in the grand scheme of things I didn’t hurt anyone. Just got a porn sex, multiple orgasms with a back rub and some good pillow talk karmic reward.
It takes a lot for me to be done with someone, and the two in question…done.
They don’t exist. For a second I felt bad. Like ghosts haunting a perfectly good moment.
And I don’t feel bad about it
It’s exactly what you get
Stop interrupting my grinding*
He didn’t feel bad either.
“I wasn’t really that into her. I always had a bit of a crush on you to be honest.”
I like honest.
“She had way too much attitude for someone so average you know?”
Oh I know.
“I prefer my women beautiful and humble.”
(forehead kiss)
Thanks baby.
“She said if I didn’t message her back I was dead to her.” he laughed.
“You don’t feel dead, nice and warm actually.” He pulled me closer.
I can see clearly looking back that I have a habit of picking the wrong friend when it comes to dating, and life in general.
Flip
Switch.
(*Beyonce)
The image of standing on the porch screaming brings to mind but one sound, “STELLA!” (Brando, of course). I know the, waithing-for-the-other thing well, including when both are doing it and the switch doesn’t get flipped (That one was probably for the best in the long run.}.