It was an hour drive back from Salem to Portland while she buzzed on thoughts of him. There was an obvious mismatch between their lifestyles. Her relationship zombies were quick to point out that she had never been attracted to this sort of man before. That was confusing. Also, interesting. What had changed in her to make this guy so appealing?
She made a mental list. Then she wrote it down on her phone like a grocery list. Lists gave her comfort that everything was under control, nothing would be forgotten. And yet, even with the list, he was a wild bear raiding her pantry. How much was she going to allow him to wreck before she got out the bear spray? Even her fantasies were unsettled. Should she throw herself at him? Or should she shoo him away? She thought the list would pull her mind out of her desire and make sense of the moment. But this list was different than the lists she made so long ago.
- Good kisser
- Sexy
- Sense of humor
- Kind and considerate
- Intelligent
- Loves animals
- Common sense
- Outdoor lifestyle
- Fun companion
- Music
The last time she went on a serious manhunt, she wanted to start a life with someone, find a soulmate, share a dream, buy a house, own stuff. But she was way past all that now. She didn’t believe in the idea of a soulmate anymore, and she already had a life and a dream. She didn’t want to own a house, and she didn’t want any more stuff. She just wanted a person the way she wanted a dog, a companion. What she really wanted was a pet man.
But men were risky. A man could appear to be one thing and then be something completely different. He could live a double life, one in which she was the queen of his heart and another in which he followed his dick into another woman’s bed while his wife stayed home and washed his clothes. As much as she wanted to believe Illinois Boy could be the man of her dreams, she knew her desire could mislead her. It had before. She knew she could see the good in him while the bad was hiding just behind that tree over there. There was always something bad in a man. That’s just the way they were built. So, the list was nice. He had already met more than half her requirements. But she wasn’t convinced.
He was the exact sort of masculine she would have rejected in her thirties and forties. But testosterone seemed really hot to her now. Maybe because there was so little of it in her life. He was an animal. That was something to get used to. What was a man anyway? She had been with so many men. She thought she knew men. She believed she had all the answers to all the questions. But she had never been with a man’s man. Not a big hairy man. Not a man who preferred the company of men.
Her idea of a kiss was an indulgence like chocolate or a sweet peach. She was attracted to the physical experience of the muscular union, the tactile sensation, the taste, the self-expression. All these thoughts of kissing him were not thoughts of falling in love or getting married. They were dopamine hits. She didn’t think love was possible and she had no interest in marriage. The kiss was just a treat for herself, the cherry on top. That was what she told herself.
After thirty-two years of marriage, in hindsight she thought the essence of marriage was just cohabitation. A couple lived together as cohabitants and shared the resources that made their cohabitation possible. If at some point children burst out of the woman’s body, they were just the anchor that kept the couple from floating apart. Once the love became habits and the habits became rituals and the rituals became expectations, the romance was gone. She knew that from experience. The relationship was reduced to living together. Cohabitation. Kids might hold the marriage together. Or not. But love was not necessarily part of a mature relationship. Love was the memory of how things began. But when it got old, love died like a neglected houseplant. That’s how she felt about it. Or so she said. To herself. In her mind.
Cohabitation was a back burner idea far from now. She was enjoying living alone in her studio apartment. It was an achievement. She had worked to change her self-image, her aspirations, and her skills to become a writer. She needed solitude to write. For the first time in her life she was living alone without roommates or a boyfriend or a husband. It was a milestone. She didn’t want a husband. She didn’t need a husband. She really just needed a kiss. The feeling of something very special. Dream heat. No commitments. Kissing him would be like shoplifting. She would take what she wanted. She owed it to herself.
Their second date was a month after the first because that’s how long it took for their schedules to match up. He invited her to his home for lunch and another forest walk. It was a two-hour drive south through the Willamette Valley. If they were going to have a physical relationship, she would be sleeping at his place. So, seeing it and learning how he lived was key.
The driveway to his house was long and steep. She needed a code to get through the gate, then more driveway, then she was at the peak of a hill. Two houses, a large one and a small one, faced each other separated by a loop of asphalt surrounded by a great green forest. He lived in the smaller house attached to the garage.
In her mental movie of the moment, she would step out of her car, and he would approach her with lust on his face and scoop her up in his arms for another muscley hug like the one from a month ago in the mall parking lot. But it didn’t happen that way. She was already out of the car standing in the driveway waiting for him while she watched her dog take off into the trees. Moon was chasing a wild scent, Weimaraner DNA in full force, a hunting dog hunting. This was a behavior she knew well from their past life on the farm, but she was surprised how suddenly he tuned into these new surroundings and reverted to the dog he had been for the first seven years of his life before she moved them to Portland.
When the man finally did come out of the house, she was immersed in nostalgia triggered by Moon’s unexpected joy. As she leaned in for a hug, he turned his face to the side to avoid her face in perfect pandemic protocol. Not the least bit sexy or inviting. She felt stung. Her dog seemed to belong there, but she didn’t. She wanted the man to break the rules, to be a little bit out of control. She wanted him to throw caution aside and risk infectious disease for the pleasure of rubbing faces with her and wrapping her in his arms. She wanted him to be delirious with desire because that’s how she would know she was in the right place. But he was disciplined, controlled, held back, reserved his affection, specifically did not kiss her, did not even touch her with his lips. Her ego was squashed like a bug.
Love the shoplifting metaphor. God knows we both had versions of that when living in N Highlands. Love also the magnifying glass self-examination but with the gradual revelation of yr guy’s personality, being, physical self – thru yr lens but eventually in his own ‘write’.
W all my oddball relationships (Isenberg called em ‘relayshits’) I’ve had to writew about em. If only to understand a bit more how I and how we wound up and then broke up together.
What a life it is indeed.
ml
r
I hear you. Writing about my relationships gives me clarity about where I was back then, but also about who I am today. I’m a different person because the people I love change me.