The Cohabitants 10

She was awake with her eyes closed, stretched out on the futon couch with Moon, unsure what time it was or how long she had been snoozing. It was probably time to go home, but her body felt like peanut butter at the bottom of the jar and the dog was still asleep. Overall, it had been a good day. Now she understood why he was single. He was such a nice guy, and yet not many women would want to live in a place like this. Regardless of the extraordinary view, the practical considerations were overwhelming. 

After she peeled away the layers of the onion—physical attraction, his behavior, their shared history, knowledge and skills—they had arrived at the core of compatibility. Habitat. She could not live the way he lived. Although she did love dogs, she just couldn’t do grunge. And she couldn’t imagine him in the city. He was a rural guy. And his diet. She would have to think long and hard about how to align with a person who got their meals at a convenience store, oblivious to the connection between food and health, a person who seemed self-destructive when it came to food. She wanted him to go deep on food the way he went deep on fishing. The first time they met, a month ago, when she was following him through Sportsman’s Warehouse, he took such care to choose the right worm. 

“What difference does it make?” She thought fishing was just dropping a line in the water.

“You have to think like a fish. Where are they in the water column? Is there vegetation? How much light? What can they see? Where are they in their life cycle? Then choose the right lure.”

Now her mind circled back to lifecycle and the idea of being lured. Today she had arrived at his house with sex on her mind, front and center. That was where she was in her lifecycle. A nice clean hook-up with a hunky guy. And then this. Maybe his house was a mess for the same reason she wasn’t wearing a skirt and make-up. Maybe he was keeping it real. No illusions. He was not a tidy guy. He did not aspire to tidiness. If she was going to spend time with him, she would have to accept that without resentment. 

Her relationship zombies urged her not to compromise. Resentment was her specialty. Since her husband got sick and died eleven years ago, she had been polishing her resentment like grandma’s silver. She didn’t know who she would be without it. To her way of thinking, acceptance was a weakness, submission, surrender. On the other hand, he was kind and sincere. Her snark wasn’t a trigger for him. It was so satisfying just to have a long intentional conversation with an interesting person—an interesting person who was interested in her. 

Maybe she had been putting too much pressure on the situation applying her gender template like a cookie cutter, demanding masculinity and neatness in the same package. Now she saw how that combination could be a contradiction. His ease with her and the dogs was the same ease he apparently had with the spider webs and mouse poo. That’s right, she put her troubled self in the same category as mouse poo. He didn’t seem bothered by it. Right here in this room was a person she had so much in common with, a person who could tolerate her, a person who seemed to enjoy her just the way she was. That was a lifechanging discovery. That was enough. She decided she was okay with things just as they were. She would compartmentalize sex; gift wrap the idea and put it on a shelf in the back of her mind. They didn’t have to be lovers. They could just be friends.

Then she heard him ask, “May I kiss you?”

Her mental merry-go-round lurched to a stop. She had the thought that she might be dreaming. One way to find out.

“Yes.”

He knelt beside the couch where her head rested on a pillow, and put his arms around her, scooping her to his chest. Warm breath passed over her skin. His nose touched her cheek. His lips pressed her. He was so gentle. But the pounds per square inch were expressive. A real kiss. A long meaningful kiss. He was making a statement. Gravity let go and she was flying.

He lifted his face and put his hand on her cheek, eye to eye.

“Please do that again.” She pulled him closer and tore away the gift wrapping.

Another kiss and their bodies hummed magnetic energy, live wires sparked fire. Their limbs tangled, muscles taught, gripping each other, combining themselves into one rhythm, one heart, one pulse. Trillions of microselves communed in one shimmering biology. 

Then abruptly he stopped and broke the spell. “Is this okay?” 

Consent.

In her long and experimental life, she had never been asked for consent. She had never been with a man who stopped mid arousal to be sure she was okay with how things were proceeding. He was still in control of himself. He was caring for her again. His awareness and concern for her wellbeing were as inebriating as his flexing muscles. 

She smiled at him and sat up, making space for him on the couch beside her. They embraced and kissed until she needed to catch her breath. Held in his arms she realized his attentiveness was affection. That was what she had been missing. She had been fixated on sex, but now that he had deftly separated the two, she saw how affection required attention, emotional connection, reciprocity. Sex was hot sauce. Affection was protein. Years ago, the first thing she and her husband had lost for each other was affection, the friendly glue that held their relationship together. They may have loved each other, but their affection was all dried up. In this glorious present, the man’s affection was an affirmation, proactive and reassuring. He smoothed her sharp edges. Every cell in her body exploded with wanting.

She kissed him and buried her face in his neck tasting the salt on his skin. That’s what she wanted. More skin. “I think we should move to your bedroom.” 

Surprised, he held her face where he could see it. “My bed?”

“Yes.” She had never been more certain.

Naked on a magical mystery tour, wrapped in brown sheets, their pheromones were intoxicating. She was squishy, then tense, then buoyant, then speeding, a wild creature changing colors to match his as they floated together in the water column. Outside her body a consciousness was watching, witnessing the two of them, mapping their unity, the profound convergence of humanness. They were satisfying a hunger with sensitivity and care for their limitations. They understood themselves, seeking pleasure and teaching their bodies how to be together. The experience of such generous reciprocity changed them, satisfied them. This was the lifeforce. This was trust. Then they fell asleep.