Dear Hearts,
I kissed a man yesterday afternoon. And, I can’t stop thinking about it. Not him, per se, but the physical contact.
As I was getting into my car out the Café where I had just met Dr. Swede and G-Pa for pie and coffee, I saw this man walking through the parking lot with cowboy boots. Being that cowboy boots out here are considered somewhat of a “costume/fashion statement,” I rolled down my window and told him I like his boots. He came over to my car and I opened the door to show him my Cross Boots. He was attractive, pleasant…and the next thing I knew I was getting his phone number and we were going to meet up for coffee at The Cup.
OMG! I haven’t been out to coffee with a man since I met T. in late 2014. I know I went on a whole bunch of dates that I don’t remember during my ECT fugue state. But, we aren’t counting those dates and I have only a three snapshot memories of them anyway. The first real recollection of a date was with T.—who was drunk before, during, and after our date.
I haven’t been kissed by or hugged by a man who hasn’t called me a “fucking bitch” since early February 2015.
First, The Cup, has the worst iced-coffee. YUK! Fake and sweet—even though the sign said it was real---nothing real about that syrupy excuse for iced-coffee. Boots and I talked about stuff—we just kind of organically went from one topic to another. He’s 53 (older than he looks), has had serious medical issues, and two divorces, plus a broken 13-year relationship as of Thursday all since he was 27.
Nope.
But, that is what made it fun. Enjoyable. I knew that Boots and I had no future. He told me straight up that he doesn’t want a relationship—his heart is with his former girlfriend/partner whom he’s known since grade school. But, we talked and laughed. I wasn’t wearing makeup. My hair wasn’t stunning. But he wanted to hear my story—the NY plates on my car piqued his interest.
We found ourselves at a local park, right off a fairly travelled road. I had my phone. I had my keys that I could use as a weapon—I wasn’t stupid. But, he wasn’t threatening. We talked some more and smoked.
Then he hugged me.
To feel a man’s embrace…a man’s smell…it made me FEEL... And, there wasn’t no room for the Holy Ghost in this hug.
Neither of us realized how much we needed that from each other until we got it.
He wasn’t going to kiss me. But, I wanted to be kissed.
“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” I said and kissed him.
He kissed back. We didn’t neck or make out like teenagers—but the way he touched me and kissed me—VERY CHASTELY—made me feel not dead inside. His picked up twirled me around. Finally, a man whose neck I could bury my head in. He was just the right amount taller than I.
As we kissed and the spontaneous sound I made illustrated all the more how much I just needed to be kissed…I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. But, God, it felt good.
The rest of the details will stay with me. I cannot stop thinking of them. I am like spontaneously smiling today. WTF?? Again, the replay in my head has way less to do with him than with what we shared. Human contact. I felt like a woman.
Even after I filed for divorce from Arthur, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d kissed. T.—the last time I tried to kiss him, essentially goodbye, he wouldn’t shut up about what a fucking whore his ex-wife was.
Boots and I gave something to each other. I don’t know if the Catholic Church would classify it as a sin. It wasn’t about sexual pleasure—it was about connecting in the way a man and a woman are meant to connect.
Boots was very clear that we may not ever see each other again and he apologized in advance for perhaps never texting me. I assured him that was okay. We gave something to each other that neither of us knew we needed until…
I don’t want to necessarily see him again.
I have NEVER casually dated. Almost every first date or kiss (excluding the ECT fugue dates) led to a serious relationship. I have never been casual about sexuality and although it has been suggested to me—I certainly am not going to “just have fun” (sex) with a guy. But, to just go out for coffee and human contact…yes.
He said I have a lot to offer and that I had a great body. He is in good shape too! No middle-aged pounch! He was impressed with the fact that I could see our afternoon for what it was. He was like really impressed and so was I with myself that I don't expect anything more. I said I’d let him text me if wanted and if not…then that’s okay. He said he never takes women “out for coffee” and he doesn’t socialize much. I get that. I have been where he is now. He doesn’t need to know where I am now except that I am not looking for a relationship.
It’s scary to think of letting someone in again. And, I like doing what I want to do when I want to do it. I can watch Chicago Fire and no one is gonna be like “Oh, that’s fucking stupid.” Yeah, I chafe a little under G-Pa’s schedule here, but I don’t answer to anyone. And, as low and hopeless as I feel, I don’t have to worry about my heart being broken because it already is. My heart may be healing—it was gutted with a spoon.
I really rather hope that we don’t see each other again and we can just have yesterday afternoon.
It wasn’t just “pleasure”—it was Hope. Hope that somewhere out there is another man, the right man, who wants to kiss me. And love me. I feel not dead inside. Maybe I am stupid—but the chances of him walking through a town he doesn’t usually frequent with boots at the exact same moment that I saw him…
What if this was a little Oasis from God? What if God were saying to me, “Hold on.”
We gave each other the Hope of Love—what is more Christ-like?—in our hugs and kisses. There was nothing sinful, lustful, or dirty—it was the promise of what is to come, perhaps?
Boots’s face may fade from my memory…but I will always have the Afternoon at Mule Bridge Park.
I am not ready yet and Boots ain’t the one…but what I felt…
The Stirring of Life? Hope?
Thank you, God.
It’s weirdish though. I almost don’t want to think about it or remember it---I even kinda wish it hadn’t happened—FEELING, HOPE—those are scary. If you don’t feel or hope for anything—you can’t be disappointed.
Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless
In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.
PS: Mom: thank you for encouraging me to use the Abortion Fund money to get a House Salad (big) and a Strawberry Milkshake at The Diner. And then the night went really off the hook when I rented Kalifornia on iTunes and had five cigarettes that day! I was up past 1 a.m.—Off the fucking hook!
PPS: I did the drive right. You have to drive 10 to 15 miles under the speed limit and just pull over to let those “fast drivers (doing the speed limit)” overtake you. I did it! I even went to McDonald’s with G-Pa for pie, which I will never eat, and coffee that I don’t really drink. But, it made him happy.
PPPS: Hey, Chiquita at the register when I softly say just fill my coffee up half way and give you “the eyes” and nod toward the old man next to me—don’t repeat the order out loud including that I only want half a cup of coffee! Oy!
PPPPS: G-Pa, thanks for the pie and iced-coffee. And, thanks for giving me a home. I hadto move halfway across the country to escape my Demons.
PPPPPS: He could even pronounce and remember my name right and did not laugh at my last name! Points there.
Grateful For:
Pie
Iced-Coffee
Human contact
Health
Faith
Family
Angel
RABBIT, RABBIT
RABBIT, RABBIT
UPDATE
I just had a massive episode. About an hour long. My experience with Boots yesterday was like a huge meteor hitting my planet. It knocked things off kilter. I have thoughts that I haven’t had in a long time.
But then I had a functional episode at BB yesterday afternoon, too.
I fuck up my life with men. And all on my own too.
Who the fuck was that Kate yesterday?
UPDATE 2
Who the fuck was that Kate yesterday?
UPDATE 2
Who am I kidding. I was looking at nut houses last week. And that hour long episode tonight. No good, sane man is gonna sign up that. I wouldn't sign up for that.
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