**I posted this – then I deleted it because it felt a bit raw — now I am reposting it, because I think there was more to it for my reason in deleting it, and I need to face that, so here goes, once again**
This is going to be a very long route to a point I’ve been needing to write about.
Many many moons ago I met a guy.
He was a seemingly ordinary guy, that I met in an ordinary way; at a bar with a friend. Attractive, but nothing to write home about. A tad too short for my taste. We had actually gone to high school together, but we hadn’t hung in the same social circles. I really only knew him barely, by name. I hadn’t paid him too much attention initially at this bar, as my friend was the one who had interest in him. But by the end of the night he and his friend(s) and she and I had all got along well enough that he kept playfully badgering the two of us to come to his house the following night for a BBQ. I in turn, kept mentioning that he was drunk and wouldn’t have recall of this invite the following morning and it would just lead to a very embarrassing situation when we showed up. He would counter with how wrong I was, and eventually we said we would consider it. I didn’t really think he had too much interest in my friend, but the next night when she practically begged me to go with her to this BBQ, I couldn’t say no.
Just as I suspected, we pull up to his place, knock on the door and he opens it with the vaguest veil of confusion covering his face. This was my nightmare, but I assumed for her it had to be even worse. I was just the wingman there for support. He most definitely did not recall flirting with her, or the invitation to us, but he played along. You could hear the gears slowly moving as he tried to piece the previous night’s shenanigans together. He initially tried faking it, until I laughingly called him out that I knew this would happen. He caved, but asked us to please stay anyway. We were the first ones there, so it was a little too awkward to leave, and just a tad too awkward to stay. We weighed it out, and with a little more insistence from him we hung around. Little by little, bits and pieces of the night came together for him, and those initial uncomfortable feelings dissipated. For me at least. I liked him, I liked his friends. But as the night progressed, there was definitely this palpable tension between he and I building. I honestly tried to ignore it because of my friend and Girl Code, but it was getting really difficult. I mean in writing this, I can almost relive it. He had this energy about him that absolutely enveloped me. You read cheesy lines like, “His gaze was penetrating…”, but in this instance it really was. It was piercing without crossing the line into weird. His attention to me made the rest of room seem like it was underwater and moving in slow motion. I volleyed back between the fact that my friend was interested, and the fact that I was. This is wrong, I would tell my internal self, while every hormone in me was on high alert telling my inner voice to shut the fuck up. I knew he wasn’t into her. What to do? She started to make excuses to leave — maybe she knew, I’m not certain. I most definitely did not want to leave and he immediately jumped at the offer to take me home later. After polite hemming and hawing and checking with her if it was okay to stay, she left and I took him up on it.
Start of bad karma. But you know what? To this very day I would do it again, because of the way he made me feel. – That is part of the point I am leading to, but stay with me here.
The night started to wind down – I don’t recall that it was a large shin-dig to begin with. Pretty soon it’s his roommate, him, and another girl, and whether we played cards, or talked or whatever, we ended up staying up all night. With the friend gone he made his move – just a kiss, and I cannot say what it was for certain, lack of sleep, but fireworks were going off like crazy between us. Fast forward, we started dating. We were deeply into one another. Interestingly enough, I cannot recall details about sex too much, but I can recall with intensity specific scenarios. Like lying in bed on a Sunday morning, mutually hung over with sex, food, sleep, football, more sex, more sleep and football, all on a loop. Just a tangle of nakedness, and twisted sheets and egg crumbs, and devouring one another like starved animals, while the Raiders played whoever.
The relationship we had was intense. The sexual chemistry was out of this world. I stopped seeing another guy I had briefly started dating, because I was completely and utterly consumed by this guy. He had the perfect blend of aggression, confidence and sensuality that turned my brains into scrambled eggs. We absolutely could not get enough of one another. Furthermore my mind was mush, barely getting anything done day after day, just thinking of him.
But – I have learned that whatever burns that fast and that bright rarely sticks around for any period. After a few months, the calls were fewer and fewer until he sort of dissipated like a fog bank on a sunny day. One moment he was there and the next – gone. It broke my heart, but for reasons of pride I never questioned it. Story of my younger life. Fuck you, if you will see me hurt. I should have passed those out as business cards at the beginning of all relationships. I never chased him down. I am far from a dramatic girl, and with my recent karmic points of breaking Girl Code, and dumping a guy who was nuts for me, this was bound to happen. Eventually I bumped into him per say – I saw him across the room at a crowded club, with another gal who looked a bit like me even; dark haired, dark eyed, olive features. I knew it was a type he was after and that I had just filled the space. The wound reopened with a sickening tear, and it took weeks for me to feel healed once again.
Another fast forward now – maybe six years. I’ve had a few more relationships (there were a lot of them in my 20’s, I won’t lie) and there I am at the same bar I met him at. I had actually stopped going for quite some time – to all bars to be honest, but time had shifted, I was single once again and I was back to wanting to dance my weekends away. So every weekend a friend (different one than the one I sort of screwed over) and I made it one of our stops on Saturday nights, depending on which band was playing. Sometimes we would hang there, sometimes we would hang somewhere else. I had a enough to drink this night and am chatting up the bartender when behind me I hear a familiar voice. I turn around and it’s a guy I had dated when I was about 19. He was super wild and chaotic, but oh-so-sweet and had this smile that even now makes me break out into a grin thinking of it. We hadn’t dated long, maybe two or three times, but I recalled him as such a blast to be around. I was really happy to see him. We talk, we flirt, and then after a bit he introduces me to one of his roommates.
It’s him. Mr. Sexual Chemistry. It’s slow motion and speed motion all at once. I’m trying to hold it together completely, because outside of that one time across a crowded bar with my doppelgänger I haven’t laid eyes on him in years. It’s not a huge beach town I am from either.
Years have gone by, and the effect he once had on me has tapered, but it’s there. I’m a helluva lot more confident, which is funny, because I’m also a little heavier. I can still rock it though. The slutty irony in this was not past me. Here I am conversing with a man I dated, who introduces me to his friend, a man I have dated. I have now sort of switched gears, and Mr. Sexual Chemistry has my attention. My confidence plus a few Tanqueray’s have emboldened me. The night progresses with the flirting getting stronger, and the stakes getting bolder. I don’t know what he said to get me to go home with him, but the next thing was me tearing into him, in his own bathroom.
I find a ride home the next morning. Maybe it was from him. I don’t recall those details. He asks for my number and I give it to him. There was a part of me that didn’t even care if he called. I think that encounter had finally closed that door with him, and I wasn’t giddy with the prospect of reigniting things like I would have guessed myself to be. I suspect it was shock, mixed with a gin hangover, with a dash of reserve left. I was surprised when he called me so soon afterwards to see him.
— I should have hung up then and there.
Now I knew the effect this guy had on me. I knew what bad news he was. I knew I had about 3 ounces of strength in me to thwart him off, despite my lack of initial giddiness. It was there, in an emotional box, just waiting to be let out. Every sane and sensible part of me screamed to get away. To run. To hide. And initially I did. But this other part of me. The hormones that lived off the souls of small children and kittens – it was hungry for drama and hot intense fucking, and I couldn’t seem to shield myself from this. I think it was my ego getting a fix from him wanting me again. I don’t recall all of the details of how we re-hooked up. I think it happened slowly. I remember us hanging in groups a lot. His friends, mine. Clubs, Bowling alleys. Sports bars. He chased and I darted. In fact I know it happened slowly, because I was once again in the early stages of seeing someone. Like time had to re-visit and recreate the same exact fucking scenario from six years prior. Like karma was giving me a chance to take the right path this time. Ironically both of the “other” men shared the same first name, but this new one that I was seeing didn’t meekly walk away when I said no. I ended up one evening literally playing out a horrible sit-com situation where I have two dates in the same place, and I’m running from one to another shifting hats between scenes. The situation was far from ideal. Both men sort of knew what was happening, and I think it only fueled their immediate interest. Everyone wants what they cannot have, especially if they see someone else enjoying it.
I slowly dump the one guy I am seeing, because as bad news would have it, Mr. Sexual Chemistry has his emotional and sexual hooks into me once more. Only this time, it wasn’t this sweet little high that had me giddy. This time it was sort of dark, like I could smell my own lack of being. I needed that fix from him. I needed to feed off of his energy, but his energy honestly wasn’t clean anymore. It was hot. It was hotter than even before, and again we could have marathon days of sex, but it almost felt a little angry to me. Karma kept knocking on the door asking me if I was sure this time I didn’t want to leave voluntarily? And when I said no, it smiled weakly and reminded me I had been warned.
Life was slowly falling apart for me. Like dried out lace. Pretty enough when you look at it, but the moment you touch it, it started to disintegrate.
And then The Event happened.
The guy I had been seeing prior to Sexual Chemistry had bought us concert tickets. The day was approaching and I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted SC to tell me don’t go. I wanted him to stamp me with his seal of ownership. I knew he wanted to. I knew it made him angry, that it made him jealous that I was going because privately he would tell me this. But this particular performer was someone you don’t want to miss, and when his roommates and friends found out, they kept saying how vital it was I go. He was backed into a corner, with his ego and his friends shouting, so he joined in, telling me it was no big deal, just go.
So I did. I had a miserable time because I didn’t want to be there. At the end of the evening I rushed out of my dates driveway, I am sure confusing the hell out of him, and raced backed to SC’s house. I wanted to show SC that it was no big deal, and that nothing happened other than music that night. I knew he was going with a group of friends, my best friend among them, to go and see a performer play locally. In addition to that performer, he decided that night to sleep with my best friend.
They denied it, and I bought into the denial wanting to believe so much. Instead it turned me into this person, I never ever want to be again. I almost feel physically ill thinking of it now. I was so hooked on him, I stuck around. I reeked of desperation. I debased myself, all to obtain that emotionally charged high from six years prior. We should have had a very ugly break-up. That’s how things should have been written, but instead it we had a couple of very bad situations, until life forced us apart about three months later. By then a lot of actions had occurred and couldn’t be erased. My friendship with her was destroyed. My relationship with him. But worst was the humiliation I had been willing to endure. The lack of respect or self-worth to say fuckyouverymuch and walk.
It wasn’t until a few months later without him around that I was able to place a seal on it. It took me years to be able to examine my own actions with him. My ability to hurt that initial friend for him. My lack of self-worth to stick with him, when I knew the truth. But surprisingly that’s not what this is about ….
It’s about the high he created. Ok, HE didn’t create it. He elicited it. I had never felt that way before. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t merely lust either. I’ve had both of those, and they felt nothing like this. It was this physical and emotional state of being that superseded everything. It started off good. Really good. It hit every button, every cell in me that called out for someone like him. It was beyond the idea of him touching me. It was so all consuming. It was this concentrated form of drama, and self-awareness, and lust and the promised state of ecstasy. Every phone call. Every glimpse. Every kiss, just flipped the flame higher. But there is also this sense of awareness that screamed bad news, but the scream is silent and easy to ignore. Common Sense packs it’s bags and hightails it, because it knows the Godzilla of all emotions is rumbling around.
I’d be lying if I said I am not dealing with very similar emotions right now. It hasn’t started out that way. It’s the first version, of that clean high. Not the darkness it later became. But some of the situations are very very vaguely similar. Maybe it’s because it’s not supposed to happen is what makes it a little consuming. Maybe there is some unfinished business. Maybe the chemistry that once was, is back? I only know that nearly weightless feeling in my gut is back. That tingling sensation that flies thru my body like a million fireflies, touching me from my toes to the tips of my hair. That I am so honest with him and then so vulnerable and frightened about the honesty later. That I want this person with such absolute fucking abandon and I am having to do everything in my power to stop myself. I can barely eat. I work, but in the back of my mind there he is. I go out with friends and in the forefront of my mind, there he is. I am addicted to my email or my messenger service. Time is on my side right now. It tapers off daily. A tad less contact. I’m finding distractions. Neither of us is acting on this prior to my vacation at the end of the month. He suggested this, although I think possibly with one nod he would change his mind. I’m fortunate that he is the smart one here.
Maybe because he knows this shouldn’t happen either …