The Final Close Encounter With Emeebee
Sunday, June 13th, 2010Looking backward from 2010-06-13 to 1994-01-10.
I Got the Date
[Emeebee] agreed to my terms; sort of. Details on that debate to come. Yet a premonition haunted me in the days prior, that this would be our last real date unless I could pull off something momentous to turn her around. Though I thought my arguments as sound and persuasive as possible, she was apparently not persuaded. The conditions she stipulated before she’d agree to this meeting were proof of that; namely that I not pressure her for further encounters, and that I ‘live in the moment’ for this one.
Until recently, getting this beautiful woman into bed had never been difficult. Indeed, we shared her full-sized sleeping platform just two weeks after meeting for the first time. She required little preamble or priming (wining and dining), and to me, this was a great thing. I never thought her sluttish or whorish for the quick ramp-up, and so, never held this against her. Nor did I feel that our current problems were because we “rushed in” too fast. The challenging issues that arose to dog us in the end resulted from vast differences in our values; discrepancies that existed long before we ever met, and which would remain even if we’d taken years to get to know each other before getting sexual. Turning promptly sexual did not cause our problems. But it did quickly reveal gaping disparities; allowing us to learn early on that we’d probably not get along very well over the long term. Indeed, protracted courtships generally do not resolve such basic differences, and in fact, can delay discovering them. So I’m glad we took it fast.
Now one might think that I used manipulative tactics to get her allow me to undress her so quickly. But I didn’t, because no only would I have declined such behavior, but there was no need for it. Certainly, there was nothing covert or underhanded in my approach, because my conscience would not allow me to mislead her. So all I did was to be gently honest early on about my desires; those being that I found her intensely appealing. I’ve never liked hiding, exaggerating, or downplaying my interest in a lady, and always felt that if she’s at least as attracted to me as I am to her, then she’d happily accept an early expression of interest in intimacy from me. Emeebee bore this out. In point of fact, I just did what my heart said to do, and avoided anything to which my conscience objected. I went with the flow as it unfolded, and this particular flow led quite directly and rapidly to the two of us, enjoying each other unclothed.
I didn’t voice my physical attraction with words so much as with my eyes, and eventually my hands; I looked her up and down constantly on the first few minutes of our first date at Ruby Tuesday’s. But she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she liked my interest and never appeared to be intimidated or otherwise put off by it in any way. This early and subtle but definite mutual understanding set the tone for much of the rest of our romance; enabling us to connect immediately, and enjoy each other’s bodies throughout our all-too-short involvement.
I valued the notion that she did not make me “work for it” much. Unlike fellows who deem ladies as sluttish whores for allowing sexual relationships to begin so fast, I thought this one of [Emeebee’s] most intriguing assets. To me, it meant that she knew what she wanted, could recognize it quickly, and thus not require much time to get to the fun stuff.
However after a few weeks of pleasurable sins in the dark, things went downhill fast; as the first infrequent arguments inclined throughout late December, into routine verbal altercations; rising in fiery intensity to a crescendo that never really calmed down again until we’d gone several months after this without talking to each other. Eventually, heated contention came to characterize our relationship more so than any other passions; for because in the final few weeks, we could have nary date without skirmishing. Once we got a few nasty verbal battles under our belts, her visits decreased and she showed much reluctance to head for the bedroom when she did come. So, by the time this encounter came about, we hadn’t seen each other since New Years day, some ten days earlier. So while I was tickled and silently hopeful that her visit this evening might be a positive turning point for us, I also suspected that this would likely be it; our last time together in the bedroom.
In light of our recent history of quarrelling, her surprisingly congenial attitude on this day of January 10th, 1994 would not last long I feared; for we’d been fighting so much lately that avoiding new arguments had become monumentally difficult. All she had to do was look away at the wrong time during a discussion. All I needed to do was ask her for a kiss or try to hold her hand in public, or suggest in any way that I desired a future with her. Every word we exchanged had to be carefully measured because if either of us slipped up as we so often tended to do, the fights would begin anew.
I rushed to schedule this date; to occur as soon as possible. She agreed to visit without all the griping about having to do all the driving necessary to make our dating feasible. In return, I contracted to not ask her for future dates or say anything that telegraphed my desire for any sort of future with her beyond this night. Neither of us would discuss our hopes, or expectations, or the rich history of slights we’d accumulated against each other over the Christmas holiday just past. This would just be two people coming close and enjoying each other’s present-day company; no frets about our prospects, and no grudges about the past. We’d have a no-strings arrangement this time, and though this went against so much of what I believed a healthy relationship should be, I embraced it as best I could. After all, agreeing to her terms meant that I’d get to see her again and perhaps get her into my king-sized water-bed once more.
But more importantly, it also meant that I’d have another chance to subtly “work on her” and perhaps persuade her to change her mind about dating others while we slept together. I hated her wish to date multiple guys because it suggested that she deemed me inadequate to see exclusively. If she was running around I reasoned, her odds of finding another and then disappear, were high. I thought her quite beautiful and was sure that most other guys would too, and seek her in droves accordingly. I wished neither to share her, nor risk losing her.
To this point, she’d adamantly defended her desire to “date around,” and maybe this should have clued me in long before it did, that she would likely never love me. I suspected this to be the case since our first blow-up a week before Christmas. But I wanted her so much that I refused to accept the notion as a likely possibility. I wished not to give up on her or retreat in any degree, because potentially, she meant the end of my years of chronic loneliness and despair. If we could somehow make this work, I’d gain a stunning woman to share my home with eventually, and gain some real purpose for all those years of extra hours I was putting into my job. The idea of her clothes hanging in my closet alongside mine some day fired many a dream of the two of us building a life together there on Copper Creek Court, and I just could not let that go.
But with struggle, I would keep my mouth shut about it for a while; though I’ve always been a heart-on-the-sleeve sort of guy. I’ve never believed in utilizing omission through silence for strategic gain. But if doing so could win this lady’s heart, I’d try it. Indeed, I’d have tried most anything. She said often that if I didn’t so regularly remind her of how much I wanted her, that she might come to want me like that too; though she could make no guarantees.
Yet for much of my dating life, I alleged that the more I said it, the more that each lady I desired would love me. Indeed, I’d often heard ladies complaining to one another that their men hurt them so much because they said so little, and I was bound and determined not to be like those quietly care-free fellows. Women would love me, by God, because through my words, they’d always be sure how much I loved them, and I’d give them no reason to fear loving me. There would never be any doubt about my always-honorable intensions. This would surely get me ahead because it seemed that a woman’s greatest fear in letting her guard down with a fellow and falling in love, was her doubt about the sincerity of his affection. So I figured that the more often I reassured her verbally that my passions indeed ran very deep, the sooner she’d succumb, and express hers as well.
In fact, strangely and arrogantly, I deemed [Emeebee’s] worries about the real depth of my love to be the only relevant reasons for her reserve. It couldn’t possibly be that she felt no vulnerability to me that was worth protecting. I assumed blindly that her fondness for me was certain, that she was just hiding it to protect herself, and that all that stood between us living happily ever after were these unfounded fears. Get rid of these I thought, and we’d be good to go for a life of unbounded joys of merging. All I’d have to do to eliminate her insecurities was to let her know enough times that I wanted her. So NOT speaking my passions challenged me most vigorously, because while I wanted to be open and completely truthful, that’s not what she sought.
So after nearly a month of fighting, I admitted to myself that if I was to stubbornly continue my campaign to win her over in this way, I’d certainly wind up losing her. Thus, at least for this date, I opted to hide the real me just to see if she might be right. Maybe a more indirect approach would persuade her to let go and fall, and though I knew in my heart that this would never come to pass, I wanted to believe so badly that it would, that I managed to keep mum for the entire night. I neither cried, made demands, coaxed, nor otherwise battled for her to reveal her love. I was good; just as she’d requested.
The Date Began
She arrived at around 7:00 PM while I was heating up our dinner in the oven, which consisted of chicken pot pies, fruit cup, and ice cold milk. We didn’t talk much during the meal. I didn’t want to talk, and neither did she. But to be polite, I asked how her schooling was going and what she’d been up to since New Years day. But she only provided one and two syllable answers: Fine. Okay. Pretty good. Not bad. Not much. Nothing. Indeed, our non verbal communications in the bedroom were far more extensive and pleasing than these terse exchanges.
I wanted to get the real show underway. So I didn’t even wash the dishes after we finished eating; opting instead to clean them the next day. Right then, getting physical was foremost on my mind because when we did, the pain of our differences disappeared, and I was feeling a lot of that pain at that time. Indeed so far in the new year, the sting of our separateness only subsided when I slept. It followed me to work, sapping my ability to concentrate on important tasks, and it forced me to go to bed very early each night. Sometimes, it was lights out at 7:00 PM, because I just didn’t want to stay awake; tormented as I was by my despair, loneliness, and anger. [Emeebee] and I might not have been able to relate on much else. But while lying next to each other with bare skin touching bare skin and cheek rubbing cheek, this corporeal connection was potently reassuring. Our differences outside the bedroom hurt so much I recon, because they posed a serious threat to our time inside it.
The more we fought, the more it hurt, because the less likely it would be that we’d spend as much time together in the buff. But when we actually were in the buff, there was no pain of separation because we weren’t separate then; we were together. In the bedroom therefore, the bickering had no teeth because its threat of future elongated separation didn’t mean much while we lay there naked, holding each other tight.
We might not agree on how much driving she should do to facilitate our relationship, or how much she should help me cope in the fully-sighted world. Plus, I would never forgive her for harboring that mean spirit that possessed her during the trip back to Dayton or how she behaved during her visit to my hometown. But in her arms, the past mattered not. I didn’t care what she had done while she loved me because the allure of her nakedness smoothed over any nasty edges. So I could easily forget yesterday’s coldness as long as she was being warm today. Her extreme beauty, particularly when she directed her tender affections at me, enabled me to put her history aside most any time we occupied the same bed at the same time. Of course however, it also intensified the loneliness and my sense of abandonment when we were apart. Yet, I didn’t care. Irrationally I admit, I didn’t care, because the joys of the good times made the sorrows of the bad times worth enduring; at least for a little while. I would not be placated until we got through this dinner formality, and began in earnest the hand and body holding that was ultimately the only good part of our relationship left to enjoy.
Off to the Bedroom We Went
I eagerly helped her undress as we talked about our respective days at work; untying her white sneakers and taking off her socks for her, unbuttoning her blouse and jeans, and then acting as a clothes rack as she draped her garments over my right arm after we’d slid them off. Though we rarely cooperated about anything these days, we still worked well together in the joint effort of stripping each other down. Watching the tops of her pants and the dangling ends of her belt descend slowly past her thighs and knees, and then accumulate on the floor beneath her calves and around her soft ankles still accelerated my heart. Any inclination I might have had to argue about anything was erased by this exquisite and tantalizing view. I marveled at her beauty, and everything about this picture of her sitting on the edge of my water-bed, bathed in the dimmed mirror light from the dresser nearby, was enticing, and matched in nearly every detail my most erotic fantasies. She looked torturously sexy.
Yet though this vision shortened my breathing and brought the sound of my heart beating to my ears a little, I felt only slight warmth in my loins. As with [Dawn] so many years earlier during my first pillow kiss, complete arousal would not come; though unlike in [Dawn’s] case, [Emeebee] and I shared an admittedly short but also rich history of intense eroticism. Since we started dating nearly two months earlier, [Emeebee] and I enjoyed several highly fulfilling encounters in my bedroom. But on this night, horniness eluded me; for by that time, a lot of nasty water had passed under our bridge since our first encounter the week of Thanksgiving, 1993.
Unfortunately, in addition to our exhilarating sexual history, we now had a dubious record of slights, emotional neglect, resentment, and anger. I had not forgiven [Emeebee] for how she treated me on the drive back to Dayton two weeks earlier, and the way she left me alone once we got there. Indeed, I agreed to end my vacation with my family a few days before New Years and return to Ohio, because I thought that the two of us would spend some significant time together repairing our damaged relationship. But as it turned out, we saw each other not at all in the three days between December 28th and the 31st; [Emeebee] had too many other things to do to meet with me, she said. So I was left for three days, alone, regretting that I had not remained at home with my sisters to ring in 1994. Then too, there was New Years Eve and her refusal to drive me home though I had become quite sick with a cold and fever as the celebration progressed. Finally, her wish to date others clearly signaled that she did not consider me even close to an ideal lover.
This was the hardest truth of all to face because the constant and prominent threat that she’d probably be gone tomorrow scared me. It numbed my physical responses I suspect, because it made relaxing and letting go in her arms impossible. So while I could look at her, and emotionally as well as intellectually recognize her stunning loveliness, I could not immerse myself in it physically. Though she looked every bit the part of a perfect-10 seductress, I could not be seduced.
As stubborn as each of us was, I feared that our underlying issues would never get resolved. These created a then-chronic negative tension that repressed me; keeping me limp and detached physically from [Emeebee]; her beauty did not overcome this acute impotence. This accordingly, would likely remain. As long as there was tension, I’d never react with sexual arrousal to her beauty, and so, never get to fully enjoy it even though I did find emotional peace when she was near.
Indeed, I didn’t choose to be without sensation. In fact, in spite of it all, I truly wanted to find erotic bliss in her arms, and maybe even enjoy an orgasm at her hands. So I wished to (at least temporarily) forget all that she had failed to do to make me believe it safe to love her fully.
But I couldn’t put her recent abandon out of my mind. In fact, whenever I’d perceive even the smallest spark of sexual desire, my conscience would immediately follow up with a dissenting voice. “You can’t be with her like this,” it warned, “because she doesn’t love you. Period!” With rapid effectiveness, this internal scolding extinguished all sparks that evening. So I never did get aroused, though I thought [Emeebee] to be among the most beautiful women there were.
Yet while I knew that there were none better looking, I also realized that further involving myself with her would compromise my values greatly. Though she was among the best there was, I’d nonetheless be settling if I did. Then, as today, I was bad at settling; opting instead for either the best I could get, or doing without entirely. Someone better than nothing but not the best just has just never been good enough. True. [Emeebee] was among the best physically. But I could not ignore her gaping lack of love for me; as she made it apparent with most every word and touch. Even the just-going-through-the-motions way she held me, telegraphed that she felt that she could do much better than I, and wanted to in fact.
While in some of my life, I’ve struggled with the effects of low self-esteem, I’ve generally avoided them when it comes to romantic relationships; at least as an adult. Since [First Love] and all those teenage years of hurt because she did not love me back, I’ve generally been able to sidestep similar situations. Or, if not sidestep them, then at least, to recognize them early on as dead ends, and get out before too many months passed. Though I desperately wished things to be different with [Emeebee], I knew deep inside that this association was but another dead end, and thus I could not continue the work of improving it. So on some level, I realized that this was it; that this would probably be the last time I’d ever see her in the buff. Given all our problems, any hopes I’d harbored in December about a long-term future with her were gone. Yep. This would probably be it.
I did not trust [Emeebee] to adequately and consistently give priority to meeting my needs emotionally and sexually. So a part of me feared being with her this way on this occasion. But I also appreciated the rarity of bedding a woman as gorgeous as she. So I figured that it would be quite some time, if ever in fact, that I’d have the privilege of hosting another. So, I’d best enjoy this one as much as I could. Thus, I continued with this encounter though the physical stimulation was missing.
She wondered aloud why I wanted her to stay when I felt virtually nothing sexually. I was mad at her, yes, and since we’d agreed not to discuss our contentious issues this night, this anger was not dispelled. But I admired and adored her nakedness so much that it encouraged me to forget for a bit. I realized that in days to come, I’d be crying for more of this scene, and I hoped I could head off at least a little of that future sadness by fully indulging now, while I had the chance. While I could no longer appreciate her erotically as she lay beneath me, I knew I would miss this in the days to come, once she was gone. Thus, I had to “get it while I could,” hoping that an extra big fill of her now would ease the intimacy starvation that I’d experience later.
She crawled into my bed then, wearing only her underpants, and like a dog, I followed, and then savored her. I found her eyes and gazed into them for what seemed like a half-hour, noting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her gentle heartbeat, her scent, and her moist breath as it passed my cheeks and fogged up my glasses. We didn’t kiss much these days. But for a second, I wanted to as I stared at her pink lips; but resisted to avoid offending her. Though she was now almost completely exposed and laying with me, a kiss to her lips ironically, seemed highly inappropriate. But I didn’t mind really; just grateful that she had decided to come here at all.
Our conversation stopped as I slid her silk underwear past her calves, then her ankles. Finally, I lifted the panties away from her beautiful feet and beheld her. She rested then, while I undressed, content with the silence and with being naked.
No modesty. She liked being on display. It turned her on, and as I moved my eyes over her long and slim body, her breathing got heavier. She was getting aroused, and this emboldened me. So I decided to kiss her after all. No, she did not turn away. In fact, she moved closer to meet me. It was wonderful; her lips, warm and wet, actively accommodating mine and her excitement growing by the minute. Apparently, she too could set aside our dissimilarities long enough to fully enjoy our animal-like oneness. I regretted though, that I could not fully, although I did like the intimacy. Though the water was not as pure as I would have liked, drinking it did quench my thirst; a thirst that I would all too quickly develop again shortly after her departure.
After a few minutes of lip locking, I moved down to her neck without lifting my lips from her fair and soft skin. I located each of her carotid arteries by way of their pulsating warmth, and gently kissed and caressed each one. I found the spots on her neck where she frequently put perfume. How uniquely her these aromas were.
She moaned a little as I nibbled at her ear lobes and blew some of my air into her ears. I dared not whisper, “I love you,” though I did feel an urge to say it. Instead, I just softly spoke her name a few times, and then began an inch-by-inch exploration of her body with my right hand while stroking her hair with my left.
I took in every detail of her face, hair, and neck, deeply breathing in her feminine aroma, hoping somehow to retain a lasting trace of her that might comfort me in the weeks to come. She was beautiful, hands down, and at this point, she represented my best game ever; for I’d never been with a lady as physically perfect as [Emeebee]. Not even [First Love] rivaled her because at five feet ten inches tall and weighing 130 pounds, [Emeebee] was the very sort of statuesque, tall, and thin lady I’d come to desire the most. Physically at least, [Emeebee] was second to none, with pale and sexy legs that could only be rivaled but never surpassed.
My right hand then paused on her small yet fascinating breasts that reminded me of [First Love’s]. [First Love] was thin and fair, and small-breasted as well. But she was also eight inches shorter than [Emeebee]. I thought nothing of this before meeting [Emeebee]. Indeed, until [Emeebee] came along, [First Love] was my standard of excellence in beauty; she was the yardstick. But this was only because I hadn’t experienced any women more attractive to me, before falling for [First Love]. But [Emeebee] stole top billing from [First Love], and though this recent relationship had run afoul, I nonetheless began silently comparing new women to [Emeebee] rather than [First Love].
Further, though [Emeebee] and I had a painful time of it, the [Emeebee] experience allowed me to finally lose my love for [First Love] for good after some twenty-one years, because among other reasons, it altered my romantic standards. Or at least, it helped me to more fully discover what my real standards were.
Then, my hand lighted on her flat and quivering tummy and I traced circles around her belly button with my index finger; lightly combing the fine hairs there with my fingernail. She quivered more at this, and she whispered slowly, “yes, yes!” I quivered too; for though I was still not aroused, I knew this scene to be among life’s greatest blessings given how rarely it happened to me, and how emotionally satiating it was.
Indeed, there are many more joys when I lay with a naked, beautiful woman than just the getting hard. There was also the thrill of shattering a sort of glass ceiling as well. Consider that during young adulthood, I’d often worried that I’d never experience a “perfect ten,” and that I’d forever be consigned to sixes and sevens, or eights at best. But [Emeebee] was a high nine and in fact, may indeed have been a ten had we not disagreed so often on so many fundamental tenants of successful relating. Yet here she was, sharing my bed and her body too. Wow!
In spite of it all, she was by far the lady who most closely resembled the gorgeous girls in my fantasies. Thus, a sense of profound relief flooded me every time we met like this, because I knew that I’d never again have to fear living my entire life without knowing what loving the best women for me was really like. Indeed, the best is by no means overrated. For the first time ever, an intimate encounter duplicated and even surpassed the depths of pleasure that heretofore, I’d only experienced in daydreams. So though I might not have been very horny, I immensely enjoyed the encounter just the same.
My hand then crisscrossed her abdomen, and the hair down there thickened as I zeroed in on the center of her sexuality. A few goose bumps appeared on her skin along with the thicker hairs. Occasionally, she’d hold her breath in anticipation of where I might touch next, and how. Then, she’d arch her back to push against my hand with her middle. She was enjoying herself, and I enjoyed helping her do that.
Now [Emeebee] and I had been to bed several times before. But the novelty of lying with such a long and thin goddess never wore off. In spite of our current problems, I was just as eager to get her into my room this time as I’d been the first. So eager I was, that though not horny, I was still appalled at the thought of losing her and never being able to sample her in this way again. So while I still had her, I determined to live out all my fantasies. Any scenario that I’d ever derived while masturbating alone, I wished to try out for real with her. This was it after all, and if I was ever going to know the sorts of physical exchanges that heretofore I’d only imagined, this would be the time to try them.
I finally arrived, and [Emeebee’s] moaning became a mixture of pleasure and impatience as well; as if she was saying, “I’m really enjoying what you’re doing. But get on with it already!” She was quite moist, and it wouldn’t take much effort therefore, to carry her over the top. I liked this. I liked seeing that I could do something that pleased her so much when in so many ways outside of this special space, she found me lacking. The bedroom was at last, the only place that [Emeebee] really appreciated and respected me. Accordingly, I worked her until my wrist hurt; until she came.
Her intense thrill at my touch confused me though. I wondered how she could stand so steadfastly against building a loving relationship with me when, at least here, I satisfied her so much. Though she may have thought that our sex was great, it did not impress her enough to convince her to be my exclusive significant other.
Then, I shyly looked longingly at her feet, wishing to do a little foot worship to indulge my life-long foot fetish. “It’s okay,” she said compassionately. “Go ahead. It won’t bother me.” Indeed, she probably resisted completely falling for me because she thought it strange that I liked massaging and kissing pretty women’s feet. Now as relationships go, there’s typically not a single reason why they succeed or fail. But the fact that she often commented about how strange and dysfunctional my foot fetish was, left no doubt that it weighted heavily in any choices she made where the two of us were concerned. Unfortunately, we never discussed her hang-ups in detail.
The Wrap Up
So, we lay together for an hour or two talking about this and that while I counted her toes over and over, and rubbed the soles of her sexy feet, until she grew bored, got dressed, checked her watch, and left hurriedly. Sadly, not only was this my last physical encounter with her, but it would turn out to be the last time that any woman ever slept with me in the water-bed before I sold it in the spring of 2002. All told, I only entertained my girls in it a dozen times or less in the entire fourteen years I owned the thing; though when I purchased it, I’d envisioned sharing it most every night. It would not be until many years later that I finally realized just how profoundly this last date with [Emeebee] actually was.
She moved to the edge of the bed, stirring up the water inside the mattress; making it softly slosh around. She slowly threw her legs over the padded side rails and then stood up. As she fumbled with her clothes that I’d piled in a small heap on the floor earlier, the certainty that this would be the last time we’d see each other like this burst into my consciousness. Strangely though, as much as I loved her, I did not feel sad about the inevitable prospect of losing her. That wouldn’t come until a couple days after she left. But at the moment, though I knew for sure that this was it, I felt neither happy nor sad; for this evening had quenched (at least temporarily) my thirst for her. As long as she was still physically close, I could still reach out and touch her, and smell her scent on my clothes and pillows. So the reality that she was already gone was easy to ignore.
Plus, with her still so close by and the memory of what we’d just finished still fresh, her upcoming absence didn’t matter so much. It was hard to fully miss her while I’d just experienced her completely and in abundance. I knew I would long for her profoundly once my love thirst returned; as it surely would in the coming days. But this night’s dose of [Emeebee] had completely filled me up and left me wanting for nothing; neither physically nor emotionally. Leaving the fountain in a desert oasis is easy once you’ve drunk so much water that you get sick. But a day or two back out in that dry, hot, and relentless sunshine and you’ll long for that fountain again. The same occurred with [Emeebee]. While I knew that I’d cry for her a lot in the coming weeks, no tears came on this evening as I basked in the afterglow of our physical indulgence.
I felt no sign of the loneliness to come as I watched her put on her socks; though I knew my thirst for her would indeed soon return. But at that instant, it was nowhere to be found; for she had completely satiated it by allowing me to make her feel good.
But sooner than I expected, glimmers of the full reality of our breakup intruded. As she dressed, she matter-of-factly suggested that I attend Group Interaction (a local singles group), and that she was going to start going again the following weekend herself. Now I started hurting, and so resented her upper hand. I hated her selfishness and how yet again, I’d totally fallen for someone who could not return my love; someone who had not fallen for me. Why did it always seem that the girls I desired most, wanted me the least?
Eventually, I would be happier without her; especially since the warmth I’d loved from her in our early dates had all but gone. In fact, once she emerged from the covers, the coldness that so characterized her attitude lately, returned in full force. As proof of that, she mentioned her plans to meet other guys, while my feelings for her were still so strong and raw. She could not be talked out of going; dead set on attending the Friday night gatherings, and I could do nothing to stop her. The power was clearly hers.
Her insistence on dating around brought back that familiar old pain of loss and grief that I’d come to know so well, in the aftermath of [First Love]. Back in the fall of 1980, when [First Love] called it quits with me, I promised myself profusely that I’d never get into these dead-end emotional quagmires again with women. Yet here I was, caught yet again some fourteen years later, in another dismal letdown every bit as cruel; maybe even more so. Though I’d managed to avoid this worst sort of rejection for over a decade, I felt like a fool for having allowed this to occur a second time. I wondered what the matter with me was, that not only had I failed to win her heart, but also, I didn’t see earlier that I had in fact lost her heart already.
Well, actually, I’m stating the facts with excess optimism. The truth is that I never had her heart to begin with. She was never really into me, and sometimes she’d gently say that in not-so-many words. Once, instead of saying that she loved me as we held each other on another intimate occasion, she said, “I have love flowing in my blood.” Then, when I said back, “I love you too,” she argued that that was not what she meant. Who does that? But I ignored this and other foretelling statements from her; hoping that she’d change her mind once she got to know me better. Well, she didn’t; but I changed mine. I fell in love, and forgetting all her prior notice, I wondered what was wrong with her too, and came up with a plethora of [Emeebee] blame in answer.
But as I’ve come to understand in the sixteen intervening years between then and today, I caused much of my own pain back then because simply, I paid no mind to her reserve. My grandmother used to say, “If you don’t listen, then you’ll feel.” Well, she was right. I didn’t listen, and so, I felt, real bad.
I just couldn’t listen though while basking in [Emeebee’s] near perfect-ten looks. On the one hand, her beauty allowed me to better tolerate her self-centered nature. In fact, the stunning character of her immediately-visible good parts blinded me to her less observable (and certainly less pleasant) aspects.
But, on the other hand, her sexy legs and sophisticated air also made her coldness more offensive. Her beautiful body not only made her very alluring, but also quite dangerous too. As I’ve learned: The prettier the ladies are, the more it will hurt should they not reciprocate my feelings. Now I don’t mean to suggest that prettier girls are less trustworthy. But if they can give you lots of great pleasure, then they can also give you much great pain, and I sure got the painful side of [Emeebee]. In fact, I should have paid more attention because of this. I wish I’d have understood back then that the more attractive I find a woman the more careful of her I must be about falling; especially without a clear invitation from her to do so. Perhaps [Emeebee’s] behavior would not have been so unusually torturous had I observed her as a stranger. But being subjected to her care-free attitude while my feelings for her made me anything but carefree, I could not help but to either cry, be depressed, or argue with her anytime I got the chance.
If she hadn’t been so striking, I don’t think I’d have cared as much about how selfish she was, and her aloofness would have hurt far less. But then, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the good times as much either. She was very pretty. So I highly desired her. But her selfishness prevented me from enjoying her as often as I wished. That hurt and angered me because girls like her only came into my life every several years at best. So, realizing that once more, this one (yet another one) would be walking away for good really crushed me.
My desperation to stop the chronic loneliness forever stole my wits because I was certain that if she would only love me, then the sad times would in fact, go away. There’d be someone fun to dine with on the weekends and go dancing with on Saturday nights. I often held visions of [Emeebee] waking up beside me on the Sunday mornings after such nights on the town. Then the two of us would get up after an hour or two of making out, and head to her Unitarian church for the morning services. Through prominent daydreams likes these, I could not see the truth; that I was making lots of unfounded assumptions about [Emeebee]. I was forcing her into a role (albeit just in my imagination) that, had I watched better over a longer period of time, I’d have realized she neither wanted nor was capable of filling. In short: I moved too fast, and for that, I got burned big time.
This experience taught me a lot about what to watch out for in the future before hanging my hat on any woman’s star. Yes, all the dreaming I could muster could not hide the fact that this was surely it, because once she got her orgasm, we shared no mutual longing it seemed.
Though I wished she would have spared showing me her blithe parts, I saw also quite a soft and gentle side, and that’s the piece of her I fell in love with. Hmmmm. If only I could have tossed the bad side and kept the good, I’d have gotten a true dream girl in the flesh. I tried in essence to do this, by focusing too much on her positive traits and too little on her negative ones. The problem was: I did this too well; not realizing that if you’re going to love the good in a person, then you must also accept the bad. Because I esteemed the good in her too highly, her nasty side blindsided me. The result: I fell in love while she did not. All the longing was in me, so she exuded all the power. I wouldn’t have lost so much of the power, if only I’d looked at her more carefully while I still had it.
While in bed together, the threat of losing her seemed far away and inconsequential. She was giving me what I wanted them. So the power imbalance meant nothing. But when she’d talk of dancing with other guys at the singles group, the truth of the imbalance became clear once again; as menacing as ever. Though while in her arms, I’d managed to push this actuality to the side, it always arrived again any time she was not around to hold me and protect me from it. She was exercising all that control now; showing little deference toward my feelings. She was actually calling this sad truth to come back.
No, I disliked the extreme ups and downs that the course of our relationship had taken by this time. I knew that I’d not put up with this from [Emeebee] for nearly as long as I had from [First Love]. So, I told [Emeebee] that I didn’t wish to see her like this anymore. Later nonetheless, my resolve weakened and it would be nearly a decade before I finally shook my weak knees for [Emeebee], and therein lie some interesting tales which I’ll write about later. But at least initially, I fully intended our last time together to be just that; one final romp. I figured that I’d never get over her as long as we continued sleeping together, because sharing her bed was just so electrifying. Yet, each night of pleasure demanded the following week’s worth of pain as payment; and that cost soon became too high. Though I would not say that I deserved the best treatment from her specifically, I did feel that I was worthy of being much happier with a relationship in general, than what I was able to achieve with [Emeebee]. So, with memories of the [First Love] debacle still fresh in my mind, I refused to endure [Emeebee’s] neglect, once it became clear that she was neglecting me.
Yet in spite of her vast appeal, or perhaps because of it, getting over her was imperative. Because I enjoyed her so much, I had to somehow stop enjoying her at all. I knew I had screwed up by pushing so hard for quick and committed relationship with her, and now wanted to do whatever was required to stop the pain and make it right. So I resolved that this definitely was going to be it, and that I would never move so fast again with anyone; no matter how wonderful they at first seemed.
Indeed, in light of this experience, the more wonderful they are, the slower I’d best go. It’s funny. Women are always saying to me that they want to move slowly. Until [Emeebee] I took that to mean that they must not be attracted to me because, with [First Love] anyhow, moving slowly typically meant no movement at all. But the [Emeebee] experience brought new insight. Perhaps ladies want to go at a snail’s pace because, as I so liked [Emeebee], perhaps they like me too; optimistic, I know. They might just be taking the steps I missed with [Emeebee], and simply trying to protect themselves; something I failed in royal form to do with [Emeebee], and as a result, paid with years of emotional torment. So perhaps they’re just being careful, and their reserve just signifies caution rather than revulsion. Hmmmm. How do you tell the difference? That’s a topic for a later post.
Yep, I knew I was going to miss her. She may have been selfish. But at least she was honestly egotistic. She never sugarcoated her lacking desire for me, and in fact, put it right out there many times. Any compassion for me she might have had did not compel her to capitulate to what I wanted; no matter the agony this caused me. She stuck to her guns; taking no pity on me, and at the time, I hated her for this. I thought her a cold and heartless person because I just didn’t get how she could allow me to suffer so, when easing my pain would have been so “easy” for her if she’d only just visited my bed a few times a week.
Yet in retrospect, I’m glad she avoided being kind to me if that wasn’t what she really wanted to be. Her brute sincerity convinced me to pull away more quickly than a softer approach would have, and though this hurt intensely at the outset, I have no doubt that her atrocious decisiveness enhanced my ability to quickly let her go. If she hadn’t been so mean, I might not have found the resolve to end our involvement as quickly as I did. But find the resolve, I did. Her callousness was thus a blessing. I realized the next day that because of her love rejection, I’d be hurting no doubt, as the memory of our last night seared in my mind and I began to withdraw from the drug of her nearness. But this had to be it. It had to be. Because I loved her so, I knew I could love her no more.
