Te cuento que el asunto con Emily esta interesante… desde un punto de vista “humano” o fraternal, si prefieres; es una persona inteligente, aceptablemente alegre, más que límite creo que saludablemente histriónica, muy poco narcisa y en general amena, además de un tanto aburrida y predecible, es decir, una persona con quien cohabitar en un espacio, no solamente no implica conflicto, si no que tampoco nada que pueda considerarse emocionante. Ensucia poco, lo que utiliza lo lava, no hace tiradero y mantiene sus cosas dentro de su habitación, no madruga pero no se queda en la cama una vez que despierta; entra y sale del depto sin meter ruido. Como toda mujer tiene su genio pero este es de lo más llevadero, le gusta la naturaleza, ir trekking y actividades que sean “exciting but safe”… es casi como si fuese un chavo… y, triste o alegremente, compruebo que es desabrida, una maruchan sin el sobrecito de condimento. Increíble pero cierto: no me inspira nada que pueda ser considerado propiamente sexual. A pesar de ser una “activista radical” no hay pasión de mujer, y tal vez, es por eso que necesita una causa.
Así que pienso…. y, ¿si le intento mover la emoción? ¿habrá algún potencial injundioso y pasional en algún lugar? ¿será lesbiana en proceso de descubrimiento? Pero, es posible que nunca encuentre estás respuestas porqué ni siquiera me mueve lo suficiente como para ahondar y buscar.
American as in United Statean. Blond. Pretty eyes and deceptively sweet smile.
Very strong ideals.
Ecologocically outraged at the current state of affairs.
She announces, “I’m a Scorpio”.
“I see, so, what are you doing so far away from home?”
“They told me this place has some very radical movements”.
“They told you wrong. Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Come stay at my place.”
She looks at me and doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, but I have a boyfriend back home.”
“I’m glad, but, what’s that got to do with anything?”
She smiles and shakes her head.
I pick up her suitcase.
I can almost feel the trouble right under the surface, pushing her and pulling me. Life takes a turn just when I started reading Dante, who’d have guessed.
Okay. So Ilse has gone off to travel the world again. Fiji, Australia, probably Indonesia, with plans to be back in Leipzig for Christmas. She’s gone. This has been the backdrop for the past week, with conversations about books, songs and movies, slow casual lovemaking, wine drinking, dining out, morning walks, long motorcycle rides and once in a while, like an explosion out of nowhere, fast, furious almost violent sex. Stupid arguments also, at least once a day, making up, both of us trying to be better humans to each other than we really are.
It was a sad goodbye. She cried a little and held onto my hand. She asked if I’d meet her in Leipzig. I said I would not. She asked if I’d go to bed with other women now that she was going to be gone. I answered that I did not know but it was a probability. She told me I was an asshole. I agreed but told her I wasn’t the one leaving. She shook her head and frowned, exasperated at me one final time. I smiled, she did not. One last hug. A final goodbye kiss.
When I went back home I found her favorite pair of shoes abandoned, in our bedroom, forgotten, looking very lonely there without the rest of her stuff, just laying there next to each other, probably not understanding why she’d forgotten them. I picked them up and sat on the bed, one in each hand. The night feels large and empty now.
Christmas in Leipzig. I’ll have to think about that one.
Estuve manejando, sin apuro, sin rumbo fijo. No lo hacía desde que ella se fue. Cruce el tercer puente, avancé sobre la avenida, me detuve a ver desde la altura. Me di la vuelta y vi casas de colores. Volví a subirme a la moto y avancé hacia ellas, subiendo por calles angostas y empinadas. Era media mañana y el día estaba lleno de sol. No había salido así desde que ella se fue.
So, what is it? Ah, yes. Size. I remember Erika used wonder about it although she never told me at first. Then, when we’d spent some time getting to know each other and progressing sexually, she really did take a keen interest for it. I was her first and it was a long working up process up to the point in which we could finally get it all in. Good sex ensued for both, much of it I think, stemming from the fact that neither of us actually knew what good sex was. Anyway, I had a single wooden bed and this bed had a low bedpost, with a rounded (look up bed part) at the top. I’d never thought of it much and if you’d ask me neither had she, but one day we were lying around naked and she got up, stood next to it, looked at me, put one foot on the bed and left the other one on the ground and positioned herself over the (look up bed part) and at first only pressed it against her pussy, then slowly started making little circular movements until she finally began lowering herself unto it. Yes, really. She made it nearly ¼ of the way down, looked at me with a mixture of pride and surprise and then got off. I was ready again. We had another round. I didn’t know then but that was the beginning of a quest for her. I think that she wanted and needed to know exactly how much she could take into her. A question was born and an answer for it was needed.
Joan’s back and I’m glad. In her most recent post she describes a masterful transition, whilst being overburdened by grad school deadlines, from a “this-will-not-do” dating scene to a “we’re friends and that’s how we like it” scenario, with added difficulty elements thrown in. But also, anecdotic evidence in support of -“why it is not always the best idea to remain friends with exdating counterparts”- is provided through a very illustrative sequence of events concerning her roommate.
I still remember getting up early in the morning before sunrise to go out running. I’d open my eyes without the need for an alarm, look at the ceiling in the dark, hear the air conditioner hum, hear her breathing softly next to me. I’d get up from bed, careful not to rouse her, slowly walk across to the door and turn the knob counting her breaths, turn the knob and walk outside onto the hall, then closing the door slowly and feeling safe there in the darkness. I would go down the stairs and into the hall, where I’d always leave my running shoes and shorts the night before, to get dressed before I made it out on the street. I’d run for an hour or more, I’d run all the way to the seawall and back, I’d run and not want to come back until I knew she’d be leaving for work. I wanted to find a way to run out of that relationship. If I didn’t start the day with her the evenings were bearable. Then, one morning, just as I was about to make it to the hall, I heard her get up and say, “Wait. I’m coming with you”.
Three months is an impossible amount of time to wait. If I was seeing a girl 4 times a week for 12 weeks, and for some reason progressing into sex didn’t feel right it would probably mean that it’s not going to happen, it could be that I’ve at last found my long lost sister who was abducted by roaming gypsies at birth, but love-of-my-life-until-death-do-us-part material, she is not . As matter of fact, yes, it would feel awkward, and if I feel we could be unto something but sex feels uncanny, I would start conjuring up all kinds of probable psychopathology going on in the background.
Ok. Switching into brother/dude-friend- mode. Date #6 or W2 does sound like a safe amount of time to wait but in a way it’s got to do more with the guy’s attitude. What and how he does it. How much time, energy and money he invests in it (i.e. getting you into bed). I’ve really given up on trying to guess at how you know you’ve got a keeper but I do know my attitude as a guy is different when I see some kind of relationship potential in it, as a matter of fact, I don’t even expect to “land a try”” on the first dates, I want her to see who I am in a more complex way before the sudden intimacy sex brings about, and yeah, I want to see who she is before I’m sex crazed and trying to get her clothes off every time we’re alone.
But. But, but, but, there’s another dimensionality that makes it more complex, it’s not only “when” but also “what” you do on those first trysts. There’s things I’ll try to get away with on some women that I’d never even consider with another, and it all depends on where I see it going. As matter of fact, there was this one girl with whom we were being very romantic/conventional through out and carrying on well enough until about six months into it we accidentally discovered a level of kinkiness/intensity we had been both trying to hold back thinking it was inappropriate and might scare the other away.
Lastly, no need to protect the fragile male ego, men who use their insecurity to get a grappling hook on you have mother issues they should figure out in therapy, sooner or later you just learn to deal with rejection, it’s just part of it.
I think both views are correct. It is not, I believe, a dichotomic issue. It’s not only up to every person to do what they feel is right, but to learn and trust her feelings through all the advise or opinions put forth. To make it even more interesting or distressing, one can change with experience and different types of dating and relationships develop in your life. I think you can stop seeing someone when it stops being “fun” but I’ve also found out that that’s when emotional meaningfulness comes forth and starts to grow, it is not the good times that make lasting bonds, it’s the difficult and sad times that consolidate our lives with that of others.
You can date to have fun, gain experience or try to know a person as profoundly as possible to finally just move on, or you can be on standby until whoever meets your expectations comes along, either way, it’s going to take a lot of effort to make things work once the initial jitters are over. Ultimately it’s one’s own capacity to love, live, forgive and contribute in creating a mutual life that will make the difference.
So, I would agree with you, Joan, there are people with whom it’s fun to date, others with whom you feel there could be more of a future (whatever that means to each of us) and others with whom it’s just about the sex and intensity. At the same time though, I agree with M. Kundera when he states that our lives are like musical scores, the more you advance on your own, the harder it will be to combine it harmoniously with that of another person.
At this point in my life I feel grateful towards all the women with whom my path has crossed, many of them have made me a better person and some of them stood by me even after I hurt them, teaching me things I never imagined about what it means to love.