The audacity to crave, desire, long someone a thousand miles away with limits, structures, rules all impeding the way. Left to the devices of technology our communication is stilted, left to interpretation between all CAPS and smiley faces.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Drama at a Glance #6
Joy and possibility one moment... crashing disappointment the next. The puppet master pulls his strings and whispers poison into the ears of those who will listen. How interesting to be the king, the one big fish in his corner of the corporate pond, the one whose tether to future rule unravels ahead of his climb.
For years I have stuck up for him and now for the second time in 11 months he has returned my loyalty with a denial for growth and opportunity. I am done with loyalty... completely and unequivocally done.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Drama at a Glance #5
Forever he has been my friend, my ally, my colleague and greatest champion.
Now he occupies the bulk of my thoughts. What will it be like to kiss him, I wonder. He is tall and I ache to be embraced by him, to be suspended with my legs around his waist, to be pinned up against the wall with his mouth on my own. How did we get here and more importantly, how can we get there?
I check-in with myself: is this for real or just my pattern? Am I manipulating this situation to fill that deep chasm of unmet need for attention? When did the feelings start? When? When? When? Was it two years ago, perhaps? If I am truly honest with myself it was at least two years ago that I perceived the subtlest of shifts. It was then that I began referring to him as my "Best Friend at Work" and confiding in him all the things I'd tell a girlfriend.
At meetings or dinners he occasionally teased me and I silently wondered if he harbored romantic feelings for me. Then at last January's meeting - the same meeting with Mr. Mediterranean and the Brazilian incident - he was my best friend on the couch. I snuggled up to him on the couch, my legs on top of his. But it "meant nothing," right? I mean I could put my legs on top of his because he was just my friend... just my friend.
He invites me to surgeon dinners twice in New Orleans. Together with his assistant they invent emergencies to engineer customer meetings with me over my boss. Then we carve out time for dinner during a recent trip to and as luck would have it, my plane is delayed three hours. My return trip home is pushed back all together to the following day.
I bunk with his assistant that night, but not until we share a few more rounds. Finally snuggled in bed I make a confession to my roommate about her boss, "I sometimes wonder how our friendship would look if we were not married to our spouses."
She pauses from her night-night routine, "I've wondered that for three years."
Three what? It's incomprehensible to me! Three years? I was just coming off of maternity leave three years ago? I was barely in my [then new] position three years ago. How is that even possible? She and I had not even met yet three years ago? How could I be so clueless? How could she perceive anything three years ago? Except that assistants know. They know their bosses better than the back of their hands. They know their bosses like a second husband. He waxed on about my talents with customers and spreadsheets and she read through each and every one of them.
I lay in bed as she reveals her observations and I am overcome with emotion. Tears run down my cheeks and I'm unsure why exactly. She inquires into my reasons for crying and all I can see is a future... a future with him that didn't exist a moment before.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Drama at a Glance #4
February 1998 ~ for some months now I've dated Ron... poor, soon-to-be-single dad of two who in his early 20's married an overweight woman who never put out. They're in their late 30's now and the impending divorce and need for cash have put him on the road to generate more income, so DuPont sends him to Houston each week to consult Texaco or Shell or one of those mega petroleum companies. He is not quite my height, sinewy (meaning he weighs less than me) and he is an accountant. Seriously, how the fuck did I end up here? Oh, wait I know... I wanted someone - anyone - to love me so my boss set me up on a date. Pathetic!
On the upside, this [mis] match coincides with my own transition. I am not leaving a relationship to start another but rather leaving my corporate gig to be an Ar-tiste! I have just completed a six-week comedy class whose finale included the production of a live show written mostly by me. Little ole me who used to rarely get noticed is now the center of a growing amount of attention from the likes of D, B and Ron.
Sex with Ron is interesting for all of about one week. He is really into me and -- while flattering -- it's starting to border on the pathological. He's trying to make up with me in one week what was lacking from his marriage for 18 years. My bottom hurts, I'm thinking his tastes border on the freaky and frankly, I'm just not that into him. I finally leave for my best friend's wedding in Kansas.
My BFF is marrying the Xerox photocopy guy and I am worried. She assures me he's the real deal though and asks me to be Maid of Honor. The week kicks off with a bridal shower and luncheon. That night we endure a socially painful dinner with superficial Karen (bride's maid #3) before retiring back to my BFF's house with a couple bottles of wine and two cigars.
Four or five nights later we meet up with the groom and groomsmen for a bachelor-bachelorette party. I may not see what she sees in her husband-to-be, but his brother, Max? Now that's an entirely different story. The groom and his brothers are Air Force guys and Max is fulltime. He is 6' 1 or 6' 2 with dark brown hair, a boyish face and an aloof demeanor. I like him immediately.
It's February 14th. The wedding reception wraps and the bridal party migrates to Johnny's. We politely talk with others when he finally grabs my hand and pulls me to the crowded dance floor. Tall and confident, he looks intently in my eyes. This is what I want. This is what we all want... to be seen, to be desired.
The music ends, the bar closes. We head out into the chill of the Midwest winter night and take my car back to his place, except that he's staying at his now married-brother's home. We pass the house and park in a deserted gas station to talk which is really just the passive strategy one employs to avoid being perceived as too physically aggressive. Fortunately, our interests are mutual and conversation trails off as our hands connect over the console of my mother's Jeep Cheroke.
Hand holding leads to caressing leads to leaning leads to reaching leads to embracing. Mouths connect, tongues flirt and what was tentative at first escalates into deep, hungry kissing. It is the kissing of someone new, someone who is as attracted to you as you are to him, someone whose physicalness so perfectly compliments your own.
It is three in the morning and this is the kissing you want to last forever. We move from the front seats to the back and our passionate embraces extend the lengths of of our bodies down to our toes. Please let this moment, this night last forever. What would I give to bottle this perfection and dwell in it forever?
Always there is reality and the sun threatens to rise less than two hours from now. It is Sunday and the return flight to Houston beckons with its 11am departure. I cannot wait any longer if I'm going to catch that flight home. Why must this always be the way it goes? There have been these moments, these people with whom I would have preferred being. They number only four and their names are Todd, Paul, Matthew and Max. Is it a coincidence that their names loosely read like the apostles of the New Testament (sans Todd of course)?
They are the unrequieted loves, the ones who's greatest expression of love and intimacy was never fully expressed. Is that what holds them on love's pedastool of perfection?
I return to Houston and Ron. I cannot play house with this person and I cannot endure to feel his touch. Five days later it is over and I am on the path once more.
On the upside, this [mis] match coincides with my own transition. I am not leaving a relationship to start another but rather leaving my corporate gig to be an Ar-tiste! I have just completed a six-week comedy class whose finale included the production of a live show written mostly by me. Little ole me who used to rarely get noticed is now the center of a growing amount of attention from the likes of D, B and Ron.
Sex with Ron is interesting for all of about one week. He is really into me and -- while flattering -- it's starting to border on the pathological. He's trying to make up with me in one week what was lacking from his marriage for 18 years. My bottom hurts, I'm thinking his tastes border on the freaky and frankly, I'm just not that into him. I finally leave for my best friend's wedding in Kansas.
My BFF is marrying the Xerox photocopy guy and I am worried. She assures me he's the real deal though and asks me to be Maid of Honor. The week kicks off with a bridal shower and luncheon. That night we endure a socially painful dinner with superficial Karen (bride's maid #3) before retiring back to my BFF's house with a couple bottles of wine and two cigars.
Four or five nights later we meet up with the groom and groomsmen for a bachelor-bachelorette party. I may not see what she sees in her husband-to-be, but his brother, Max? Now that's an entirely different story. The groom and his brothers are Air Force guys and Max is fulltime. He is 6' 1 or 6' 2 with dark brown hair, a boyish face and an aloof demeanor. I like him immediately.
It's February 14th. The wedding reception wraps and the bridal party migrates to Johnny's. We politely talk with others when he finally grabs my hand and pulls me to the crowded dance floor. Tall and confident, he looks intently in my eyes. This is what I want. This is what we all want... to be seen, to be desired.
The music ends, the bar closes. We head out into the chill of the Midwest winter night and take my car back to his place, except that he's staying at his now married-brother's home. We pass the house and park in a deserted gas station to talk which is really just the passive strategy one employs to avoid being perceived as too physically aggressive. Fortunately, our interests are mutual and conversation trails off as our hands connect over the console of my mother's Jeep Cheroke.
Hand holding leads to caressing leads to leaning leads to reaching leads to embracing. Mouths connect, tongues flirt and what was tentative at first escalates into deep, hungry kissing. It is the kissing of someone new, someone who is as attracted to you as you are to him, someone whose physicalness so perfectly compliments your own.
It is three in the morning and this is the kissing you want to last forever. We move from the front seats to the back and our passionate embraces extend the lengths of of our bodies down to our toes. Please let this moment, this night last forever. What would I give to bottle this perfection and dwell in it forever?
Always there is reality and the sun threatens to rise less than two hours from now. It is Sunday and the return flight to Houston beckons with its 11am departure. I cannot wait any longer if I'm going to catch that flight home. Why must this always be the way it goes? There have been these moments, these people with whom I would have preferred being. They number only four and their names are Todd, Paul, Matthew and Max. Is it a coincidence that their names loosely read like the apostles of the New Testament (sans Todd of course)?
They are the unrequieted loves, the ones who's greatest expression of love and intimacy was never fully expressed. Is that what holds them on love's pedastool of perfection?
I return to Houston and Ron. I cannot play house with this person and I cannot endure to feel his touch. Five days later it is over and I am on the path once more.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Drama at a Glance #3.5 ~ For Better or Worse
If I wouldn't wait three decades to choose another path, then why would I wait another minute?
What does it mean to stay married for Better or Worse? I pose this question to my family, Mom specifically. But she doesn't have an answer, leaving me to figure it out for myself once again. Uhg~ can't someone just tell me what to do?
I ponder modern-day marriage. I don't resent being the primary bread winner. I resent that I'm the 75% to 85% bread winner and that despite repeated, non-pressuring requests to find a consistent source of income there is still an absence of results.
Frontline is a repeat tonight about the history of derivatives, Brooksly Born, Alan Greenspan, the Clinton Administration and the recent crash. At the program's end my partner tells me, "this is why we have to make sure our own financial house is in order."
Really? Interesting...
If that comment had come at any other point in our 12-year history I would have internalized it, wondering what I'm doing wrong and how can I be better (so he won't leave). But the comment came tonight and I realize that I'm not the one who has to put their financial house in order. When your personal contribution to the household is 75+% it puts you in the power position and bullshit if he's going to put this gorilla on my back.
From my point of view, it's ALL ON ME and this is NOT what we agreed to. Unfortunately, we didn't agree to anything. I am the primary bread winner as well as the the primary parent. I am the person who pays the bills, calculates the budget, keeps our diet filled with vegetables, organizes house cleanings, goes to work even when I'm sick, picks up around the house and manages the never-shrinking to-do list. I have a 401K and a plan to pay off debt. But tell me, what good does it do if everytime I turn around there's another charge on the card or a loan taken out on the personal line of credit to cover someone's business expenses.
I hear the other day that the truck needs a $400-500 repair and that it needs to go on the credit card. Great! What's the plan to repay the credit card, I ask.
He retorts with, "well I have to have a truck that works."
"I agree, but right now our expenses outweigh our income and there is nothing else I can do to increase my salary." I have pushed for raises and promotions for 5+ years straight and my efforts have yielded a 100% increase over when I started at my company. What can I say about my spouse except that with my rising frustration he seems more a cost center than a profit center. Tell me again about getting our financial house in order. He'll be 65 in less than 15 years without a cent set aside for retirement. That'll coincide nicely with high school graduation... sure hope the kids are smart enough for full scholarships.
Look, I know I'm "bitchin'" here, but I want to know what FOR BETTER OR WORSE means? He comes home after repairing the truck to tell me he had to drive around for a while because my words were "hurtful." Seriously? Hurtful?
I think about everything I could have said and the tone I could have used. For years I have bitten my tongue because of the risk of losing him. I have curbed my gender's tendency to nag, whine and be taken care of and what has it gotten me? Now I'm the man ~ and I don't want to be the man!
What does it mean to stay married for Better or Worse? I pose this question to my family, Mom specifically. But she doesn't have an answer, leaving me to figure it out for myself once again. Uhg~ can't someone just tell me what to do?
I ponder modern-day marriage. I don't resent being the primary bread winner. I resent that I'm the 75% to 85% bread winner and that despite repeated, non-pressuring requests to find a consistent source of income there is still an absence of results.
Frontline is a repeat tonight about the history of derivatives, Brooksly Born, Alan Greenspan, the Clinton Administration and the recent crash. At the program's end my partner tells me, "this is why we have to make sure our own financial house is in order."
Really? Interesting...
If that comment had come at any other point in our 12-year history I would have internalized it, wondering what I'm doing wrong and how can I be better (so he won't leave). But the comment came tonight and I realize that I'm not the one who has to put their financial house in order. When your personal contribution to the household is 75+% it puts you in the power position and bullshit if he's going to put this gorilla on my back.
From my point of view, it's ALL ON ME and this is NOT what we agreed to. Unfortunately, we didn't agree to anything. I am the primary bread winner as well as the the primary parent. I am the person who pays the bills, calculates the budget, keeps our diet filled with vegetables, organizes house cleanings, goes to work even when I'm sick, picks up around the house and manages the never-shrinking to-do list. I have a 401K and a plan to pay off debt. But tell me, what good does it do if everytime I turn around there's another charge on the card or a loan taken out on the personal line of credit to cover someone's business expenses.
I hear the other day that the truck needs a $400-500 repair and that it needs to go on the credit card. Great! What's the plan to repay the credit card, I ask.
He retorts with, "well I have to have a truck that works."
"I agree, but right now our expenses outweigh our income and there is nothing else I can do to increase my salary." I have pushed for raises and promotions for 5+ years straight and my efforts have yielded a 100% increase over when I started at my company. What can I say about my spouse except that with my rising frustration he seems more a cost center than a profit center. Tell me again about getting our financial house in order. He'll be 65 in less than 15 years without a cent set aside for retirement. That'll coincide nicely with high school graduation... sure hope the kids are smart enough for full scholarships.
Look, I know I'm "bitchin'" here, but I want to know what FOR BETTER OR WORSE means? He comes home after repairing the truck to tell me he had to drive around for a while because my words were "hurtful." Seriously? Hurtful?
I think about everything I could have said and the tone I could have used. For years I have bitten my tongue because of the risk of losing him. I have curbed my gender's tendency to nag, whine and be taken care of and what has it gotten me? Now I'm the man ~ and I don't want to be the man!
Drama at a Glance #3
"Three different people have come up to me this morning talking about your Brazilian," he states with that cocky assuredness that makes me want to swing a bat at his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's all over the company. Don't worry, I'm sure your boss will talk to you about it."
What the F? How does he know? And more importanly, which three people? We were all joking about hygiene at dinner the night before, bordering on over-shares because of one colleague's refusal to filter his communication. Red creeps to my ears and there is less than a minute to pull it together and make it in time to the two-hour breakout session.
Two hours will pass before I can take a deep breath, before I can talk to a friend, before I can verify that I still have a job. Is he fuckin' with me? I vacilate between wanting to hog-tie the three people with whom I joked about waxing and then wanting to tell the cocky one to shove it up his ass.
One moment I'm wrestling with embarrassment that there is an entire coversation among the throngs of employees about my girl parts - will I have to bury myself in a corner, turn the volume down on my laugh and bow my head in shame? The next moment I'm telling myself to hold my head up high, that if someone has an opinion or judgement about me that they can go to hell. "Yeah, I take care of my business and you can only imagine getting a piece of this mother fuckers!!!!!!!!!!"
I'm doubting three different people told him about my Latin hair cut, but someone said something and now he's acting like he has something over me. But does he? This sales leader who sips O'Douls with a holier-than-though attitude. Who has the shit on whom? I've learned that until recently this person would get phone numbers from strippers and then upon his return to the city call to take them shopping. Sometimes they'd stand him up, but other times they'd show and he'd take the lovely ladies to dine with surgeons at dinner. Now that's classy, especially when the unsuspecting and ever-dutiful wife waits for him at home expecting their first child.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's all over the company. Don't worry, I'm sure your boss will talk to you about it."
What the F? How does he know? And more importanly, which three people? We were all joking about hygiene at dinner the night before, bordering on over-shares because of one colleague's refusal to filter his communication. Red creeps to my ears and there is less than a minute to pull it together and make it in time to the two-hour breakout session.
Two hours will pass before I can take a deep breath, before I can talk to a friend, before I can verify that I still have a job. Is he fuckin' with me? I vacilate between wanting to hog-tie the three people with whom I joked about waxing and then wanting to tell the cocky one to shove it up his ass.
One moment I'm wrestling with embarrassment that there is an entire coversation among the throngs of employees about my girl parts - will I have to bury myself in a corner, turn the volume down on my laugh and bow my head in shame? The next moment I'm telling myself to hold my head up high, that if someone has an opinion or judgement about me that they can go to hell. "Yeah, I take care of my business and you can only imagine getting a piece of this mother fuckers!!!!!!!!!!"
I'm doubting three different people told him about my Latin hair cut, but someone said something and now he's acting like he has something over me. But does he? This sales leader who sips O'Douls with a holier-than-though attitude. Who has the shit on whom? I've learned that until recently this person would get phone numbers from strippers and then upon his return to the city call to take them shopping. Sometimes they'd stand him up, but other times they'd show and he'd take the lovely ladies to dine with surgeons at dinner. Now that's classy, especially when the unsuspecting and ever-dutiful wife waits for him at home expecting their first child.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Drama at a Glance #2
Mist hangs in the air as another El Nino weather system threatens to remove all traces of last summer's drought. Blech ~ this cruddy weather is great for the lakes but oh how it darkens my mood. My coffee tastes like swill, my hair is flat and fuzzy and my boss is invoking her favorite communication style -- vomiting! The day will come and I will expand on the Drama Queen Guide concept to include DQGuide's to Corporate America.
And on that DQG continuum is DQGuide's to Marriage. I don't know what the seven or nine dramas will be but one question dances around on the edge of consciousness: what am I pretending not to notice about my role in this? I am sad and I turn my thoughts to work to avoid contemplating the depth of it all.
And on that DQG continuum is DQGuide's to Marriage. I don't know what the seven or nine dramas will be but one question dances around on the edge of consciousness: what am I pretending not to notice about my role in this? I am sad and I turn my thoughts to work to avoid contemplating the depth of it all.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Drama at a Glance #1 ~ Continued
Time and sobriety are my cornerstones of perspective and as the edge of defensiveness (ego) softens, I see that crisis is precisely the word for describing the state of my marriage.
If I had the entire moment back I would say good night at the front desk and walk to my room without ever turning back to ask Mr. Meditteranean, "would you like to hang out and talk [or something]."
If I had that moment in his room back I would tell him that what brings me here tonight is the same thing that brought me to the affair six years earlier... that what I miss and have sought for more than a decade is intimate connection with another. That my husband has scoffed at the idea of "intimate connection" since I first mentioned it, that the idea of "making love" lies somewhere between boring and death. I'd cater to wild fantasies, porn and pole dancing 50% of the time if we could cultivate the type of intimacy I want during the other half. Instead, we're stuck in a tug-of-war (crisis) and no one is getting what they want.
If only I had been more sober as we walked back to his room that night. In that gen-infused haze I vaguely recall being asked whether I believe in soul mates. I jump to my standard (safe) response and lose the chance to ask him the same... something tells me he does believe and that perhaps his divorce has robbed him of his dream.
I stopped dreaming years ago when I traded romantic illusions for pragmatism. I gave up the dream and my belief system at the crossroads of 29 because I had grown too smart for matters of the heart. It's 12 years later and while my husband and I love, respect and care for each other, there is that one conversation we bravely hold once a year then quietly tuck back on the shelf. How many years of dust will gather on this book? Will we overcome it or separate ten years from now? Twenty? Thirty? If I wouldn't wait three decades to choose another path, then why would I wait another minute?
Why? Because I am afraid to be alone. That the mild, numb comfort of a platonic marriage outweighs the potential risk of lonliness. Because now children and a mortgage are involved. Because an affair can temporarily sedate the pain and rejuvenate that part of my soul again while leaving life's other comforts in place, right?
I describe Mr. Mediterranean to my best friend, how I want to feel the passion of his mouth on my own. A family therapist and former smoker she boils my feelings down with, "Yeah? Sometime I just want to smoke a cigarette too."
Hmm. It'd be harsh if it wasn't so comically true. What I know now -- that I didn't know six years ago -- is that an affair will leave enormous collateral damage. That while it may temporarily blow the dust off the shelf it will chip away at my soul.
Is it a coincidence that I chose the one man at my company who will not kiss or fool around with me? There are no coincidences. I have created drama once again to fill the void of constant craving but with a slightly different ending this time. The question is, when will I choose a different path entirely?
If I had the entire moment back I would say good night at the front desk and walk to my room without ever turning back to ask Mr. Meditteranean, "would you like to hang out and talk [or something]."
If I had that moment in his room back I would tell him that what brings me here tonight is the same thing that brought me to the affair six years earlier... that what I miss and have sought for more than a decade is intimate connection with another. That my husband has scoffed at the idea of "intimate connection" since I first mentioned it, that the idea of "making love" lies somewhere between boring and death. I'd cater to wild fantasies, porn and pole dancing 50% of the time if we could cultivate the type of intimacy I want during the other half. Instead, we're stuck in a tug-of-war (crisis) and no one is getting what they want.
If only I had been more sober as we walked back to his room that night. In that gen-infused haze I vaguely recall being asked whether I believe in soul mates. I jump to my standard (safe) response and lose the chance to ask him the same... something tells me he does believe and that perhaps his divorce has robbed him of his dream.
I stopped dreaming years ago when I traded romantic illusions for pragmatism. I gave up the dream and my belief system at the crossroads of 29 because I had grown too smart for matters of the heart. It's 12 years later and while my husband and I love, respect and care for each other, there is that one conversation we bravely hold once a year then quietly tuck back on the shelf. How many years of dust will gather on this book? Will we overcome it or separate ten years from now? Twenty? Thirty? If I wouldn't wait three decades to choose another path, then why would I wait another minute?
Why? Because I am afraid to be alone. That the mild, numb comfort of a platonic marriage outweighs the potential risk of lonliness. Because now children and a mortgage are involved. Because an affair can temporarily sedate the pain and rejuvenate that part of my soul again while leaving life's other comforts in place, right?
I describe Mr. Mediterranean to my best friend, how I want to feel the passion of his mouth on my own. A family therapist and former smoker she boils my feelings down with, "Yeah? Sometime I just want to smoke a cigarette too."
Hmm. It'd be harsh if it wasn't so comically true. What I know now -- that I didn't know six years ago -- is that an affair will leave enormous collateral damage. That while it may temporarily blow the dust off the shelf it will chip away at my soul.
Is it a coincidence that I chose the one man at my company who will not kiss or fool around with me? There are no coincidences. I have created drama once again to fill the void of constant craving but with a slightly different ending this time. The question is, when will I choose a different path entirely?
Monday, January 25, 2010
Drama at a Glance #1
"What do I want?" he asks.
What do I want? His question is direct. I sit on his bed, my head not quite spinning from an evening of gin and tonics. I ask for water while he pours himself a Grey Goose. My stomach flutters and my mouth is full of cotton.
I work in a company comprised of a mostly-male sales force - at least 850 men. My male colleagues are macho, aggressive and handsome. There is no harnessing their unsolicited stares, comments or invitations. I could consider myself flattered except that I'm one of maybe 40 women, it's late and they're drunk. Pushing back on the wall of testosterone is easy in consideration of these facts. They're attractive but my interest fraternal, platonic at best.
And then there's the one I like to call Mr. Mediterranean. He's hip, direct and sexy as hell. What do I want? What I really want is to get together. What I want is for him to feel the same way too. What I want is to inhale this moment and hold it there indefinitely. He wants to know what's happening in my marriage that brings me here tonight... my memory is fuzzy, did he use the word crisis? It's a blur.
Reality returns like a slap in the face and I'm stradling the fulcrum between monogamy (meaning sex once a year) and freedom. I want it all and yet cannot communicate with any form of intelligence in a 10-second sound bite. How much time do we have to discuss this? It's nearly 2:30am and I feel compelled to wrap up the state of my marriage, my life and my past in a package that will leave me looking good yet reveal some glimmer of honesty so he'll not judge me or compare me to his ex-wife who cheated on him and left for the other man. Ouch.
I'm not the ex-Mrs. Mediterranean. I'm neither a chronic cheater nor a pathological waffler. I'm a being who stands in the mystery of this human experience wondering why it has to be so damned hard to have everything and in this moment I am a woman hungry to feel the passion of a man's mouth on my own. I want his mouth on mine but he's made it abundantly clear that while we share some common interests, this is not what he wants. I stand and leave with my dignity hanging by a thread.
What do I want? His question is direct. I sit on his bed, my head not quite spinning from an evening of gin and tonics. I ask for water while he pours himself a Grey Goose. My stomach flutters and my mouth is full of cotton.
I work in a company comprised of a mostly-male sales force - at least 850 men. My male colleagues are macho, aggressive and handsome. There is no harnessing their unsolicited stares, comments or invitations. I could consider myself flattered except that I'm one of maybe 40 women, it's late and they're drunk. Pushing back on the wall of testosterone is easy in consideration of these facts. They're attractive but my interest fraternal, platonic at best.
And then there's the one I like to call Mr. Mediterranean. He's hip, direct and sexy as hell. What do I want? What I really want is to get together. What I want is for him to feel the same way too. What I want is to inhale this moment and hold it there indefinitely. He wants to know what's happening in my marriage that brings me here tonight... my memory is fuzzy, did he use the word crisis? It's a blur.
Reality returns like a slap in the face and I'm stradling the fulcrum between monogamy (meaning sex once a year) and freedom. I want it all and yet cannot communicate with any form of intelligence in a 10-second sound bite. How much time do we have to discuss this? It's nearly 2:30am and I feel compelled to wrap up the state of my marriage, my life and my past in a package that will leave me looking good yet reveal some glimmer of honesty so he'll not judge me or compare me to his ex-wife who cheated on him and left for the other man. Ouch.
I'm not the ex-Mrs. Mediterranean. I'm neither a chronic cheater nor a pathological waffler. I'm a being who stands in the mystery of this human experience wondering why it has to be so damned hard to have everything and in this moment I am a woman hungry to feel the passion of a man's mouth on my own. I want his mouth on mine but he's made it abundantly clear that while we share some common interests, this is not what he wants. I stand and leave with my dignity hanging by a thread.
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