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.
