What is a safe bet?

I should be in Vegas right now winning. My predictions are spot on. Just a few posts back I dared open up and actually speak about a new relationship. Hinting to its potential and daring to hope but predicting its demise in an embarrassingly defensive maneuver in order to protect my heart and pride. Now instead of the hard press, the daily texts from him wishing me a good day, planning for a date days in advance, hanging out every Saturday for college ball, I get a text that says “I am sorry I’ve been MIA, I’m just trying to figure my life out right now”. And when approached on exactly what this means by asking him “Do you still want to see each other”, as I don’t get hints very well, the response is “I don’t know”. (Sigh) And taken from a writer I lurk after, “It was easy. Love was hard. Love is impossible for me. Sex, though, very simple.”

I get that. I’ve purposely pursued these kinds of relationships since my divorce. I like the power I have in them and the safety they offer. But then I meet someone while my brick wall was undergoing some repairs, and he slips in unnoticed. Now, is he like me? That behind the wall, the moat, and the razor wire, sits a person who is also afraid and wanting someone to take a chance on them? Someone who will be patient, do the work, dig for the prize knowing it will be worth it. Or is he just a standard, assembly line asshole?

Cupcakes

Cupcakes. At 1:30am. I’m making cupcakes for this man at 1:30 in the morning. There are so many things wrong with this. I don’t bake. I like to sleep. I’m choosing, choosing to make cupcakes instead of open another bottle of wine. I’m getting up early, on a Saturday, to meet him and his friends for college football. Which, actually I really enjoy watching. But instead of running by the store and picking something up on my way to his house, I have decided to make homemade cupcakes to bring. And, pull wine from my personal stock and not something from the store. Who am I??

Where is this going?

What is this? A boy, no…a man, opening my heart. Speaking honestly, about wants, and needs and fears so early on in this relationship – so new, it feels funny even calling it a relationship. Why am I allowing my barriers to be penetrated, and so easily? What is it about this man that let’s me speak the truth without fear or consequence? It’s not real. There is a catch. Surely I can’t trust this.

Body High

I’m not sure what has gotten into me.

Funny I would choose that sentence. One my mother would have used to describe me as a child when I was misbehaving. But I think it’s appropriate in this particular moment.

My body is buzzing from within. It has its own agenda and is not consulting my brain for guidance. Hell, it’s not consulting me for anything. This feeling has taken over, consuming my thoughts and distracting me from life. It is forcing me to make decisions I would normally never entertain, at least not in the light of day. It’s somehow reading my subconscious and acting on it without consequence.

I’m finding myself in circumstances completely unlike me, yet just like me. Moments that make me smile for days after. That make me yearn for more. I sit outside my body, listening and watching myself ask for what I want without fear or shame. Enjoying the spoils of these risks and becoming braver each day. And the more I do, the more I want. The feeling grows stronger the more I feed it and I don’t want to stop.

And that, that feeling of not reigning in this beast is the scariest of them all.

Contentment

The feel of his hand on the small of my back. His fingers drumming against my skin to the beat of the music. His body protecting mine against the crowd. Leaning into him, the solidness of an oak holding me there. Holding me present, not allowing me to completely focus on the band. My thoughts dance between the feel of his touch and the feel of the bass reverberating through my body, the mixture of the two is intoxicating. He leans down to hear what I have to say, his ear and neck so dangerously close to my lips that I have to consciously hold myself back from kissing him each time. I fail on occasion.

Words

I love words. So much so, I actually keep a list of my favorites. The list includes words such as beguiling, languidly, cacophony, sybarite and robust. They are more to me than just letters organized, they are feelings that envelope me when they are heard or spoken. They are especially powerful when used by someone I find attractive. In the right moment, they could be foreplay, sexually yes, but almost more powerfully, intellectually. It’s not that I find a “book worm” sexy, actually, it’s those moments when the least expecting of men use wicked smart words. If they take the time to learn and use language they will take the time to learn and use me. It shows inquisitiveness, patience, folly, and drive or dedication. For me, these are adjectives to describe men that I am drawn to. Tell me, what are some of your favorite words?

Stew instead of Soup

I want my life to be like stew instead of soup. This statement rolled across my mind recently and I thought how succinct this is. I’ve been going through a life review of sorts. Deciding what is important to me and what should be tossed to curb. And how much my life is wasted on the peripheral and how my time would be better spent on those things that matter. Really, just making thick rue instead of being satisfied with broth

I’m back from the best vacation ever. A birthday celebration that was just how I pictured. A week of family, friends, great food, amazing wine, and a town that calls to me, even now, a thousand miles away, I still hear it’s voice. It teases me with its ease and sensibility. The green rolling hills and cool nights. The smell of star jasmine and the sound of baby birds nesting outside my window. Acoustic guitar, the smell of morning coffee I didn’t fix, and fresh flowers everywhere. Not once thinking of work and instead focusing on long massages, fresh seafood, and smiling….all the time.

I realize vacation is not the benchmark by which we can measure everyday life, but it should be the menu of choices we try to incorporate into out daily schedule.

At what age do you become an adult?

When did I turn 40? When did it happen exactly? I mean it was just yesterday I was fresh out of college trying to find my way in the world. And although I don’t know if I have exactly found my way at 40, I do know that I have at least traveled along a road that resembles the directions I had in my mind. A path peppered with no regrets. But 40 – as a kid it sound so old and at 40 it still feels so young. It’s funny – sometimes I catch myself walking through the house, usually doing something a bit naughty, and think “I can’t believe I own my own home”. It almost feels I’m just hanging out at my parent’s house while they’re out of town. But oh, how I do love being an adult. Not having to answer to anyone (read single adult here), doing what I want, when I want and with no real consequences. I like the freedom of making my own decisions, of being able to choose almost anything and act upon it. It can almost make you drunk with power, don’t you think? It’s a real responsibility to be an adult and some days I choose wisely, others not so much, and still others do it and damn the consequences. Those moments usually make the best stories. Tell me, what do you love about being an adult?

Thump Thump

What is it I want to say as I type away here in the dark? The light of my computer screen filling the room and the music loud and filling my head. I love the way music feels. The bass or the thump thump that reverberates in my chest. I close my eyes and lean back into the chair and I hear the music around me, and it, and the memories and images it conjures up, float around in the vicinity of my ceiling. I shrug out of my sweater and take my hair down. I feel the dampness of when I put it up hours before and smell the freshness of my shampoo and imagine the sound he makes when he buries his face into my hair. I catch my fingers stroking my lips imagining him, his kisses, the smiles he makes when I take him into my mouth. I want to see in the dark with those senses that know best. I want to dance to the music around me, its rhythm and ours matching. But alas, I’m reduced to communicating my needs to him via text and unable to relish in the details flooding my mind and body.

Where to celebrate?

I turn 40 in April. I’m on a quest to find the perfect place to celebrate this momentous passing. I want to take 3 weeks, rent a house, and put down 3-week roots in my new home. I want all my family and friends to pay me a visit at some point during my stay. I want to become a short lived local. I want to love this place so much, I ponder quitting my job and working at the local flower stand. I want to relax, and reflect and ponder the next 40 years on this earth. And I want peace.

But I’m in a quandary on where this perfect place should be. I’ve researched Italy, Buenos Aries, the Outer Banks. I’ve considered Spain, Jackson Hole and Big Sur. And for a woman who usually has no problem making decisions, I can’t seem to come up with one here. My expectations are probably too high. And my consideration of the needs/wants of my family and friends I’m sure are making this more difficult. I just want a place to relax. A place me and my camera can be inspired. A place with vistas, where I look out over the land and see history.

My very diligent, process minded mind is considering everything with this decision. For instance:

- the dollar against the euro
- big occasion, I should go abroad and not stay in the US
- don’t repeat a location I’ve already been to
- love the waves, but do I have to have them
- finding a house everyone will love
- finding a location that has something to do/see
- weather/climate at that time

I think what I would like is if the place could somehow pick me. To try somewhere without research, serious consideration, major planning…all things I have a want to do, and yet without all that, still works out.

I’m open to ideas.

I want...more

I want to feel his skin beneath my fingernails. I want to feel his taut, tough muscles ripen against my touch. I want to hear his sighs in my ear, feel his moist lips graze along my neck and his weight along my body. I want to feel his desire on my hip, taste his mouth and breathe in his scent. I want to dance on fresh linen, I want to paint his body with my auburn hair and I want to exchange power. I want his teeth to graze over my alabaster skin and mark his territory. I want to lose time, I want to let go, I want to become his concubine. I want to call in sick and lay in bed all day and tell each other secrets again. I want to taste his hungry kisses and pull him into my mouth. I want to be preoccupied by the memories of him, I want to anticipate his next visit, and I want to plan for our next adventure.

Read "I want"