I’ve been up for hours and it isn’t even dawn, yet. I awoke on the couch, the TV on, the lights bright, the bottle of white wine empty with its sidekick wine glass covered in fingerprints also empty. My heart lurched a little with sadness, a smidgeon of relief that at least I wasn’t alone in my feelings: The Neighbor has similar doubts as me.
Our doubt is, is this as far as we can go? For me, it’s Can TN one day fit himself into my little family? For him, he wonders if he can go beyond where we are today.
The last several months have been hard for us. Though we knew each other for two years when we finally admitted our love for one another, it’s only been half a year that we’ve been tackling the relationship aspect of our relationship. My needs, specifically; now they exist and I am vocal about them, which has meant that he has had to give me more. Lots more.
As just my neighbor he came and went as he pleased, things he said rolled off my back, I used other men to satisfy my longings, and I expected nothing from him. From his perspective, it was a perfect deal. From mine, it was rough, but I accepted it. We weren’t committed and therefore I felt I had no claim.
Well, now we are and therefore I do.
Bam. Shit’s all over the place.
The good news is that we are not unhappy. We’re just both worried that we could be in denial about what’s going on. It’s been hard the last six months. Is it a death rattle?? So many tears, fights, heavy chats late into the night. When I’m filled with doubt I project it onto him, see his ambiguity as if under a microscope. He admitted to feeling it from time to time and being surprised when, a couple of weeks later, I finally respond to it though he’s confused because the moment had passed for him.
I feel at once closer to him for realizing we’re on the same page and also scared. Really scared. I’ve never felt this way about someone before, so in love, so loved in return, and to have something as integral as wanting him to become a part of my family stand between us… well, that’s a chasm we may never bridge.
For when I’m ready for and need him to join us, there’s no saying, No thank you, Hy. I can’t. I don’t want that kind of relationship with you. There can only be, I’m ready. I’m a little scared, but let’s do this.
The other good news is that when that might happen is far in the future. I imagine that if he and I manage to hammer out the details and grow closer I can envision us joining forces under one roof in a couple of years. I know myself; it’s what I’ll likely want.
It freaked him out to hear me speak of the future, but even he admitted to not being ready for something like that for another 18 months. I found that immensely reassuring.
I also admitted that had he wanted the apartment across the hall I would have told him No. He admitted that my proximity and his fears about us also drove him to chose the building down the hill.
My head is happy our feelings align, my heart, however, is heavy.
This weekend has been incredible. Loving, sweet, tender. Friday night I came home from wine with girlfriends to him naked and aroused in my bed. He’d been waiting for me, punctual. I’d somewhat deliberately lost track of time and come home late, but the second I saw him the sheer veil of lingering resentment I wore slipped away and I fell into his arms.
His warm, naked body moving over me and then filling me. He kissed and nipped at my neck as I marveled at his giant cock splitting me open and his flanks curling into my open legs. He hooked his fingers into me and I writhed upon them and drenched my sheets. We masturbated while watching one another and I thought about how much I loved him as I watched semen spurt onto his belly and my own orgasm fade away behind my heavy-lidded eyes.
He left that night after tucking me in, but we had plans to meet up fairly early Saturday evening at his place. I made him dinner while he filled some boxes and we watched YouTube clips of the Dave Chappelle Show and laughed hard, our faces cast in artificial light in the dark office. “I’m Rick James, bitch!”
When we fell asleep I remember thinking how happy I was, how comfortable I felt, and how truly little it took to make me feel wanted by him. When he pays me attention any and all reservations are blown away like little dust bunnies, it’s only that they come back with a vengeance if I feel ignored, unimportant. “I wish I was like you,” I said the other day, “like a cactus. But instead I’m like a…” I searched for the name of some tropical, high-maintenance flower about which one cannot forget.
“An orchid?” he suggested. He’d known exactly the kind of analogy I was going for.
“Yeah, sure, an orchid,” I agreed. “I don’t apologize for being one, but I feel like it’d be so much easier on the both of us if I were a cactus instead.”
He said something along the lines of not wanting me to be any different. And that’s the beauty of being so unalike: we have the opportunity to appreciate the differences.
In the morning we awoke to a barking dog. I stretched, got up to pee and felt beautiful, curvy, tan as I padded about in my panties. My breasts hung heavy and my hair was a mess, but I strutted nonetheless. “Psst,” I said. He opened one eye. “Don’t you think I look good?” I turned in the filtered morning light.
“Mmmhmm,” he murmured and closed his eye again, a smile curved like a half-moon on his bearded face.
I peeled back the covers and got back in smiling, still happy, and later watched myself in the mirror — between bookend orgasms — as I stuffed my face with his big, pretty cock. I sucked it for a long while, but he didn’t cum. Half way through I took a little break, struggled with my guilt at not making him cum, and was firmly, yet gently reminded that he never worried about it and therefore I shouldn’t either. I went back at it with renewed gusto for the mere act itself, not the end result, and found it to be even more pleasurable.
We went to a leisurely brunch and swung by the hardware store for more boxes next and made plans for a good cuddle later that night. The cuddle never happened obviously, though I’m wishing more than anything he were laying beside me now so I could wrap myself in his arms and convince myself that everything truly was going to be ok.
It’s hard being uncertain, yet still impossible to be so. We can’t know the future. It simply isn’t possible. I remember my exhusband telling me we’d be together forever… but forever doesn’t exist. It never has.
I have so much to gain by figuring this out with him: a best friend, an incredible lover, an unconditional supporter of everything I am, a loyal bulldog in my corner. It terrifies me to think of what I have to lose.
“I love you Hy and I want to be here. I also like you and think you’re pretty,” he’d said with a twinkle in his eye last night. It’s become his signature thing to say to me as we’ve labored over how to meet my needs these past few weeks, though in this instance I knew he meant it fervently.
“Sometimes I think I’ve strong-armed you into being in this committed relationship to me,” I told him a month ago. “I just need to know you want to be here, that you love me. I need to hear the words.” And sometime later, after we’d touched our tender parts with our hearts and words and felt safe with one another again he’d said with an enormous grin on his face, “I love you, I’m sorry, you’re right and you’re pretty,” and we’d laughed our assess off because we knew we’d just hit the relationship — and possibly greeting card — jackpot.
I have avoided writing these things down until he and I have had time to wrestle with them first and it’s part of why I have felt so censored this year. It’s out of respect for him and us that I want to keep the finer details private, but doing so has quite literally robbed me of sleep all these months. My thoughts and worries, bottled up as they are inside of me, roil about and cause me more harm than good. They spoil inside. This post is an attempt to exorcise them so I may either a) go back to sleep despite the sunrise and b) feel unencumbered throughout the rest of my day and night. We’ll see what happens.
As it stands today, being with him and trying to figure out the equation of TN and Hy is far more rewarding and makes much more sense than cutting my losses. It may come to pass that one day the scales are tipped, I acknowledge that, but that’s how it is with every relationship anyway: you stay until it’s no good. It’s not a sign of any kind of fatal flaw.
I love him for who and what he is in this moment and I am hopeful — and confident — that we will figure all of this out: the unlikely pairing of the cactus and the orchid.