I have officially admitted to myself that I would like to find love. I have ceased taking on any new men. I have changed profiles to fit the new standard. I have spoken with men on the phone. I have written lengthy reply emails. I am also unprepared.
There are so many layers to my life that I believe opts me out of any sane man’s world. Hy, my need to expose myself, my writing, my kinks. Do you know of any guy who wants to partner up with a woman who’s into triple digit lovers now, who shares intimate details of her sex life and thoughts, has thousands of Instagram followers for her alter ego, and who is comfortable living a double life for as long as necessary?
The special thing about Luke is that he met me as Hy first. The hard part is done. He accepts me for who and what I am. The real life aspects are all just a bonus — my career, my child, my life — but going the other direction feels like rubbing a cat from tail to head. It’s just awkward, unfulfilling, and might get you bitten. In other words: hard.
I feel trapped by who I am and by my fear of rejection.
Nothing has happened — everything is calm — it’s just a waiting game now to see where all these trails go with the men currently in my life. The lawyer, the martial artist, the sub PhD, the sweet Lothario, the sugar daddy, the dom, the mother lover, the special ops guy, the baby soldier. The handful of others whom have yet to make a stronger impression.
Love enters our lives, right? We don’t force it to happen, yet I find myself not willing to change much about my own self in order to find it. Giving up Hy and this writing would be a colossal mistake. Giving up on my desires and wants and curiosities, too. My deeply felt connections. They’re all me, after all, and if I hide one aspect from a potential mate it feels disingenuous, like a charade. I only want a man who wants all of me and not one layer less.
I’m terrified to discover I’m as alone as I feel, but there’s only one way of testing my theory and it isn’t cocooned in my little fuck-buddy-bubble. It’s out there.
And so I wait in my gilded cage. A longing woman behind her own self-imposed bars who watches the world with sad, old eyes. Who sees the youthful couples plunge headlong into lifelong promises of love and babies, the lucky others hold tight to their nice-smelling, kind and strong, matching pieces, and the rest who bump along either indifferent or longing, like me. Perhaps I’ll figure a way out on my own. Perhaps someone will show me the way.