It took longer than I thought it would to start dating again - though I hesitated not from lack of courage or purpose. And so, I conducted a closer self-examination to find and resolve whatever inner turmoil prevented me from embracing my endings as new beginnings. And I have. My past is laid to rest and my body and mind is infused and electrified like a newborn arrives into a world of promise and hope experiences life. Every touch and taste, every modicum of living reverberates like a kaleidoscope in my veins.
I cannot say that I am having the best time of my life out here in the dating world - rather I will say that it's an adventure. And what is life if not an adventure? I've met perfect gentlemen among the bad and the ugly (and I don't mean physically) ugly in personality, mindset, the way one presents oneself - ugly in spirit and humanity.
I've met bigots, married men looking for pussy, sexual predators, the sad and lonely, the insane and tragic - the broken - and I am certain that I have encountered an alien life-form disguised as a toupee. I caught it staring at me.
But within the strangeness of it all, I met Kristopher, a writer and painter who wrote a poem that got stuck in my head, and wouldn't go away until I paid attention. Only to find myself sucked into a surreal, emotional vortex, sharing a connection with this man that transcended distraction into outright disruption - obliterating my daily routines as if they were most inconsequential. I willingly compromised sleep, food, and working out, at times wishing that I didn't have to go to work just to spend time with him. We shared our writing, perspectives and life experiences as if we were starved for this level of communication with another human being. I realized that in many ways we do --
I've never been in the presence of someone who lives as emotionally fearless and vulnerable as I do - who could not help but tell me the unfiltered, sometimes tragic stories of his life. And didn't give a damn if I thought him crazy. He seemed perfectly carved into the man he was born to be - living life on his terms. I found myself heady and intoxicated with him, moving in perfect rhythm to whatever mysterious design brought us together. I knew only that I did not want a moment to slip through my fingers.
Being with him wasn't about sex - not that I did not desire him. I most certainly did - in a primitive way that charged my libido with enough electricity to power all of New York City. He made my cunt ache, nipples perked and hardened like rocks, and my wetness flowed like a broken dam in the backdrop of his embrace.
But except for a few shared kisses and a lot of holding hands, a slight kiss on my collar bone, we did not make love. I didn't need to take my clothes off to connect with him. I felt more naked and intimate with him than I have with most of the men I've fucked.
This fascinated me - this untraveled place that I stood with him is what I've been trying to articulate in my posts for some time - I feel and see and know too much about myself now, that sex without emotional connection depletes rather than fulfills me. In the arms of a man who does not know and cannot see me, I wither like a rosebud plucked from its vine and left to die in the sun.
And then Kristopher was gone as mysteriously as he came to me, the way dreams gives us metaphoric views into our subconscious. Perhaps the short time that we had to cross each other's path accounted for the intensity we shared. Was it only a week?
"What do you mean he's gone?" Jen asked when I told her that he was gone.
"I'm not seeing him anymore," I said.
"He's gone," I said. Truth is I had no further explanation.
She stared at me. "And yet you tell this tragedy like a love story," she said.
"What if I tell you that tragedy and love are of the same DNA?"
She hugged and kissed me on the forehead. "I'm going to bake you a cake,"
"I don't want cake," I said.
"James is crazy about you - give him a shot and stop with this finding true love business. Love, Kitten, does not exist," she said.
"You cannot convince me of that," I said.
You see, I know that true love exists. I've felt it - tasted it- was consumed by it - long ago.
To Kenny, I was a hunger that could not be satiated by anyone else. There wasn't a woman who could keep him when I showed up. I was a choice he made no matter the odds I placed against us. He knew who he was and had no doubt that I was the woman with whom he wanted to walk into tomorrow. He did more than kiss me, he drank from me - felt me beyond the physical when we touched. We had a searing, passionate love affair, but it was our emotional connection that sustained us. It is that emotional hunger that I found and was fed with Kristopher - one that does not need convincing, but flows – that supports itself by which it IS.
Finding my true love is not a quest that I can abandon. I've been unable to function on a high level in mediocre relationships for some time now - choosing instead to enjoy my solitude which is perfectly fine by me because I cannot go back to barely existing.
“In the beginning, the price of giving great love is risking that it won't be returned. Until you understand, of course, that great love is always returned. With interest.”
~ Mike Dooley ~