I ventured on my first spring run, energized by the kiss of sunlight on my skin. The trees, though still naked, trickled with enthusiasm, eager to awaken from long winter’s chill. Soon the landscape will be bursting with greenery - flowers blooming, birds chirping as miraculously as the story of how Lazarus rose from the dead.
In my last post, I wrote that this period of my life feels like one of closure. I thought of this as my feet hit the pavement, my body gets into rhythm and my mind settled into quiet reflection. It appears that I am not the only one writing the end to some of my chapters - there has been a revolving door of people from my past reappearing in my life.
I observe the parade with interest, knowing that I hadn’t met any of them by accident. I've been able to stitch together the intricate pieces of my journey into a remarkable tapestry.
“Just as I am closing doors on others, I believe others are closing doors on me,” I told Tyson on a recent visit.
He grunted and nodded with understanding. The few strands of hair that was left on his head seemed to have migrated to his eyebrows during the winter. A fact I pointed out with giggles.
"When we move into a new phase, some of the people who shared in our journey shows up again to say good bye – and may even bring clarity and insights about certain things." he said.
I told him about the recent email from Mac whom I haven't spoken with in years, and did not expect to hear from again. I cannot say that hearing from him offered clarity and or insight about anything, but he left me pondering a few things -
“Hi Kitten. It's Mac. I hope you remember me. I am divorced and looking to date again. You are one of my happy memories. Are you seeing anyone? If not, I’d like to know if you'd like to chat and possibly meet and rekindle our flame,”
I’m not sure how to explain Mac. He was an erotic thrill seeker who turned sex into a dangerous liaison.
The sex games were fun at first, strip tease, trying new, seemingly impossible sex positions, watching porn dressed in costumes, spanking - nothing that violated the moral codes of conduct by which I live. But dressing up like a five-dollar whore and standing on a street corner so that Mac could pick me up and take me home for wild, crazy sex was met with trepidation.
“What if the cops pick me up before you do?” I wanted to know.
That scenario never played out, thank goodness. But for one, brief, terror filled moment as I waited for him to circle the block and pick me up, I knew that there would not be a repeat.
As it turned out, that was the vanilla stuff –
One day I found myself playing a dominatrix, which I have done before and rather enjoyed. I, Sexkitten, do not mind tying up and blindfolding men with ribbons and scarves - biting, tasting, teasing and tantalizing all of their senses. But none of my previous experiences elicited the kind of heart pounding, pulse-racing fear that resulted from my rendezvous with Mac – one that consumed me with what if scenarios – all of which culminated into bright lights of law enforcement with real handcuffs and iron bars.
I abandoned my assignment like an assassin hit with a bout of compassion and rushed back to find my submissive as I had left him - naked, handcuffed, and blindfolded in his closet waiting for me to return from a shopping spree with his money. In this role, Mac would complain about my frivolous ways, and I was to spank him, not the playful kind that I love, but the kind that bleeds until he apologized for complaining. This loss of control - of emasculating him was the crux of the game that would excite him. I didn't get it.
“What are you doing back so soon?" He asked when I barged into the closet and removed the blindfold and took off the handcuffs.
"I was worried that something would go wrong," I said sitting beside him.
"Like what?" He asked seeming frustrated.
"What if the cuffs were too tight and cut off your circulation? What if you got tangled up in your clothes and suffocate? What if I got into a car accident and die while on my shopping spree and by the time you're discovered, it's too late?" I asked.
He stared hard at me as if I spoke pure rubbish. "Did you even buy anything?" He asked.
I removed the two caramel covered apples dipped in peanuts and gave one to him.
"This is what you bought?” he asked, his voice echoed disbelief. “There’s about six hundred dollars cash in my wallet,"
I handed the wallet to him. “It’s all there. The apples are on me,” I said. “I'm done playing your games,”
He had other fantasies that I refused to take part in - going to a strip club and watching a stripper sit on his face. Why this would turn me on, is still a mystery.
“And where will her cunt have been prior to sitting on your face?” I asked. “Certainly, you don’t expect me to come anywhere near you or your face thereafter,”
He accused me of over-thinking and having too many questions and rules.
I responded to his email shortly after I received it. "Mac, I'm sorry to hear about your divorce, and hope you're well. I am not interested in revisiting our past,"
Tyson chuckled as I concluded my story. “And you dare make fun of my eyebrows,” he said.
I'm not sure how for Mac, I was a good memory. He was nice enough, but I found most of his sex games objectionable and wanted nothing to do with them. What flames did he want to ignite? I didn't know that I was an open door for him, but hope that I helped him close it.
Do some of us get to a point in life where we start to retrace our steps? To go back in time and revisit places we once were - looking for something we may have missed or lost along the way? Sometimes we've already met the one we're trying to find. Sometimes they are standing in front of us and we can't see them. Sometimes we walk away from the best things in our lives. I also know that many times exes are exes for good reason, and should be left in the past where they belong. I have kept few doors open in my life.
I thought of Daniel who lived beneath my skin for over a decade until Oregon gave him back to me for one night. He was one of my few doors left open. I felt that we did not finish what we started. But I realized after seeing him again, that we did not take our shot over a decade before, and we did not take our shot a decade later, and that's our story. At some point, one must close the doors on the past because there's a present to live and a future yet to be revealed, and time does run out. Some of us will grow old and die, and some of us will die young – either way, time runs out. Is this the clarity that Tyson spoke about?
Flora Whittemorr said, “The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."
I continued running long after weariness settled in my muscles, for my mind had taken flight, and I didn’t want to interrupt the flow.
I spend much of my downtime these days enjoying my solitude since Clark and I ended. I have kept true to my conviction and not let him back into my bed even though he still calls. But caring deeply for him is not a good enough reason for me to accept a relationship on his terms and compromise my needs. I simply cannot and will not settle for Clark's or anyone else's bare minimum - not when I show up to the table naked and vulnerable with my absolute.
It is said that at a certain stage, a woman knows within three to four months, sometimes a lot sooner, whether she wants to invest her time in someone. I am know on the first date. I gave Clark ten months before I called it quits for good the first time. And went back to him again. I took my shot.
Ally said I am missing the key element to not growing old alone – she said that I lack sacrifice. “If you want to get married again, you must sacrifice. What it is I’m supposed to sacrifice, my self-esteem – happiness – standards - everything? I do not know. Some things should not be sacrificed.
What she misses is that I am not saying that I want to get married. Calling someone husband does not necessarily mean that one is in a nurturing relationship. I've seen too many women marry for title and then try to mold a man who was not a good choice to start, into a husband. I’m looking for a partner first, one who not just satisfies my body but who nourishes my entire womanhood. Once I have that part down, marriage if my partner and I choose, can follow.
“So what’s your plan?” Tyson asked as we explored this new phase of my life.
The plan is to enjoy my solitude for as long as it last. And when I feel that it’s time to get back into the game – I will get back in the game with a clean slate to love as fearlessly as if I've never known heartbreak. In this new phase, there is clarity about who I am and what I want.
And what I know, is that I am happy on my own and value my time, but a lover's touch is good for my soul. I can give myself the most mind-blowing orgasms, but I delight in being penetrated with a real penis - I don't like toy ones. I can function on my own just fine, but I don't want to come home to an empty home, nor do I want to climb into bed alone every night. It's nice to have a partner upon whose chest I can lay my head - one who wants to know, honey how was your day? I want that.
I may be a Sexkitten, but I am first and foremost a woman and I require that a man does more than stimulate my clit and make my nipples hard, he must touch my heart and seduce my mind. I desire this more than I do hugs, kisses, cuddles and fucking. What I want is a man who knows how to love and nurture the whole woman.
"Let yourself begin anew. Pack your bags. Choose carefully what you will bring, because packing is an important ritual. Take along some humility and the lessons of the past. Toss in some curiosity and excitement about what you haven’t yet learned. Say your goodbyes to those you are leaving behind. Don’t worry about who you will meet or where you will go. The way has been prepared. The people you are to meet will be expecting you. A new journey has begun. Let it be magical.” --Melody Beattie, “Journey to the Heart: Daily Meditations on the Path to Freeing Your Soul"