“The Fling That Turned Into A Thing?”
For perspective on this story, make sure you first read this.
He is deserving of my vagina, but I’m still not giving it to him.
For starters he does not reside full-time in America, a jet-setting golfer strongly opposed to have his personal business on the internet. He is 14 years my senior. Let’s be serious, if he is mister right, in ten years he’s going to be REALLY old, and I’m going to just be getting there. May be a shallow observation, but honest, it matters to me. All reasons dredged up from my proverbial bag of apprehension, but thoughts of him creep up and a smile blossoms across my thick mauve lips.
Scheduled to fly back to the Anatolian Peninsula to check on an investment, he has already expressed a great deal of interest and hopes to rekindle our romance upon repatriating.
The band Muse’s song “Bliss” in which Matt Bellamy writes, “…everything about you paints my envy, your soul can’t hate anything… give me the peace and joy in your mind.” Completely at peace with the past, comfortable in the present, and a perpetual optimist about coming days. Second to my writing, he is the measure of peace within my life, though we are not consumed with one another. He makes the effort to see me everyday, although I do not allow him to. I need space to cleanse my chi and value my time alone.
When most women feel themselves beginning to fall, they hold themselves back and begin to search for reasons why a guy isn’t a good candidate. I don’t feel the need to excavate his past, and it would be of little use since he is not from California. Furthermore, he has already gone to bat for me and knows when to be sensitive or assertive.
I’m nowhere near in love with this guy, but what do you call that quiet assurance that fills your empty bed with the warmth of his presence? What do you call that eagerness to make memories, without the baby making practice? Courtship. I am being carefully, closely, and classically courted and I covet every drop of his charm.
My heart says it’s the beginning of the spring in sunny SoCal. I’m a fit and curvy Godiva girl on the prowl for all white boys. All of them. The thrill of the hunt is better than sex. But I am looking to hook and reel a realman. Unlike some, I do not believe there will be a surplus of good men waiting to spend every second with me for the right reasons. Bang me sideways? Totally. But cherish me with time and adore my quirks. I do not want to break it off with a the man, but I want to kiss other guys and not feel like I’m dating him exclusively when he’s off on a PGA tour. We cannot even begin to talk about the future until it’s over.
Tonight we’re going to my favorite artisanal restaurant, Manhattan Beach Post. I guarantee I will be teased about being a crack fiend for avocados, doing yoga, and being a California girl. I’ll lie on his chest underneath the stars and listen to the waves crash softly against the sand and all my fears and cognizance will fizzle out and drift back into the recesses of my oceanic abyss of a mind. His breathy cadence removes me from the atmosphere. But back down here on earth I’ll keep my head out of the stratosphere and keep my options open. Or won’t I? Should I?