I’ve managed the impossible in New York… I’ve stumbled upon a relationship that is exactly what I want.
He and I met one snowy evening in February at SL. He plucked me off the couch I was dancing on, and soon we were making out on the dance floor. He was an Australian M&A guy, who worked punishing hours. I remember him saying that night, “You’d be cool with dating a guy who works a lot and can’t see you that often?” I said something to the effect of, “I have my own things going on and that sounds perfect”.
At the time, that was kind of a lie. I had just left a relationship and was feeling frenetic – wanting to latch on to anyone to stop the regret from surfacing. We kissed goodbye and I joined my friends at a late-night diner before the group of us headed off to ski for the weekend. I tried not to think about him… and soon enough, I wasn’t.
A month or so passed. He was back in Australia, and we began a very casual long-distance correspondence. By this point, I was determined to never be hurt again, and willed myself to be cold and unattainable. I didn’t believe a word he said. When he told me he was moving to New York and would be there in June, I purposefully forgot. When he arrived in late June and called me as soon as he was settled, I was shocked.
I had him meet me at a gallery opening in Chelsea. I was wearing a low-cut Prada dress and feeling very confident. He handled himself well during the opening, even charming the curator who I was there to meet. Afterwards, he came to my apartment. I was to change before dinner. We ended up passionately making out in my kitchen for an hour instead.
The next time I saw him, we did make it to dinner. And then, once again, we were back in my kitchen. Before the door had even closed he had scooped me up on the counter and wrapped my legs around him. We began the most intense and passionate make-out session, like something out of a movie. Clothing was flying everywhere; we were knocking into walls as we made our way into my bedroom.
Once in bed, I hesitated. I wasn't used to sleeping with anyone this fast, but the chemistry was so intense. Still, I had just suffered a fadeout not weeks before. I hovered above him, both of us naked, weighing the angel & devil on my shoulders. It must have taken me a half-hour of hesitation, and he was as patient as any human could be when on the brink of excitement. Finally, I asked him if I could trust him. He looked me in the eyes, and seemed shocked. “Of course you can trust me,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
At that moment, I decided… even if this ends badly at least I will have enjoyed the moment. And so, in a move so uncharacteristic of me, we did. It was freeing to have sex for sex's sake and not worry about morality or guilt or being a good girl.
And it was sooo worth it. He is extremely well-endowed and very athletic. We tore up the bedroom for about three hours, finally collapsing next to each other, sweaty and gasping for air. Then we started laughing. We spent the next hour lying next to each other and talking, suffused with euphoria.
As the weeks went on we started going out less, and staying in more. For a moment there, I entertained the possibility of a relationship. We’d talk on the phone a few times a week and see each other about once a week. He was kind funny, brilliant and sexy,and he didn’t play games. Hell, he was probably the first guy in a while who actually called instead of sending the famously non-committal text message.
But then, a funny thing happened. My life did get incredibly busy. I decided to take a class at NYU. I interviewed and switched jobs. I had several friends come into town to visit me. I spent time at my family’s summer place. I took up Pilates. I started studying for the GRE. And I was really happy. I started to enjoy my time alone and relished sleeping in my big bed, all spread out like a skydiver. I still saw him about once a week, but I didn’t think about him when he wasn’t in front of me. It was incredibly liberating. I wasn’t mired in feelings, weighted with worry. I took him for what he was and I didn’t want anything more.
Last Thursday night, after our weekly ritual of Jersey Shore and grilled chicken breast and mindblowing sex, we lay entwined in bed. Relaxed and happy, I mentioned how much I enjoyed our casual relationship.
Silence.
Then, “What do you mean, casual?”
“Well, you know” I stuttered, my face turning red, “I only see you about once a week.”
“I know. I work crazy hours and spend a lot of time on the golf course. But, even in my serious relationships, I’ve never seen the girl more than once a week.”
Now it was my turn to be silent. I didn’t know what to say. Once a week wasn’t nearly enough for me to be in a committed relationship… and besides, I didn’t want to be! I felt a little trapped, and a little worried that this would somehow change what I deemed to be the perfect non-relationship.
So I did what any woman would do when backed against a wall… I wrapped my legs around him and initiated another round.
In the morning, I walked the few blocks from his apartment to my office, replaying the events of the night. I got flashes of our hot, hot sex… tempered by his shock at the word casual.
By the time I reached my office, I realized the chimera of no-strings sex had vanished forever.
It’s certainly not how I imagined it ending, but I did accomplish what I set out to do: I lived in the moment.
*scorpio*
