HNT: Southwestern

That's right, I'm back, folks! I'm committed this time, I swear.

Also, don't tell anyone, but I'm actually in a relationship. A surprisingly healthy one. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm trying to just enjoy it.

One of the things I'd forgotten about having a regular partner is that you sometimes end up with their clothes. And for me, when I'm dating men, I always hope I'll look appropriately adorable in their shirts.

Which I promptly steal. Or, in this case, my boy "forgets" to ask for his shirt back when I go home.

So then, to make up for my theft, I figured it's only fair that I at least share the way the shirt looks on me. So this is the photo I snapped when I got home and snuggled into my boy's shirt on a night when he wasn't staying with me.

Of course, I sent him this photo first, but I don't think he'll mind my sharing it with you lovely folks.



HHNT!

I wonder...

I wonder if it's possible, that after all my insistence that I am not now nor will I ever be so-called girlfriend material, while I was so busy telling myself and everyone that I wasn't capable of treating anyone well or being good for someone... that I was actually, in fact, gearing up to become a decent girlfriend?

I'm ahead of myself a bit, of course, in that the GF word is still terrifying to me as the BF word is to him. But the signs are there. And it should terrify me much more than it does. I should be concerned that the kind things he says to me unprompted are just lines. I shouldn't believe him when he tells me how much he enjoys being with me. It shouldn't phase me that he wants me to meet his parents properly.

And I shouldn't be so satiated with the amazing sex I'm having with him, and only him.

Of course, officially, everything is still entirely non-monogamous, and I wouldn't change that. I like having the freedom to do what I like. But the chemistry between he and I is absolutely absurd. When we both turn it on, it's like a carnal incarnation of lust. There is no reason, or pain, or world outside the two of us. We are all that exists and we simply must have more of each other.

I wake up bruised and bitten, and he wakes up with scratches that have broken the skin down his back and chest and thighs. I always apologize when I see them in the morning, and he always just smirks and tells me he likes them. And then he kisses me softly and pulls me back into his arms.

And I am happy. I am exceedingly happy. I'm trying so desperately not to over-analyze, and instead just to focus on how much better he makes my life, right now. With no expectations, but also with no limits.

At the moment, my life is good. I am content. I feel loved and appreciated. And I still have a fantastic sex life.

Is this what being in a relationship is like? Because if it is, then I don't know why the fuck I was so terrified.

What I do and do not owe

I don't owe you an apology. Not only because I didn't do anything wrong, but because I'm not sorry for being angry. I had a right to be. I was justified in my anger and frustration and disappointment and I refuse to believe that you had any moral ground to make me feel guilty about that.

Because I know that there are always excuses. So do you. And you know, likely better than anyone, how much the excuses aren't the problem. You know, for a fact, that I don't mind waiting. I don't mind being second. Other things take precedence and that is right and good. They very much should.

But, given that knowledge, you must also intrinsically have some notion of how difficult this is for me. You MUST. I'm simply not able to believe that after spending this many years in one another's lives, so varied and intimate but almost always there, that you really can't imagine how hard this is for me. You KNOW how much this hurts me. And you know how bad it must have been, for me to choose this difficulty over that pain.

So if you know, then I'm left only to conclude that it doesn't affect you. And perhaps it shouldn't. I wouldn't be so presumptuous - except I would - to presume that you meant the words you said to me so many times. But that's beside the point, really. Because the point, really, is that you honestly don't care now.

You're a smart man. You always have been. Knowledge has never been your issue. So clearly, you know. But the caring? Well, that's a different skill, I guess.

And truly, I can't hold you responsible for a skill-set you simply don't have. Just like I can't do science, maybe you just can't do love. Or honesty.

That's OK. I wish you the best. I do. And the honest truth is, I miss the things you brought to my life. Not all of them. I don't miss the anxiety over whether or not you were going to show, or the frustration with never knowing how you actually felt. (Problem solved, incidentally.)

But I will miss the way you made me laugh. I will miss the intelligence you brought out in me. I will miss running hypothetical theorems about social theory with you. I will miss laughing at your ridiculously uncanny vocal character impressions. And how silly you were. Especially after sex. You were always good at making me happy.

At least, on those rare occasions when we were actually together.

So you should know that all this? Ultimately, it makes me sad. Because I think we were good for each other in more ways than you realized. It makes me sad that you probably won't realize what you lost, so I won't even have the opportunity to point out that you have, indeed, lost it.