Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Another from post 1049, where I invited questions.
TheQueen wants to know "who was your paramour before Jay?"
Hmmmm. How far before? I have a long, colorful, passionate past. There's a trail of broken men (which seems to have tapered off significantly in the past twenty-five years, sob) and there are a few I've loved forever still standing, out there, somewhere, lost.
Let's restrict it to after I left Ex#2.
We were living in near Washington DC when I decided to leave him, in 1982, I believe. Without going into details, let's just say I had been effectively celibate for eight years when I decided it wasn't working. (I really gave it the good old college try, I really did.)
I got a job here, back with The Company, for whom I had worked before. Ex#2 followed me, transferring here and buying a house close enough that Daughter, who was in second grade, could go to either house on the school bus.
In Washington, my only social outlet had been Mensa. Ex#2 wasn't interested in going out, ever, so I went to the dinners and parties alone. The last two years one of my best friends in Washington Mensa was a guy named Ed. We happened to have exactly the same birthday. He was tall and ultra-skinny, with one of the unprettiest faces I'd ever seen. Big hooked nose. Pale blue eyes that always looked like he didn't get enough sleep. Skraggly beard. He'd shave his head every spring, and then until the next spring he'd let it grow out into a matted, light brown, dense mass that stuck out and crackled around his head (think Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein, but worse). Very intelligent (you can't say that about everyone in Mensa). Dressed like a hippie. Well, worse than a hippie. Worked for PBS.
We never arranged to be at the same parties, but when by chance we were, you'd find us sitting on the floor in a corner, talking. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing. We seemed to really click. We "read" each other perfectly. He also gave great (platonic) back rubs. He had a very relaxed attitude toward everything (except the management of PBS).
Just before I left, I called him and asked him to be at the last party I went to before moving to NY, and when I told him at the party that I was leaving, he was very distressed. We went outside, and he held me and kissed me for the first time, on the sidewalk, a lot. But neither of us said anything about keeping in touch.
And then I moved.
About six weeks after I moved, I found him on my doorstep, unannounced. A mutual friend had given him my address. He had started out for "just a Sunday drive", and six hours later arrived in the Mid-Hudson Valley. I really didn't know quite what to do with him. I hadn't had time to think about it, or him, or what I wanted. He had to be back to work the next morning, so we spent the day in the mountains, exploring old Catskill hotel trails and waterfalls, and then he drove the six hours back to Northern Virginia.
There followed many long phone calls and letters (no cell phones or internet then), until there came a 4-day holiday weekend, when Ex#2 planned to take Daughter to visit her grandmother. An opportunity. I tacked a few more days on and drove to his place, and spent the long weekend with him. I knew I loved him a lot, in some way, but I wasn't sure what way, and I wanted to find out.
By the time I got back home, I was very much in love.
It took me about two weeks to come down from that high. I realized it just wouldn't work, not long term. Even though we seemed like separated twins, even though I could and did love him, and he loved me, I realized that if we were together constantly we'd drive each other crazy. We both need some bit of separation, some aloneness, and we were just too much "into" each other's heads. We'd end up resenting each other, fighting each other off, keeping secrets just to have something of our own.
We also had very different lifestyle expectations and management styles. For example, he had a Lamborghini rotting into the ground in the back yard because it needed a part he'd never got around to ordering. A Lamborghini. Rotting. Because he kept forgetting. And because he didn't have a garage. For the Lamborghini. The white Lamborghini with the split in the convertible top, the split that was letting water in on the red glove-leather upholstery. It didn't bother him at all. Sorry, but I just can't be THAT relaxed.
Then again, maybe, after thirteen years of being ignored by Ex#2, and newly divorced and "off men", I was just afraid of so much closeness.
Whatever. The calls and letters tapered off when he realized I wasn't pushing for more time together.
And then I met Jay, several months later.
In 1984 or '85 there was a very brief fling with someone I was "set up" with by mutual friends who thought we'd be perfect together. He was the type who leaps out of bed and takes a shower immediately after sex. Without even checking to see if we were, uh, finished. Not very flattering. Didn't last long, and I had no feelings for him, really, except a friendship. We're still friends. He still annoys me.
And after that there was no one else but Jay, no dating, no petting, no sex, no interest except Jay, until Roman woke me up, in July 2005, damn him.
Now I'm hungry again, and there's nothing on the table.
.
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