Love Lessons, page 16
I then had, an epiphany. The authentic me can no longer only be reserved for close friends and family. Where’s the freedom in that? I recognized that while walking fully in my own being on this date that there’s a freedom that lives in this space that I had not felt before. I smile at the thought of what it would be like to have a partner really know me.
Mike seems to study me because he asked, “What are you smiling about?”
Moment of truth ... do I share my actual thought or do I make up something else? In what would be my first encounter with choosing to be authentic, I share, “Authenticity”
“Authenticity? What do you mean?”
“Would you agree that sometimes when meeting new people, you put your best foot forward?” I asked.
“I suppose,” Mike answers. It sounds like more of a question than a statement.
“Well, I feel that the whole ‘best foot forward’ is our representative. It’s the best parts of who we are being presented. Kinda like advertisement to get a person interested and coming back for more. But I don’t think that is always a lasting thing. It’s like presenting near perfection. A trap.”
Mike looks intently and I don’t know how to interpret that so I continue.
“But,” I say louder, “If we just strive to be true, genuine and authentic, then the person we are interacting with can make a more informed decision and if we pique their interest, that too is genuine.”
“Ok, I think I follow you. So, what do you think prevents people from showing up fully as their true selves in the first place?”
I like his question and avert my eyes, “Fear.”
“Fear?”
“Yes. Fear of being judged, rejected, unapproved of. So rather than seeing the so called rejection as an early dismissal, we internalize that to mean that something must be wrong with us. So the representative shows up and can ultimately take over, causing inauthenticity.”
“Interesting,” I could tell he was processing this concept deeply.
“May I admit something?”
“Of course” Mike leans closer.
“In the spirit of transparency, I don’t feel like my representative needs to make an appearance with you.”
He smiles, “Is that so?”
“Yes. That is so.”
“Why do you think that is.”
Hmmm. “I’d say that it’s because I feel safe enough to show up as myself. No need for that level of protection.”
“That’s interesting and I appreciate you. If your representative is better than what I’ve seen today, then I’d be sold out ... quick.”
I laugh, “But that’s not a sustainable version of me. Representatives aren’t long lasting.”
“Touché”
A pivotal moment in time. I believe that we are both surprised by our levels of transparency. I am drawn to him like a magnet and he to me. It is obvious. The eye contact and subtle touches are evidence that something otherworldly is happening here. This is intoxicating. Being in Mike’s presence, sharing private details that had been reserved only for our own minds, experiencing a level of understanding and respect for varying points of view, my goodness. This is like conversational foreplay. The mental stimulation that I crave. Then, thoughts of someone else enter my consciousness. I wonder if what I am experiencing with Mike is possible with Maurice.
Mike and I have been with each other for so long that we forget about dinner. The minute details of how we went from the driving range to dinner are a blur, but the mind blowing conversation is everything I needed.
Mike drives me back to my car in the parking lot of Dave and Busters. Two minutes down the road and he is calling. He understands that there is an extreme connection here. He must feel it too. Normally I would feel relieved at the mutual attraction, but this time I think, how could he not.
Here we are, three months in and things are going strong as ever with Mike. The connection, the conversation, the allure are all still present. We have not even been physical. We both agree that this time is different and we should operate as such. For both of us, in the past, we would have had sex by now and if not, at the very least some good oral. We decide to reserve that level of intimacy for a time that we both feel is right. A time not motivated by carnal attraction. We decide to commit to being intentional. The decision to not be sexual is not because we don’t want to, just that we are committed to doing something that we have never done before in this experience that we have never had before. There have been a couple of times where Mike leaned in for a kiss and static electricity prevented the follow through. Being shocked on the lips hits differently than when the electrical current runs from a finger to a less sensitive body part.
This has been the most authentic I have ever been. The most vulnerable and transparent. I’ve come to realize that people want and claim authenticity without realizing the grit, pain, and darkness that it takes to get there. It’s not a pretty road, but I have also come to realize that it is a necessary one. I feel freer with Mike and myself.
Tonight, he’s cooking dinner for me and says that he has something that he wants to share. He has let me know he’s also on-call with his job, so this dinner date might be shorter than normal. Normal for us has typically been 3-4 hours of time. I plan to run home following an appointment, shower, and head his way. Time is of the essence as I want as much time with him as possible, which is nothing new. I arrive at his place at exactly 8pm. The house smells delicious.
He greets me with a sweet red wine. “Hey beautiful. Just a few moments, the main course is complete and I am putting the finishing touches on our salads.”
I am amazed by what I see as I approach the table. My plate contains a fried lobster tail topped with three scallops, homemade loaded potatoes au gratin, a side salad with what Mike describes as a lemon sugar cane dressing and a slice of buttered French bread. He told me that he could cook, but damn.
His plate is loaded with a T-bone steak instead of lobster and the same accompaniments. There is soft jazz playing in the background and the lights are down low. This date is like we’re in a private romantic restaurant. We sit at the table to enjoy our dinner and of course the discussion commences about how he learned to cook this way. “My brother attended culinary school before becoming an engineer. He would come home and show the family everything he learned. I had an inquisitive mind and picked up every ounce of what my brother shared.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
“So pair the second hand knowledge with doing my own research, a little trial and error, I make a pretty decent home chef.”
God is there anything this man can’t do.
I had eaten all that I could stand without being overly stuffed, Mike clears my plate, and asks from the kitchen, “Would you like a dessert wine with your dessert?”
I admit that I have never had dessert wine. Another moment of transparency that my representative would have historically shown up to quell. I ask for water instead, which he brought out with a plate of small sweet treats. There is a rose shaped apple puff with caramel drizzle, puffed cups filled with pudding, and what looks to be fruit filled flaky egg rolls.
Impressed yet again, I ask, “What’s the occasion?”
Mike takes a deep breath, “I want to take our relationship to the next level.” He looks nervous. “I understand that we both have a past that has left us scarred and bruised, but I want to help you heal all that. I want you to be my lady.”
I immediately want to say yes, but undoubtedly there is hesitation. I don’t want to jump the gun. After all, Maurice is still in the picture, even if in a smaller capacity, he is still present.
There is such innocence in his request. His intentionality is superb. He makes it a point to leave nothing to my imagination with regards to his feelings and desires for me. The hesitation is undeniable, at least for me.
I divert his attention with a kiss, but no answer to his question. Just a soft and deliberate kiss. He is slow and methodical as if to taste the sweetness he just served me. I have had passionate kisses before, but there is something different about Mike’s kisses. His desire is evident while giving short pecks that lead to longer open mouth kisses while also caressing my back, my face, and holding my hands. Again my mind goes to Maurice. The phone rings. He isn’t swift to answer, but knowing that he is on-call, he must. And indeed, he is being called in to work. He has two hours to get there.
He returns to my lips as if he has no place else to be. I grab his face and the passion deepens. Clothes are tugged and removed and before I know it, in the middle if Mike’s living room, he is naked and I am in my intimates. He takes a step back and looks at me. He sees me. His smile lets me know that he indeed likes what he sees.
He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. He lays me on the bed, and standing over me, caresses my legs. He retreats to light candles and turns off the recessed lighting. He returns to my lips, lightly kissing and licking. A slight nibble on my neck sends waves of pleasure through my entire body. He unfastens my bra with one hand while the other strokes my hair. He looks in my eyes as if he can see my soul.
Mike tickles my body with his hands, lips, and tongue with great familiarity, as if he’s been here before. His teeth glide my panties from my hips. My legs open automatically and Mike accepts the invitation. He snacks on my wet spot softly and like a professional. He’s careful and calculated.
He stimulates my breast with one hand and inserts two fingers of the other inside of me. I moan with delight. The wave of ecstasy washes over me, leaving my fingertips and toes tingling. My leg jerks as I try to maintain my composure. Just as I try to catch my breath from one orgasm, Mike pushes his thick manhood inside of me gently and slowly. He looks me deep in my eyes as he does so. It’s like he wants to see my reaction to the first time his thickness invades my wetness.
He returns to kissing me and touching my body while slowly pushing himself inside of me. He rising again to look me in the eyes. Now it’s as if he is checking to make sure I’m enjoying myself. He’s quiet. It’s obvious that his main goal is to please. Gentle kisses; soft caresses; slow, deep strokes; pure passion. My body is on fire. My toes and fingertips tingling again, butterflies in my stomach. The space in between my legs is throbbing with moisture produced continuously. My nipples are hard and I have chill bumps all over my arms. The tiny hairs on my back and neck rise as ripples of pleasure wave through my body. I see stars, or flashes of light, I can’t really tell. I can’t catch my breath. I’m lost in this lustful moment on borrowed time and for a few moments time doesn’t even exist.
This is tantric.
This. Is. Sinful.
In all manners if the word, sinful. The way this man makes me feel should be outlawed. My climax is like a license for him to do the same, and he is not far behind. More kisses and intense looks. No words need to be spoken.
He releases and I feel his thick penis pulsating inside of me. This experience has confirmed any suspicions about how our chemistry will translate beyond conversing.
He lays next to me holding me tightly in his arms. The occasional soft kiss on my neck. This feels like where I’m supposed to be. Mike whispers in my ear, “I have to go to work, but you are welcome to stay. I can bring you breakfast in the morning. I really like the idea of you being in my bed when I get home from work.”
I agree. Mike put out a set of towels and one of his t-shirts for me. A kiss on my forehead and he retreats to shower. I don’t hear him leaving. I’m fast asleep.
My physical encounters with Mike remain consistent in both frequency and action. I am thoroughly pleased on a very regular basis. I never answered the ‘girlfriend’ question, we just slipped into the roles of coupleship. He is very affectionate. I feel safe with him and that allows me to reciprocate the affection without concern.
Six months into whatever this is with Mike, I continue to have moments when guilt overcomes me. There is an openness between us. Things that I thought I would be judged for, he knows. Things that took me a long while to forgive myself for, he knows. Mike fully accepts me, flaws and all. Yet I haven’t told him about Maurice.
The guilt is like a third party in this situation. One night, Mike finally brings up the fact that I never really agreed to being his girlfriend. I am confronted with my avoidance and lack of intentionality with defining the relationship. We both agreed to move intentionally and here I am doing the opposite. I have no words. I need time to come up with an intelligent response.
“Can we table this discussion?” I ask, because that is the only reply I could come up with. More avoidance. I needed time to process this. A therapy session would be great right about now.
The next day at work, I see Maurice standing at the door of the office building as if he were waiting for someone. I pause in my stride, but don’t want to appear too obvious that my hesitation is because of him. “Good morning,” I greet him first.
“Good morning beautiful,” Maurice says. For the last nine months, Mike was the only one to “Good morning, beautiful,” me. I smile, he grabs the door for me to enter. “Long time no see. I heard that you were working on a project and temporarily changed your schedule.”
“Yeah, I did.” Who the hell told him that? “It was so involved that I needed a vacation after it,” I offered more than what was needed.
“I’ve missed seeing you. How was your vacay?”
“It was nice. Not long enough at all.”
“I get that. Well, can I take you to lunch today? I’d like to catch up.”
For some reason I feel unable to say no. Rather than my representative taking the lead, guilt is now in the driver’s seat. I agree to have lunch with Maurice.
“Cool. Can we meet here in the lobby at 11 a.m.?”
“Sure, see you then.” I hop on the elevator to escape.
I enter my office, heart pounding replaying the entire interaction with Maurice wondering why on Earth I agreed to have lunch with him. I’ll take this as an opportunity to tell him about Mike. I call my assistant Sloane to my office.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Sloane, I have a non-work-related question for you. To get your opinion on something.”
“Yes ma’am. Ask away,” Sloane agrees in her cheerful tone.
“What constitutes cheating in a relationship?”
Sloane looks at me with bulging eyes as if she wants to call me a slut-puppy. I can see in her expression that she wants to ask follow up questions before answering. She doesn’t, “Uh. I-I would say doing anything that you wouldn’t want your partner to do or even know that you did.”
She has a good answer. No a great answer. “Thank you.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Sloane didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t already know. If the shoe were on the other foot, I would be highly pissed off if Mike agreed to go to lunch with another woman. I pick up my phone to call to cancel the lunch date, but get distracted by my cell phone’s text alert. It’s Mike telling me that he made reservations for dinner tonight if I was cool to go.
GUILT.
Even in the mist of us being on shaky ground, he is looking out for me. We have a standing commitment to date night and he is still willing to honor that. I respond by texting back, “yes, I want to go.” I slip into a daydream about what dinner tonight would be like. I know I need to put my shit to the side and work to get over this little rough patch. Come clean about Maurice and admit to why I’m being evasive about our relationship status.
In this moment I realize that I have deep feelings for Mike that I had not conveyed verbally. I hoped that he could tell that I care deeply for him with my actions, but I understand that isn’t the same as verbalizing it. I spend the better part of the morning thinking about Mike. Between getting lost in my thoughts and actually doing some work, I did not cancelled lunch with Maurice. In all honesty, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to cancel. The same part that prevents me from agreeing to identifying what Mike and I are doing as a relationship.
“Ms. Tab, you have a call on the line, should I buzz him through?” Sloane interrupts my thoughts.
“Who is it, Sloane?”
“Oh sorry. It’s Dr. Jones.”
Maybe Maurice was calling to cancel on me. Nerves are now balled up in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes, please buzz him through.” The phone beeps twice. “This is Tabitha,” I answered.
“Hey pretty lady, we still on for lunch?” Maurice asks.
I should decline and tell him about Mike and that I can’t interact with him like that anymore. I don’t.
“Yes. I’ll be right down. Are you driving?”
“I am. See you soon.”
“Yep.” Damn Tab, what’s wrong with you. Tell him about Mike at lunch.
Maurice takes me to the dive bar with the great tacos that I love. It’s hard to resist these tacos. We order carne asada street tacos, margaritas, and split Tres Leches cake.
This looks like a date. Hell it feels like a date. This could be considered cheating by Sloane’s definition.
I tried to ease my mind by reminding myself that I’m technically not in a relationship. That is also the exact reason why Mike and I needed to have a conversation. We made it through the entire meal and I made no mention of Mike. Maurice and I talk about vacations and work. We share about upcoming holiday plans. And still nowhere did I slide in there, hey, I have been seeing someone else. Once again, I’m all in my head. Looking over my shoulder because I was in fact doing something I would be pissed about if it were done to me.
“Tabitha, I’ve missed you,” Maurice says breaking through my thoughts. His admission caught me off guard. “I know we didn’t really have a chance to nurture our connection, but I do feel there is something between us and I’d like to explore that.”
THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME, TABITHA. I smile and nod anticipating more from him. I like the idea of Maurice now sharing his thoughts and feelings. All I offer is a calm smile.
