Guy and I had a pattern. We engaged in fierce flirtation that would culminate into sex, and then he’d fall off the face of the earth. Most of the time the experiences together were blisteringly hot, but inevitably I would fall into quiet frustration when he disappeared. The first time I felt upset and disappointed when he went silent for weeks. We had made a rare connection during a dungeon session, and I had broken a bunch of personal rules to pursue the sizzling attraction.
We were out to dinner to celebrate his birthday with southern cuisine and spicy bloody Marys when he brought up the pattern between us. He said that we had never really talked about it, and it took me a moment to pull up the memories of that first disappearance.
“I broke several of my rules with you, to pursue something outside the carefully controlled parameters of the dungeon. And after a couple fantastic dates, you ghosted.” I didn’t elaborate on how hurt I had been by his silence. That going from an intense physical connection to absolutely no response had been a blow to my ego and confidence. But even though I had sworn to myself that there would be no further personal liaisons from work, I hadn’t wanted to write Guy off completely.
That chemistry stuck with me. Eventually he would resurface, always unexpected and welcomed back into my orbit. After our third interlude, I realized over Texmex and margaritas, that we would probably always be exactly what we were in that moment. If I was smart, I wouldn’t expect him to change his behavior to suit my idea of “dating.” If I learned from the pattern, I’d enjoy what we had and leave it at that.
The last time I saw him was the Texmex and margarita evening. We ended up in bed, of course, and I wrote about it here. He disappeared shortly thereafter, which I expected, but I decided this time that I wasn’t going to dwell on it. Then the summer happened where everything changed, and suddenly Guy’s unexpected appearances and disappearances were the last thing on my mind. We exchanged texts a couple times, but my responses were half-hearted. I couldn’t siphon enough energy to try and figure out what his intentions were.
Two weeks ago, he unexpectedly messaged me about an Instagram photo I had posted. I had been cooking a lot, feeding my body healthy, slow cooking and whole foods as I learned to live with the grief about my mom. I snapped a pic of the shakshuka I had made, and a conversation began. Next thing I knew, he was ringing my doorbell.
We both remarked how odd it was to be face-to-face after four months of no communication, and not once did I think I should pretend that I didn’t really, really want to fuck him. The spark was still there, and our glasses of wine were soon abandoned and replaced with hungry kisses and wandering hands. He pulled off my jeans and told me to turn around for a spanking. He had decided that he was going to top that night, and I could only laugh and oblige him. It felt good to feel his capable hands against my skin. It had been the better part of a year since I had been on a date with anyone other than Guy, and even longer since I had had a play session with anyone romantically. Even though it was only a hook-up, I felt greedy for Guy’s body on mine, his teeth grazing my skin, and his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. I dove headfirst into the experience, wishing to consume the muscular planes of his body like the richest chocolate. We were electric.
We had two dates after that night, and during the span of two weeks, I was glowing. One rendezvous was unexpected birthday sex early on a Monday morning on the day he turned thirty-one, and the second was a handyman date where he hung a large, mirrored cabinet for me. We had discussed me topping him that Saturday, but he arrived horny and ready to play me.
He was unshaven and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame. He carried his tools directly upstairs to my bedroom, and I couldn’t resist squeezing his perfect ass on our way up the stairs. Guy made it clear that my plans for our afternoon didn’t matter, and to my delight, he had me mostly naked and on the bed before I could pretend to protest. I wrapped my legs around him, welcoming the press of his jeans against my clit. He pinned my hands above my head with one hand and pinched a nipple with the other. Guy promised that I’d have his cock once the work was finished, but he’d make me orgasm with his fingers to tide me over the interim. I whimpered when he bit the curve of my waist and begged him to fuck me. We were sweaty with desire, and all my intentions to do something house-related fled. I wanted that man inside me.
Guy prevailed and three hours later I had a new cabinet. My hands were all over him as soon as we had admired his handiwork properly, but we were forced to curtail our sex plan to make our dinner reservations on time. I had baked him a pecan pie to say thank you for the cabinet and also because it was his favorite. We would go back to my place for pie and sex later, but his question about how I was feeling had brought reality crashing into our dinner date. I hadn’t expected him to ask it, and I was unprepared with a response. I could talk logically about our pattern and the first time it presented itself. I was able to articulate how I had felt those many months ago, but now? I didn’t know what to say.
He had been sweet, and funny these past couple weeks. We had talked about all sorts of things, laughed a lot, and talked more about our pasts. I would be a liar if I said that a tiny flame of hope hadn’t sprung in my heart that maybe Guy would stick around this time.
He continued his train of thought and said that he was open to dating other people, although he wasn’t seriously looking, and he asked how I would feel if he went out with someone else. I tried to put my words in order.
“I guess it would depend if she wanted to be monogamous and if you wanted that too. If it was serious between you and the other woman, I suppose I’d feel sad?” I fumbled around the realization that was slowly crystallizing in front of me.
My heart sank. I wasn’t that girl. I wasn’t the one he really wanted to date. I was someone fun and sexy, someone whose kinks matched his and who he enjoyed fucking. I wasn’t the girl to date though.
I fell into silence as I rolled the realization around in my head. I wasn’t good at feeling and explaining my feelings in the moment. I usually needed time to process before I could talk about them and be coherent. What I did know was that I was surprised at how much it stung. My ego didn’t want to be just a fun hook-up. I wanted him to want to be with me a lot more than he was comfortable, and a dark part of me suggested that I could make our hook-up into something better even if he wasn’t on board at first.
Luckily I had had enough therapy to recognize my own patterns, and that was one of my more unhealthier ones. The idea that I could change a relationship based on personal grit and focused determination was delusional. All the emotional relationship work in the world on my part would not make another person love me more if they didn’t intend to.
He wasn’t ready to focus on a relationship, and he was being honest about where he was. He was also being kind. The time we had shared was enough for him, and his honesty gave me a choice too. I could continue and hope for the next time or I could say goodbye once and for all, and close the chapter of our pattern for good.
Dinner ended, and we headed back to my place. Great sex followed dessert, and Guy eventually left with the remains of the pie. I was left with feelings to sort through. In the morning light I sifted the tangle of my emotions to acknowledge the bittersweet position I found myself in. Guy had handled our conversation tactfully and with every attempt to avoid hurting my feelings. And when I got to the essence of it, I was emotionally OK with our odd pattern of fireworks and silence even if it wasn’t always comfortable. I could wish for more, but at least I knew that the chances of it happening were slim. I felt glad to know it. Ultimately I felt happy to have Guy in my life, however long that was.