The unavailable female

The episodic heart. The running dialogues in my mind, their words . . .  they change. They vary from pain to understanding to my own admittance of fault.

That evening A stated, “love and drama go hand in hand.” I know the guest was a female. My intuition says she arrived, and most likely arrives most Thursdays (the one day I historically have not been here) and to her dismay, he rushed down, wouldn’t allow her up. Women are not stupid. I am sure she understood the reason. But, perhaps he lied. Said his parents were in town. They in truth come tomorrow.

He looked at me with eyes covered in a film of red. Whatever happened was not easy. He was destroyed. “Drama and love go hand in hand.” He proceeded to tell me I am not like my gender, and that i have things to learn about love. To watch ‘Valentine’s Day.’ The irony. I sat quiet, same half smile that I wore upon his arrival. I offered nothing. My insides in opposition, screamed with fury. I wondered how this was getting turned around on me. I imagined him now falling into a lustful, intimate, emotional relationship with whoever came below. I was wrong as he asked me to go away for Fourth of July . . . a trip like Memorial Day that had been preplanned and was now ripe for the taking.

I still have not confronted him. The few friends I’ve told, perplexed. My mind has traveled to so many places and often, feels too logical, too cold. I will explain my perspective later. But, the summarized version is our relationship lacked something weeks ago, that is the problem. The lack of sex, of intimacy, and the other females all go hand in hand. I will not fall and/or stay in a relationship without the first two, and the first two cannot exist with the last. So, if the relationship grows, if we remove our walls, then the rest is relevant. Until then the countries my mind will visit . . . and perhaps the other men I will let in.

xx

My Tiger Woods

The story. 10pm 6/1/10

The buzzer rings unexpectedly. We had just arrived home. The doorman’s voice through the intercom echoes, “You have a guest here.” A replies hurriedly, “I’ll come down.”

As I unbutton my dress, laying the night to bed, I question who it was. I thought a dealer as A has an affinity for weed.  Five minutes pass, then ten. I notice his phone on the island and perplexed as to what could be taking so long, I look for an answer. No texts, no missed calls. My fingers continue to scroll through a history, one that paralleled us . . . 

What I discovered was more than one could ever fathom. Impossible. Not just a double-life, but multiple. A storied existence. The trashy thong I found in the bed long ago was reduced to child’s play.  Alexandra, Erica, Celine, Julia, Anne Marie, Ila– too many to count. Female emotions splayed via texts.

My heart palpitated as I expected him to arrive any moment. My desire to peek was countered by a fear of being discovered; ironic, as it was he who had been uncovered.

Time passed without his return. I took notes in an attempt to put it all together. Perplexed since I had been there almost every night for the past month. When, where, how?  Many of the texts were waning from previous encounters that seemed once regular.

Ila “You are the only man I love. If only we could be together. Why don’t you respond.”

Julia “You are mia.” “Where are you?” “We weren’t safe last night. I am worried . . . ” “FIne. I get it. You have a girlfriend now.” (I question as to where this came from as I still withhold any terms)

Erica “Laying in bed thinking of you” “Had a great time last night”

2am one evening, Alexandra Hustler “Can I bring Celine too? Another “$300 right?”

Anne-Marie “His tuition is due tomorrow- $22,000”

“Congratulations on your award”- from quite a few.

Erica 6am Memorial Day Weekend “I am at terminal 3 waiting. Just landed.” He had flown the company jet separately. Ancient texts show this trip long planned.

 

And then he arrives. 11:30. His eyes red. I say nothing. I smile. He starts. Amazing how much one will say when not asked. . .

To be continued . .

Intimacy Issues, A new chapter

I haven’t written much and so here is the backgound to my next post. My life now a vast departure from the days of sand between my toes and wind flying through my hair as I rode my horse through untouched Puerto Rico. My surroundings now are touched, built up, the concrete schoolyard of New York City. Work is now aligned with my passions, but my soul left elsewhere. I am with A. Our relationship, slow in its intimacy, but intriguing, a long juicy novel that seems never ending. He is my Tiger Woods. Charismatic, successful, funny, and generous.  Unfortunately, I, Elin.

He has let me into his life. My dog and I now stay, basically living, in his Tribeca sprawling elegant apartment. He travels and I stay. I am careful to invade. With precision, I strive to keep my belongings unobtrusive. An easy task in grand living.

Our life amazing. However, with the slow progress towards coupledom, our sex life has flailed in the opposing direction. Intimacy issues. The platitude. I care enough to stay. To see my own faults. Take note of my lack of words, the emotions I hold close. Our actions speak loud, but not loud enough. Two salts. I, better with pepper.