I have never felt this way before. As I type, I can recall saying these words in the past; almost exclusively after spending all night talking with someone who became more. But this is not like that. Instead, I am experiencing something new.
From our first kiss, the sex has been better than any I have enjoyed before: instantly connected, as if he has studied my body in detail; hot; mind-melting; and leaving me craving more. The rationalist in me puts it down to his interest in Tantra; his non-phallic focus. The romantic in me is not convinced that is all there is to it.
He arouses me – or makes me smile – several times a day, without even being there: a passing thought; an item that reminds me of him; a memory of something he has done or said. He has a knack of making casual-sounding comments that inspire a liquid response. His sense of humour remains present in sex; his gentle teasing and clear awareness of the power he has over me only serve to make me crave him more.
And yet it is not possessive. Already, there are other women making their interest in him clear, though whether that’s because it’s only now I’m noticing them, I don’t know. I was brave enough to overtly state my desires. I am not the only brave woman in the world. And he is a desirable man.
Once, this would have panicked me, made me rush to ‘defend my territory’ – but I do not feel territorial towards him Though it would already hurt if he was intimate with someone else, it would be a brief sting. I want him to be happy. I want to be happy. Being with someone who would prefer to be elsewhere does not lead to happiness so if he chose to be with someone else, it would show he was not right for me.
I have no need for a relationship. In fact, it is running counter to my desire for freedom. I am with him because the urge is too powerful to ignore. I am still as commitmentphobic as ever. Part of me would be relieved at escaping emotions which are new to me; sex that is unlike anything I have known before. It is more intense than the darkest pain-play I have experienced, unreal in its reality: emotional subspace.
It feels overwhelming – except for when I am with him, when it is easier than anything I have known. He makes me laugh to my core; stimulates my mind as much as my body, if not more. His kindness, patience and willingness to forgive are traits that I never used to perceive as sexy. But I was wrong.
I do not want us to fall into heteronormativity and normality. There have already been hints of it. Where we once saw each other as and whenever mutually suited, now he has already tried co-ordinating diaries. While part of me appreciates the sentiment – we are both busy and he is my favourite person to spend time with – another part of me is terrified that it’s a step towards mundanity: the inevitable slide into obligatory meetings of the parents; nights in watching compromise TV; relinquishing control over my social life – and his; being forced to amalgamate friendship groups and say goodbye to a solitary social life – or solitude.
It helps that he is, I think, as commitmentphobic as I am. We have already had the all-important kids conversation: not because either of us wants children but because we are both vehement in our desire not to parent – at least biologically. He, like me, is full of ideas that he wants to make happen. He cares about the planet and, also like me, lays much of the blame for the current state of the world on overpopulation. There seems to be little doubt in his mind: a huge relief after years of pressure to conform to fit the ‘marriage, mortgage, maternity’ triumvirate – if more from the media than partners: but an all-pervading message is difficult to fight, particularly with a partner who has ‘drunk the Kool Aid’ and bought into the heteronormative ideal.
Normality can be tempting, no matter how queer I feel I am. When I was younger I almost succumbed to the pressure. Now, child-free and too old for it to be easy, I feel I was handed a ‘Get out of jail free’ card: to have made it this far with neither marriage nor maternity. I have too much to do to have time for a child. Some people may call it selfish but I would call it more selfish to bring a child into the world simply because you want someone to look after you when you’re older – and I’ve heard enough parents say that over the years.
The more I learn about him, the more similar we seem. I have showed him who I am, flaws and all. I do not want to lie to him by putting on a facade. I wonder whether part of me is trying to scare him off with my honesty. Commitmentphobia runs deep and pushing him away would save me from dealing with feelings so big that they scare me.
The biggest fear I have is that, if we are together, there could be a time when we could part. As friends, there is less risk. Even though we barely spoke for 20 years, I feel excited whenever he contacts me. He reminds me of his existence despite in his absence. His words can make me wet even when recalled absently, hours or even days later.
It’s not that he’s particularly filthy- at least, not yet – but his casual bedroom asides have a power over my pelvis. He makes my stomach lurch and my cunt wet. He has invaded my head and my body in equal measure. There is only one person who has had that effect on me before – and he lacked the kindness and empathy that makes everything so much hotter.
I do not know what the future holds. I do not want to, though I can think of hundreds of things I’d like to do to him, with him. I do not want the libido-sapping confines of a traditional relationship to get in the way before we have had a chance to explore.
I do not want reality to kill the fantasy by imposing rules; kick-starting familiar patterns for either of us. I feel baggage free but I am also aware that habits can be hard to break and I’ve made a habit of having unhealthy relationships. I also have a full life: almost too full for a relationship.
But still, I want him. He has tangled my head and fundamentally changed sex for me already. He has shown me the fantasies I had when I was young, of the way things should be, is not a pipe dream. It can exist. That knowledge alone is life-changing. Whether or not I get to explore it to the full with him is almost irrelevant. I am pragmatic. I know that people are unlikely to be unique. If he can elicit these feelings in me, so could someone else, as long as I chose wisely.
But I do not want to choose someone else. I do not want to choose him either, because that smacks of possession. I just want to be; and to be with him on occasion. I have long craved an equal to play with but was too busy resolving ‘daddy issues’ to attract an equal. I was looking to be rescued and attracted controlling men as a result.
He does not want to control me – except in fun ways. He does not dominate me by pinning me down or shouting me down but instead through the sheer mastery he has of my body. When he touches me, if he chooses to, he can reduce me to nothing more than sensation and connection. It is intoxicating. I am scared of getting drunk. But equally, I want to drink deep.
He is paradoxically perfect. I want him in a way that emanates from my gut to my cunt, my brain to my heart. But I do not yet trust my desire. If I did, that would introduce the potential for hurt. I am happy to open myself up to him – cannot help myself from doing so.
But I am scared that if I open up too much, I am going to get fucked.
Read Part One of Spring Awakening
Read Part Two of Spring Awakening
Read Part Three of Spring Awakening
Read Part Four of Spring Awakening
Read Part Five of Spring Awakening
Read Part Six of Spring Awakening
Read Part Seven of Spring Awakening
Read Part Eight of Spring Awakening
Read Part Nine of Spring Awakening