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Fantasies

30 Jul

stretch
I used to not have fantasies, or if I did, they were very PG. I’d get really embarrassed even just thinking about sex. My relationship with BD began when I was 19, newly secular, with religious residue that made me very much a prude. So our relationship was a kind, caring, loving one, and sex was missionary and respectable. That did change some with time, but I was never entirely free that way.

As for being attracted to others, thinking about other men – that was completely taboo. For years, I’d never even notice if a hot guy passed me by. All my girlfriends would be drooling, and I’d be like – hey, what did I miss? I was a one-man-woman, in life, in my thoughts, even in my dreams – honestly, I’d never even had a dream about another man. In 13 years, I’d say that’s weird.

But in the past two years, since becoming single again, I fantasize quite a lot, and I love it. Anytime, anywhere, my mind can wander and just think about – whatever… It’s liberating. Actually, what’s liberating is the fact that for the first time in my life, I feel totally free of guilty or otherwise negative emotions surrounding sexual thoughts. It’s my mind, it’s my right to think whatever I want with it, to imagine whatever I want with it, whoever I want, wearing whatever I decide, doing whatever I please. That might seem trivial to some of you, but it’s a novelty to me.

And there’s more to it that just liberation, although that is a big part of it. Fantasizing makes me feel alive. Let’s face it, adult day to day life can wear you out. It’s getting up every morning, coffee, breakfast, putting the boy at daycare, work, lunch, more work, more coffee, picking up the boy, snack, play, dinner, shower, bed time, clean up, sacred time for me, sleep, coffee, breakfast etc… Obviously, there are many pleasures in this routine. And yet, the fact that I can just be sitting at my desk, and suddenly be somewhere else in my mind, somewhere exciting… That’s just amazing to me.

My fantasies aren’t always sexual. It’s really about daydreaming. Lately I’ve found myself having full on conversations in my head with people, playing them out like I’m writing a script, and enjoying them immensely. A talk with my boss turns into a huge promotion and shitloads of money and vacation time. In a talk with an ex who broke my heart, he ends up confessing he still loves me, and I get to say that I’m over it. It can be anything I’ve been wanting to happen, or dreaming about, as far fetched from reality as can be. And there it is materialized before me, for a few minutes of pure uncensored pleasure.

There I am, at the gym, I just finished my run and am high on adrenaline, laying down on a mat to stretch. That hot instructor that I am always staring at is suddenly approaching me. He wants to see if I need help, which I obviously do. As he leans over me, helping me stretch my legs, one hand securing my shoulder, I can feel the heat from his body, as his biceps gleam with sweat. We now realize we are alone at the gym (somehow – in fantasies it doesn’t really matter how), and our eyes lock as we sink into a…

Shit. Green light. I guess I should save this one for later 🙂

Loved

31 Jan

snoopy

When I was a kid it meant everything to me that my sisters would feel loved. I played out every perfect-mother-cliché that I saw in a movie or read in a book, said every right word, did every right thing, well, the young adult interpretation of the right thing at least.

Overbearing father, busy mother, blah blah blah, and my perfect baby sisters, two little dolls to dress up, and brush their hair, and cook for, and help out with homework, and teach them how to tell time, and build up my ego knowing that I was necessary to them, to make up for my feeling unnecessary where I should have felt paramount.

This post is not supposed to be a parent-rant, although I can see that’s where it’s heading. I just suddenly remembered today, strongly, vividly, how much I loved my sisters when we were little. And I love them truly today, as an adult. But when we were younger it was different. It was like I was their mother. Parents usually say that until you have kids, you don’t know how much love you’re capable of feeling, how protective you’ll be of your little ones. But that wasn’t true in my case. I knew, because that’s how I felt about my sisters. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to teach them. I would have done anything in the world for them and they knew it. And it made all the difference to me knowing that they had someone in their lives that they knew would do anything in the world for them. Not just in a life and death situation, but even if they just had a cold and needed to be spoiled.

So I got a lot out of our childhood relationship, for sure. They helped me fill a void that slowly grew in me, to shut up that voice that always told me that I was unworthy. I proved myself worthy to them. And then they grew up, and I needed to take care of someone more helpless than they were, so I got all these male friends at school that had issues and I mothered them, secretly falling for most of them, embracing the pain of unrequited love as if it were a trophy.

When I met BD, one of the first things I loved about him was how he took care of me. He was the first person in my life to do that in the totality that I had fantasized about my whole life. I’m sure you’re imagining me as this neglected kid with overgrown fingernails, but I was really well taken care of. And I knew that I was loved, too. And if something really horrible had happened, my parents would be there without any doubt, I’m sure of that. It’s just that totality that I was craving. The worrying about whether I would be cold without a jacket, or what time I would get back home. Whose house I was sleeping over at, if I had a sandwich for school, or it I woke up on time in the morning. It’s not that they didn’t care, they had their hands full and I was very self-contained.

The first time I ever got sick and BD took care of me, I was elated. In pain, but elated. He was all over the place, making me tea and soup, and getting me those extra soft tissues with the aloe in them, and bringing me the remote and checking in with me every twenty minutes. And there were other things too, like he hated it if I wore shear clothes, because he didn’t want anyone else having a look at what belonged to him. And he’d threaten to beat up anyone who messed with me, and though he was the geeky type and didn’t mean it seriously, it was romantic and his intentions were what counted.

Now I understand, BD showed me what it was to be loved in totality, to be taken care of, the way I had only taken care of others in the past but had rarely been on the receiving end. It was OK to cry with him, crying didn’t make me a wuss, and he never expected me to ‘just get over it’. He’d just hug me and tell me it would be OK. Sometimes that’s all a girl needs.

Even this week, as I told him I didn’t want to live together anymore, through tears, he still found it in him to console me. And I thought to myself – am I making a huge mistake? What am I giving this up for? I have a man who loves me incredibly, who wants to spend his whole life making up for his mistakes.

But the thing is, that I don’t need BD in order to be on the receiving end anymore. I am already on the receiving end of so much love and care and warmth. My gorgeous son, who blows me a kiss in the morning when I say goodbye to him at daycare, and hugs my legs when I come back to pick him up. I mother him, and I’m supposed to mother him! Isn’t that awesome? I have my friends whom I can tell things about my life, pretty or not, and they’ll accept anything without a hint of judgment. I have two beautiful sisters whose future kids will one day be my Boy’s baby cousins, and whom I fantasize about us raising together, with the ideals of parenthood that we all share.

I tend to get emotional and needy when I’m sick. I start thinking about how I can’t really handle things on my own. Thank god, after I stop throwing up, and I did eventually yesterday, I sober up and remember what’s real. Sitting on a park bench with my friend R and telling him about my aspirations, and hearing that he loves me and receiving his embrace. He believes that I’ll get there, and so do I, and if my son could speak, he’d tell me that he believes in me too.

All That She Wants

15 Apr

Nature's Embrace by Josephine Wall

He’d be kind. He’d listen when I spoke, and even when I didn’t. He’d hold me when I needed to be held. He’d love my son but understand his place as a significant adult in his life, yes, but not his father. He wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He’d be warm. He’d be generally happy and often smile or laugh. He’d enjoy a homey evening together of cooking dinner, chatting, washing dishes, watching a movie. He’d have time for us. He’d have time for himself. He wouldn’t be rich, he’d make just enough money so that between the two of us we could manage a comfortable life. He’d want to look after me. Sometimes he might even worry about me, just a little. He’d help me out with things without being asked to. He’d love me. I’d love him.

Our relationship would start casually and gradually intensify. We’d be passionate and physical, and wouldn’t be able to take our hands off each other at first. As time went by, there wouldn’t be as many sparks, but we’d still enjoy one another physically. It would start becoming serious. We’d use the L word. We might be scared. Maybe we’d both been hurt before. But that too would pass and in its place a calmness and sense of security would slowly grow. After some time, keys would be exchanged. Sleepovers would multiply. Eventually boxes would be packed and moved. Closet space would be cleared. A new life would be built and shared.

A little boy would grow up in a safe and loving environment. He’d go to school and play sports, or do arts or read books, whatever made him happy. And we’d be proud as hell. We’d all have a good relationship with his father, who might also have found a new love, built a new home.

We’d grow older. Things would change. Challenges would appear. But we’d cope with them. We’d argue from time to time. We’d be mad at one another. But at night our bodies would meet under the covers and a forgiving warmth would envelope us both.

He’d always remember how I liked my coffee, and I’d remember he preferred tepid water to cold. He’d keep the light on in the kitchen at night because he’d know I hated sleeping in pitch dark. I’d invest in organic tomatoes, because I’d know how much he liked them. Sometimes, when the Boy didn’t think he was too cool for it, we’d order in and play board games or have a movie night. Maybe there would even be another boy in the picture. Or a girl. Maybe.

I’d get a second chance at happily ever after.

But…

But if I didn’t, if things didn’t work out, I’d be strong enough to handle it. Wouldn’t I..? I’d pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and glue them back together. I’d have to find a way to protect my son from having his heart shattered too.

When I think about the risks… It almost seems too dangerous. Sometimes it makes me want to give up hope of ever having a Chapter 2.  But I remember a line that I heard in a song: There are no victories in all our histories without love. And I put on that song that I used to love as a teenager. And it makes me feel a little more hopeful, and little more brave.

Down the Rabbit Hole

1 Jan

toysI was taking a walk in the park. The sky was blue, dotted with flaky white clouds, through which the sun shone brightly. I looked down and with a happy heart celebrated the sound of my shiny blue slippers crushing dry leaves and grass. There were roses, white and red, and a deep scent of perfume, warm and moist, filled the air around them, causing me to feel light-headed.

And there he was, a little white rabbit among the bushes, taunting me. Ha! I thought to myself. I’ve never followed a white rabbit before. I’m much more grounded than that. But wouldn’t it be nice, just for once, to be a little less leveled, to just do what I felt like doing without weighing pros and cons, without foreseeing consequences?

I’m late! I’m late! He said and started to run. It’s now or never. I better get going. And there I was, following him, behind the bushes and into the rabbit hole, falling blissfully down, a flailing jumble of arms and legs tangled in a blue satin dress. Falling endlessly, carelessly, feeling a rush of warm rosy air against my body. It’s going to hurt when I reach the bottom of this pit, I thought, but it didn’t, because as I fell the bottom kept growing father away, so instead of worrying about what was coming, I gave myself the gift of oblivion, and enjoyed the soothing dizziness and emptiness, the thrill of belonging to no one, and owing nothing, the tingling of fingertips, and weakness of knees, the lush kiss of the present against my neck.