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Happy Place

12 Oct

porch swing

In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty that are constantly intertwined with my routine, I pop up for a breath of fresh air every now and again, driving to work on one of those rare morning when I’m not racing against the clock, walking to the supermarket on my morning off, closing my eyes and nodding off on a night when I can still remember my name…

And there I am. A year after my divorce. I’ve moved to a little house with a garden, or a small apartment with a balcony, full of plants, green and pink and flowery. Baby isn’t a baby, he’s a lovely three year old boy, who talks and has opinions, and is growing more and more independent. We live alone, with our dog, Barry, and enjoy a routine of daycare, work, afternoons in our backyard, or at the park with Barry, home cooked meals and bedtime stories followed by cuddles and lights out.

BD and I have stayed in good relations, and he spends time with our boy, and gives me my night off, which I use to go out, get laid, paint, blog and do laundry.

There may be a guy in my life, nothing really serious, just someone to make my heart flutter and kiss me on the nights that I don’t have the Boy.

And with this as a background, there I am in my happy place, sitting on a porch swing, looking into the distance, with a cup of tea in my hand. It’s autumn and the evenings are chilly, so a blanket is wrapped around my shoulders to keep me warm. I’ve just checked on the Boy and he’s sound asleep. And I just sit there, in complete quiet and wonder about how everything that happened, him leaving, me crying, getting back together and breaking up and getting back together and going to therapy, and giving up and trying again, and giving up again, how it all led to this beautiful moment, in which I sit, quietly and peacefully and just feel happy.

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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.

You’re Such a Big Boy, Little Guy!

30 Dec

toysMy boy wants to swallow the world, he’s just so damn excited about life! Playing in his mommy’s bed in the morning, while she desperately gulps down her morning coffee, attempting, urgently, to wake up, he’s lying on his back, kicking and squealing with joy, trying to grab his little feet and stuff them into his mouth. There are things he wants to say, I know this as he utters the oddest sounds, a blend of consonants and misplaced vowels, but he doesn’t have the words. I wonder if that frustrates him, or if he’s able to enjoy his stage of mumbling.

If I pick him up, and place his feet on the bed, I can tell his legs are strong, he can bare his own weight, as he takes step after step forward with my support, but he’s lacking balance. I can tell he’d like to be more mobile, he’s craving the ability to walk, to run. Can he appreciate and enjoy the crawling and squirming?

My boy is growing. As I hold him in my arms, climbing the stairs to our second-story-no-elevator apartment, I can feel his weight, it’s beginning to be difficult to carry him like this. But my arms are growing stronger too, I remind myself. You’re getting so big! I tell him, look how big you’ve become, little guy! Then I laugh at the contradiction. I imagine him thinking to himself: Mom, make up your mind, am I big or little? So I clarify: You’re big and you’re little sweetness. You’re bigger than you used to be, and you’re still little compared to how big you’re going to be. And your mommy loves you, big and little, all the same.

A good friend of mine who’s read this blog pointed out that I tend to draw comparisons between my son and myself. Why the hell not, here it goes. I too am big and little. Bigger than I was, but still little in comparison to where I’m headed.

I met up with an old friend the other day. A guy friend. A very good looking guy friend to be precise. We took a walk in the park, and chatted and caught up. He mentioned he was single. I mentioned I was separated. I touched his shoulder nonchalantly as I spoke, he gave me a hug when we parted. It was great. The park in winter is breathtaking. We went off trail, got “lost” among the trees, sat by the lake, looked at the ducks and just chatted. That’s all there was between us and that’s all that could be. I’m not available for anything more than an ego boost right now. Bigger, better, but not there yet.

The truth? A part of me fantasizes about having wild sex with hot-guy-friend-from-the-past. But you know what? I’m not going to let that frustrate me. Because where I am right now, walking in the park and feeling good about myself, it so much farther along than I’ve been recently. So I intend to enjoy this stage and all it can be, as I prepare myself for what’s coming next.

Club

14 Dec

It was crammed. Blinding, flickering, colorful lights. Movement, closeness. Can’t help touching everyone and everything. Blasting music and a throbbing crowd, like a giant collective heartbeat. Seeking, materializing, moving in, holding, taking. Warm. Soft. Goatee. Slippery. Thrilling. Enveloping. Empowering. Commanding. Quenching.

Alternative Ending

9 Dec

Inside the club, music blasting, I’ve had about 4 shots of whiskey, and I’m not too drunk, just drunk enough to be a little more out there, a little less reserved, and S and I are dancing away, carelessly touching one another on the arm or shoulder, laughing. He’s really very handsome, tall and slim, but not scrawny, he definitely has a presence, and a gigantic smile that is so dominant that it almost pushes all his other features aside. And he’s French for god’s sake, with an accent and everything.

We’re dancing, closer than before, when I suddenly realize our friends have left us alone on the dance floor, it’s just us now, and it’s that song that I like in the background as his hand touches my back, sending waves of electricity through my body. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by a man. His hands are warm. They are on my waist now, holding me as I lean into his ear. I’m planning to say something like: So… Are you going to kiss me or what? But his English is bad, and the music is loud, and I get a feeling I will not have the guts to ask a second time, so I go for the very straight-forward: Let’s kiss. He looks at me with a combination of surprise and amusement. For a second I prepare myself for the rejection I am anticipating. Too good a dancer, I think. He must be gay.

But then he’s leaning closer to me, pulling my waist closer toward him, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. And then his lips are on mine. Slightly parted, they envelope my mouth, wet and warm. My knees are weak. His hand is in my hair as we sink deeper into the kiss, our tongues wrestling, our bodies locked in a close embrace.

I can tell he’s aroused, I can feel him hard against my thigh, as his hands slide under my blouse. Our mouths unlock, and now his lips are on my neck, sliding slowly to my bare shoulder. I pull him back into another kiss, as I hopelessly try to pull myself together, but my mind is clouded by whiskey and desire, and soon I find myself taking his hand and guiding him to a secluded hallway behind the DJ station. Here I feel more at ease. S takes note and pushes me gently against the wall, parting my legs as he situates himself between them, and now I can clearly feel his erection against me, and it’s making my mind foggy and causing me to part forever with any bit of good judgment I’ve ever had.

His hands are cupping my breasts under my top, my skirt is rolled up and I’ve lost my panties somewhere along the way. As he moves inside me, making my body quiver and shake, all I can think of is the fact that none of this is real, that S is gay, that I am a down to earth conservative sort of gal who’d never in a lifetime make out with a random guy at a club even if he is French, let alone have sex, and that all this is nothing but a late night fantasy of a sleep deprived, sex deprived single mom who’s got nothing better to do than blog at 1:30 am.