It's been a whirlwind of a month. The beginning was humble, laughable even, my pathetic attempt at striking up a conversation with a friend that made up his formative years in the same towns I grew up in, because I found him attractive and dangerous and wanted to bang him. Yep. Written for posterity.
I wanted to fill some time fucking until I hit one year, and could be trusted to love again, by some magical interference from my Higher Power. I was resigned to the grind of dating apps and organic flirtation and the unending explanations about why I choose not to drink... but man, he looked like fun.
I was so uncharacteristically enthralled by him, I agreed to meet after work, after a work meeting, nonetheless, at a place unfamiliar to me and with street parking only... my trifecta for anxiety. We ended up talking the coffee shop closed before going back to his place, spending another couple of hours engaged in the most existential conversation I have ever had in my life, and reluctantly parting ways after watching the moon arc over the dark backdrop of his rear yard.
The very first night he confessed he had a criminal record, and with all of my heart I answered him, I knew nothing about that, and it doesn't change my opinion of the person I'm sitting here with now.
He's wild. A tatted-up former addict and felon with some wild conspiracies on how the world works, and the intelligence and magnetism to back those theories up. He calls himself a conspiracy scientist, and as a fellow scientist of reality as I perceive it, I can appreciate the accuracy of that statement. He's a spiritual being, existing somewhere between heaven and earth, and ... I'm absolutely done for, aren't I? He's the wind, causing ripples that turn into frothy waves that deeply permeate my stillness and evoke the past self that I thought buried under the leagues of time. My sense of adventure is not dead, and I'm not as perpetually tired and pragmatic as I thought I had become in my mid-30s. I've found someone who charges up my energy with his presence, and I am so bemused and grateful that he finds solace in me as well. He likes spending time with me, and I am still amazed at how easy it is to believe him when he reminds me that he does, which is often.
One coffee turned into not spending more than two days apart this past month. Yikes.
That said... this has been the most fulfilling month I've had, since early sobriety. I've been active, going out into the wild, and feeling more myself. My energy has been drawing good things into my circle, and I feel some days that I'm amplifying and transmitting that positivity into the world around me. And the sex. The primal, intense sessions that are unlike anything I've ever known. It does things for me in ways that I've never experienced before, and that is what I needed, more than anything. To reestablish that connection with touch and kiss and deep and caress. Amazing stuff, really, this sober sex.
He makes me want to be the best version of myself that I possibly can.
I want to inspire him the same way, to be his very best. I wish he could see himself as I see him, or at least catch a glimpse through my eyes of how the world is tinted, ever since he came into it.
I want to believe its more than just a friendship, or a friends-with-benefits-ship.
But I also want to take time, so much time, to make sure we're both in a good headplace for something that could be so... dangerous. So very intoxicating.
Two junkies for romance, and the world such an ugly place.
I wanted to fill some time fucking until I hit one year, and could be trusted to love again, by some magical interference from my Higher Power. I was resigned to the grind of dating apps and organic flirtation and the unending explanations about why I choose not to drink... but man, he looked like fun.
I was so uncharacteristically enthralled by him, I agreed to meet after work, after a work meeting, nonetheless, at a place unfamiliar to me and with street parking only... my trifecta for anxiety. We ended up talking the coffee shop closed before going back to his place, spending another couple of hours engaged in the most existential conversation I have ever had in my life, and reluctantly parting ways after watching the moon arc over the dark backdrop of his rear yard.
The very first night he confessed he had a criminal record, and with all of my heart I answered him, I knew nothing about that, and it doesn't change my opinion of the person I'm sitting here with now.
He's wild. A tatted-up former addict and felon with some wild conspiracies on how the world works, and the intelligence and magnetism to back those theories up. He calls himself a conspiracy scientist, and as a fellow scientist of reality as I perceive it, I can appreciate the accuracy of that statement. He's a spiritual being, existing somewhere between heaven and earth, and ... I'm absolutely done for, aren't I? He's the wind, causing ripples that turn into frothy waves that deeply permeate my stillness and evoke the past self that I thought buried under the leagues of time. My sense of adventure is not dead, and I'm not as perpetually tired and pragmatic as I thought I had become in my mid-30s. I've found someone who charges up my energy with his presence, and I am so bemused and grateful that he finds solace in me as well. He likes spending time with me, and I am still amazed at how easy it is to believe him when he reminds me that he does, which is often.
One coffee turned into not spending more than two days apart this past month. Yikes.
That said... this has been the most fulfilling month I've had, since early sobriety. I've been active, going out into the wild, and feeling more myself. My energy has been drawing good things into my circle, and I feel some days that I'm amplifying and transmitting that positivity into the world around me. And the sex. The primal, intense sessions that are unlike anything I've ever known. It does things for me in ways that I've never experienced before, and that is what I needed, more than anything. To reestablish that connection with touch and kiss and deep and caress. Amazing stuff, really, this sober sex.
He makes me want to be the best version of myself that I possibly can.
I want to inspire him the same way, to be his very best. I wish he could see himself as I see him, or at least catch a glimpse through my eyes of how the world is tinted, ever since he came into it.
I want to believe its more than just a friendship, or a friends-with-benefits-ship.
But I also want to take time, so much time, to make sure we're both in a good headplace for something that could be so... dangerous. So very intoxicating.
Two junkies for romance, and the world such an ugly place.