I wrote yesterday’s post on the train Friday night on my way back to DC from New Jersey. The weekend got crazy and I didn’t have time to re-read and post it until yesterday morning. I thought about changing the ending because not four hours after I wrote it on Friday night did something change. I will obviously explain myself but I decided to post it the way I originally wrote it because for a brief moment, that’s how I felt. I felt amazing. The loving place that I had just come from aka my house on the day after Thanksgiving, sent me off to DC with that fuzzy feeling inside. I was also feeling relieved to not have the burden of the little man in the pit of my stomach going crazy all the time. I finally felt at ease with that whole situation until about four hours later.
I was very anxious to get off the train and meet up with a guy I met at work last week and was starting to get to know. Despite the fact that I was not the most friendly of waitresses to him that night, he was insanely attentive to me. I noticed how he could not take his eyes off me wherever I went. What was even more interesting is that he didn’t try to hide it at all. He didn’t do the quick look away when I would glance back but instead he would just gaze and smile. Writing it, it sounds kind of creepy but actually experiencing it was flattering. So anyway, I met up with him and his friends at a bar on U Street. He was more attractive than I remembered and we were immediately pretty comfortable. I totally scored best friend points throughout the night too. I felt good and we were having a great time. I felt like I was making progress and that perhaps this guy could be really great. At a certain point, we broke away from the group and started to talk more in depth about ourselves.
Based on what he told me, I concluded very generally that he’s smart, athletic, attractive, and interesting (shocking)! He leaned in to kiss me and I let him. The first one wasn’t spectacular but it wasn’t awful either. I think there’s some leeway in a first kiss because you’re just getting to know each other and trying to figure out one another’s style. By the second and third one, there were moments that I thought, “Damn, this is never going to work” and other times when I thought, “Well, maybe it could. Try again.” Then we start talking again and he hits me with, “So in terms of my last relationship….it ended almost a year ago. We were together for four years and I caught her cheating on me. It ended the day I saw the guy walking out of her house as I was driving up.” Shoot me in the face. Didn’t I just hear this sob story?!
I nodded and looked for signs of him squirming as he talked about her, which he didn’t. I noticed how he didn’t talk about it for too long, which I thought was a good thing, and then he asked me about my most recent situation. I briefly mentioned the last guy who made the little man in the pit of my stomach
go crazy for good and bad reasons. I liked his responses and I let him kiss me again. So by the fifth, sixth, or seventh time it should be pretty solid, right? Or how about another twenty minutes later? The “figuring out how to kiss each other” thing should be more or less figured out by then, right?
“Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye” by Luke Bryan
I’ve kissed my share of boys. I was a relatively late-bloomer so for most of my life, I was the make-out sesh queen. “Sorry, we can only kiss.” What a tease. Anyway, including this guy, I’ve kissed fifty-two boys. Of the fifty-two, twenty-one of them I can confidently say were good kissers, twenty-four of them were not, and I have seven names here that I can’t remember one way or another. Maybe I can’t remember because it happened back in high school or because it only happened once or twice but let’s assume that since I can’t remember them being good that we can add them to the not so good list. So that leaves us with twenty-one guys that when I kissed them either the first, second, or third time that it felt really good and thirty-one guys that I knew off the bat were not going to make it.
As of this moment, I put this guy from Friday night on the not going to make it list. The more he kissed me and the more he put his hands here or there it felt wrong. “You’re not doing it right,” I whined in my head. I felt a little attacked and he was a little aggressive. I hate absolutely nothing more then having to ask a guy to stop or having to move his hands away over and over again. It’s annoying as hell. The more annoyed I got, the more thoughts of someone else flooded my brain. Only five of the twenty-one good kissers have ever been able to really make me feel it. With five guys, I was able to kiss them and lose my thoughts completely. You know the ones I’m talking about. The kisses that you know are so real because you put your whole body into it. You lose your sense of anything going on around you. You know how you can’t hold back tears no matter how hard you try? That’s what those kisses are like. No matter how hard you try, you can’t hold them back and you can’t get enough.
So thoughts of someone else flooded my brain
. Thoughts of the last person to kiss me in such a way that I can’t even describe overwhelmed me in that moment. And like those kisses, sweet Jesus I couldn’t hold it back, and I felt a g.d. tear stream down my face. He must have felt my body tense up because he stopped, looked into my eyes, and asked me what was wrong. I obviously couldn’t answer back, “The way you are kissing and touching me is all wrong. It was effortless and so much better with him
.” So I just stared blankly back at the poor guy. He assumed that I wasn’t over the guy I told him about and he asked to help me forget about him by kissing me again. I felt awful and pulled away. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his kisses only made me think more about that guy. We parted ways and I’m not sure what will happen because he’s still calling me despite my tears and abrupt pull away mid-kiss.
“Once you had the pieces put back together, even though you may look intact,
you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall.” – Jodi Picoult
Once I was by myself, I cried a little more because I was sad. I was sad that on the outside I look intact, and I really thought I was, but I’m just not quite the same. But as sad as I was, I was equally as angry. I was angry because my effort to get back out there didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. I was angry that my perfect night at home and with someone new was tainted by thoughts of him. I was angry at him
, the guy who made the little man in the pit of my stomach go crazy. I was angry because there have only been five guys in my life who I could kiss over and over again and he was one of them. It really made me think about how unique, how wonderful, and how rare it is that the chemistry between two people is indescribably out of this world
. I lied there thinking about how stupid he was for taking that away from both of us. Doesn’t he get how few and far between all of that good stuff is? I lied there thinking about how stupid I am for still thinking about it. I was right there damnit. I was a notch away from being done with it and being able to say “I’m totally fine” and actually mean it. On Friday night I was back down to a lot of notches away but thankfully, I woke up Saturday morning feeling relatively unaffected by what took place. Another weekend, another shift at work, another yoga session, etc, and I’m back up to a notch away. Gimme the g.d. notch, Universe! Geez, it’s enough already.
Sassarella Says…don’t settle for anything less than this.