“Get a job, you fuckin slob” – Everlast

He’s missing one thing on that list and it’s glaring. Early on, I told him I wasn’t interested in getting involved with someone who fishes all day while I work. Since then, he’s used that example to justify.however he spends his days “I wasn’t fishing while you were working”. But now, right now, he’s asleep on my sofa, it’s after 2pm and I’ve been working 5 hours withouta break. I grew so resentful sitting on the computer while he snored softely with the cats that I had to get up and move to work in another room. In my own house. I began thinking, why doesn’t he hang the door he offered to fix? Yes, his company is enjoyable as he wears my ass out in bed or soothingly brushes my hair. But he doesn’t have a job.

Hes not uneducated or unskilled. He’s not severely disabled. I try to put him in the category of some of my favorite people who are “retired young”. If I didn’t have to work full time, I wouldn’t. I’d love to spend these quarantine months isolated in the cool apallachian hills. Hell, I’d like to be the one napping on the sofa. But I’m working. He’s napping. And I have an unspeakable problem with that.

In karmic timing, my astrologer swing dancer friend text to ask “What does he lack off your list?” I replied quickly, “A job” and confessed he was sleeping on my sofa as we spoke. She replied: Interesting! Well now that Venus is direct see where things go and maybe you’ll be able to move past his retirement flaw?”

Flaw. Un/underemployment as a flaw. Or perhaps the underlying lack of moral motivation to contribute to…what? The GDP? The growing world deficit? But if work can be had and the body is able, one should contribute until they are of the age or financial independence to retire. I add that last bit thinking of another couple of aquaintances who invested well, early and spend their days traveling and fucking off. I envy them. And resent them. Too much to date them too.

I’m going to wake him, and tell him it’s because he won’t sleep tonight if he sleeps all day. But also because I’m ready for him to leave.

UPDATE as of 26 June, 9th House astrology just posted this. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/94710042/posts/2777945465

So even if my decision isn’t clear, the reason for my indecision, my upset gut, is clear:

“Neptune offers idealization and poetic longing while bypassing or totally ignoring the harsher details. Romantic idealization could lead to disillusionment or disappointment later down the road once Neptune’s veils are lifted off…you might find yourself changing your mind again moving back and forth between yes and no or both simultaneously.”

“You dyed your hair blue” – Glass Animals

I licked your sunglasses before handing them back to you. You held them briefly then slid them onto your face without wiping them off. My nickname in your phone is Beautiful Bacteria because you will plunge the depths of a woman’s body to test the pH but have an aversion for The garbage dump that is the human mouth. But I will teach you to kiss me and you will teach me stop interrupting and apologizing so much.

It’s been a quiet month of discovery between us. I write but don’t post because every day is a reveal that I worry about jinxing. You spent the night, even on a “school night”, promising to respect my need for sleep even as you did a Futomomo binding of my legs, tore my panties away and remarked that I took a paddling “like a champ”. In the morning, you massaged my feet and let the dogs out, made coffee, made the bed while I showered before work.

Your compliments rival the Song of Solomon.

And yet I think of that spaceship tattoo on my hip and what it represents. You know. You looked at me with your cats-eyes and said “I’ll be 99 and hope to have been at least in a sideways 69 early in the morning with a 93 year young you. That is my hope.”

But of the 11 critical items on my Non Negotiables list, you are missing only one. CK was missing only one and it was the reason I broke it off. Because they ARE non negotiable!I’m not hiding it from you either. We have grown up conversations about your plans for the future and my need for an equal partner.

What I didn’t mention is my concern that I manifested a stop gap. Because you appeared a few days after my reading and placing a request for a lover until The One arrives on my altar. I’m superstitious, we’ve covered that. But in my habit of searching for signs, I see them. Like how you have G-d’s ear. And you put your phone away. And you’re a mountain man who knows how to make biscuits from scratch. And you are showing me that you know the difference between aggressive and assertive.

So I keep my eyes open and my heart’s guard up even as I submit to you. For now. Although you hand me your leather belt and say you will never ask for it back.

“Your temporary touch, it’s a hit and run” Glass Animals

I claimed to be surprised but thinking back, maybe I was just too drunk or too naïve to see the signs. Signs being that I invited him in after our sunset post-work happy hour or signs being that by 2am, he was playing with my hair and I’d put on a Sinatra record. I think I said “I’m not in the habit of fucking coworkers” to which he replied “You can send me to the back sofa to sleep alone or you can take me to your bed right now”. His kiss was so delicious, I didn’t give it a second thought. I put the dogs away and closed the bedroom door. My shirt was off quickly (he’s a boob man) and I was already begging by the time he slid inside. He remarked softly “You’re so wet”. There was no kink involved (although days later, I fantasize about introducing him to rope and floggers). I think it will be a one-time deal although I’m sure we’ll hang out again casually and work together without anyone guessing. But I’ll remember his smile, and how it made me feel like the canary about to be devoured.

“Now you’re treating me like I’m insane. You’re insane.” ~Selena Gomez

“Clearly he’s never had his dick in my mouth,” she announced loudly.

We were sitting at a crowded table in crowded restaurant within earshot of her mother and a 7-year-old sitting directly behind us. The proclamation came with a flurry of f-bombs from the mouth of The Birthday Girl, now 25-year-old middle school teacher, and member of my cabaret troupe. She fixed her glorious peridot eyes on mine and asked for my phone to show her mother a routine from our last performance. Her mother is only 2 years older than me and until she’s sitting at the same table, I never think of this young woman, my fabulous f-bomb dropping friend, as being someone young enough that I could have squeezed out of my womb.

My feelings for her certainly aren’t motherly. She is a bad bitch and a source of inspiration. I told her I wish I had half the confidence that she does. She’s gorgeous enough that she could be a train wreck and men would forgive her. But instead she’s gorgeous AND has her shit together. For the most part.

I haven’t heard from kinky guy since he went home. Shocking. Next.

My astrologer swing dancer friend posted my monthly horoscope and said I could start a new relationship this month. I commented back, “With a dog?” Because that happened. I adopted a German Shepherd rescue. Like I needed one more in the menagerie especially one with psychological baggage. But I have a soft spot for shepherds.

Today I got a text message from my Dom friend saying that things were not working out between him, his wife and their girlfriend. He and his wife were interested if I would reconsider a relationship with them. It’s not the first time they’ve asked and they know I’m not poly however, I do have a comfortable, non-sexual friendship with the both of them that includes rope play. Now, my recent rope play was brutally sexual and left me hungrier than I was before. Maybe that’s why they decided now was a good time to reapproach. I didn’t want to be rude and turn them down flat without hearing them out so I agreed we could have a conversation the next time we meet although I prefaced it with “I’m fairly certain we are looking for different things.” They want a relationship. I’m just looking for a play partner and preferably someone who is not already attached.

Speaking of unattached, I just realized it’s Tie Your Own Damned Self Tuesday but among my excuses not to: it’s already past my bedtime, I’m too bloated to touch my toes tonight, and my luck is I’d be hogtied just as the new dog decides to eat one of the cats. So maybe I skip this week’s self-care.

“Call me up whenever you wanna grind” ~Prince

“I don’t think you could fit me in your ass but I’d try”

No you won’t. You didn’t. Even though I laughed at that, I saw you twice in the two and a half weeks that you were here. Your messages becoming fewer and less flirty, full of excuses which I took for waning interest. Tried to call you on it once: I wear big girl panties, I can handle the truth better than having my time wasted.

I wore a dress, heels, carefully cultivated undergarments, messy hair and precise makeup everyday this week just in case you wanted to see me after work. I turned heads.

The night before you left, your only message to me  was that you were ready to go. My response: so, nice meeting you then..?

I archived 2months of conversation and porn, sick of the disappointment of opening my messages and seeing your adorable ass laid out like a platter across the bed.

You sent me one final text the next day as you boarded the plane to say you enjoyed our time together and were disappointed we didn’t have more of it. And whose call was that?

I’m disappointed but only because I’m still hungry.  He’s like sugar: Delicious, addictive and not good for me. Although I was more relaxed after adopting the approach that my relationship values cannot be applied to a playdate. Round two was a quickie, two hours, but I was glad to get it. Although he was less attentive after he had me, he was still a great kinky lay and brought out the rope.

Some knots were rushed, and I felt like livestock being hogtied in a rodeo for time. Other knots were more artistic and worthy of pictures, which I asked him to take with my phone for my FetLife profile since he was the one who called me out on being 98% rope bunny with no rope photos. Most of the pix made me cringe. Not at his work but at my body, oozing between the fibers. We should have made my nipples hard before snapping these shots, I joked.

I found myself lurking on Fetlife lately, checking out provocative photos and following beautifully bound women, wishing I was them.

He said he preferred older women but I think he likes young, thin and blonde. I assume that 49% of what men tell me is truth and 51% is bullshit.

Browsing photos and erotic posts  I wonder how far down the rabbit hole I will go. I must not be too far gone because I have other options but if they can’t verbally and cerebrally fuck me first, they’re just not interesting  enough to rearrange my schedule for as I did for this last guy.

But I’m looking to pad my fall.

I joined another group on FetLife called Self Tie Tuesday. Seems simple enough. I already have sex with myself so why not just tie myself too?

I watched videos but end up following my instincts. I figure Between survival training and general craftiness, I have a solid foundation in knots.  But tying myself is hard.  I wrapped my legs thinking that would be the easiest but was straining by the time I reached my toes.  I posted the picture of the end result with the caption “Self-tie Tuesday, or ‘Eat my taco Tuesday’ or ‘tie your own damn self Tuesday’ whatever. I can’t imagine how people self-tie harnesses but that’s for future education and Tuesday nights.

“Everything is a dream I forgot” Marian Hill

“We’ve got time” he said. That was days ago. My last message to him was “I still hope to see you again, when you have time.” And I’ve resigned myself not to hear from him again.

I purposely didn’t make firm plans for the weekend, thinking, hoping, assuming that I would spend much of it with him. I haven’t even heard from him. It’s like when he disappeared for super bowl weekend. Off the grid so he claimed. He’s not off the grid. He’s just a few miles away from me and has the weekend off. He just doesn’t want to see me.

The rejection Hit me harder than I could have expected. I got through a cabaret show. I swing danced my ass off at a live rockabilly classic car fest the following day. then went home and within half an hour, changed into black thigh highs to head to the local s&m club where I’m a member to see if a couple friend might introduce me to a local Dom. It was like every other gathering I’ve gone to: a house party with a bunch of leather clad nerds and a couple of people stripped naked and being whipped in the center of the room. Just another night at the BDSM club. I didn’t meet anyone to play with. I went home alone. Cried. Talked to my best friend “S”, felt better for a few minutes and then cried some more.

The next day was more of the same. Running myself ragged between rehearsals and dances. I was in an off mood, enough that people noted it. Got home, changed quickly and was back out the door. Met a coworker for dinner and drinks and he followed me to the local VFW for a weekly swing dance. He had never been. Didn’t even know there was a scene. He said it was a joy to watch. He used that word, joy. It’s accurate. God knows it’s the only time I’m truly happy, on the dance floor.

My coworker paid for dinner, it wasn’t cheap. I volunteered to get the next time. Danced my ass off. He watched while a couple of single dancer friends flirted with the new guy. I’ll answer questions about him later. I thanked him, sincerely, for stepping away from his PhD homework or whatever else he could have been doing with his time, to spend it with me. He and I both understand the value of time. And we ar en’t frivolous with it. He took Time out for me. It doesn’t entirely negate The bathos that was nearly 7 weeks in the making with the Sexual Tourist but long term, friendship is worth more.

Sexual Camel meets Sexual Tourist

He’s here. He’s real. We made it past coffee.
It went down every bit as hot and messy as I’d fantasized. We even accidentally drew blood and my wrists are delightfully sore for two days. But it’s been THREE days. But back to that in a minute…

That first night we met, really, was intended just for a drink and “nice to meet you” but it escalated quickly after a month of priming via text. I slept less than 6 hours that night and was mush at work the next day but I was smiling so no one questioned it. I wish we could have kept going and I told him afterwards that I hope to see him again while he’s here. In the heat of it, I THINK he enjoyed it but of course the days after, I question that as he does not seem as crazed for the next round as I am. Mixed and delayed messages in the following days has left me insecure and wondering what did I look like? Smell like? Taste like through his senses? If I only had one shot, what could I have done differently to have pleased him more? Did he come? I’m never sure when condoms are involved unless I ask, and I didn’t.

For all the intensity of my experience, and it was certainly intense, I did not come. Close many, many times but no cookie.  I rarely get off the first time I’m with someone but he still had me squirming and wet. I’m sure I’ll be more relaxed the next time. If there is a next time. That’s up to him. That’s not to say that I didn’t have release. In fact, it opened a floodgate. I havent experienced a total release of control like that in five years, since “C” was alive and my keeper for a brief time.

He bound my wrists, then my ankles, then my chest, eventually looping the rope to connect and further restrict the bound limbs. Once I was tied he paused to admire his work. Then started with his hand. Then slid off his pants and used his belt. He even had a thin paddle that snapped against me like a wooden ruler. Even without orgasm I was sopping, bound and gagging on him.

And I’ve thought about nothing else since.

That’s the problem with starving yourself: The moment someone gives you a bite, your body and psyche recalls how hungry it is. But now that he’s had me, does he want more? I felt so good that first night but it’s been three days since and I feel anxious, neglected, rejected. I look at the calendar. He has less than two weeks here. And as I leave work, I think he’s only 2 mi away. Two miles and 2 weeks and then it becomes a thousand miles and never again.

But that’s me. He is in a new city and it’s a buffet. Why would he eat at the same restaurant every night? Even if I’m the best thing on the menu, he is going to try other places. He’s a sexual tourist.

He might be a little lazy too after a long, hot day working in the sun but that doesnt make me feel better. Hmm, kinky playtime or Netflix? I suppose not everyone is as insatiable as I am or maybe this is what happens to a woman deprived for years.

He’s slow to respond too when I put myself out there. I told him last night that I really wanted him to spend the night Friday night after the show but didn’t require an immediate answer. So he didn’t give me one. Until the next morning witha lukewarm response that left me in a shitty mood all day, second-guessing whether he wanted to see me again. I’m so hungry…

I messaged “S” who confirmed “That sucks that he’s not into you”. Ouch. But that’s what real friends do right? Tell the truth. I asked my dom friend for a referral but he said he’s always on the lookout for me and he doesnt know anyone in this area, this region even, that’s not already attached (although if I was open to poly, which he knows I’m not, he and his wife and their gf would be thrilled to have me as an addition).

I mean, I would literally drive to your room, blow you and leave if you said the word. But you don’t. The crickets every time I offer myself to you is a kick in the gut. I expected to be this experience to boost my confidence but it has me at my wits end. Even my coworkers are asking what’s wrong. I’m not myself. 

Make excuses or tell me the truth but don’t leave me hanging. What I can’t figure is why you don’t just ghost me all together if you decided one round from me was all you wanted. Why do you keep messaging me at all?

I rearranged my underwear, all the best panties to the front, wear dresses and heels everyday just in case you call me over. You haven’t played that playlist you made for me yet. You haven’t fingered me in public yet. Are you done with me already?

What I really need is a Keeper.

Now I’ve experienced the loving, supportive, mature relationship of “CK” and the intensely kinky sexual dynamic that I crave. They seem as distant as the East from the West, never meeting, never embodying the same man.

But because of him I updated my dating profile to include, “brownie points for shibari”.

“I can change if it helps you fall in love” LCD Soundsystem

It’s a Saturday and I just got home from work. Walked in the door and heard a jangling folk song on the radio which I leave on for the cats, and thought “I wonder what the last song is that they heard?” As I switched it to silence.

You don’t say good night.
And that’s how I know we will never be more than this.
Maybe I’ll use you, maybe you will use me back.
So what if we share a common core
You aren’t looking for anything more
Than someone to bind, to pass the time
I swear to God I’m not even trying to rhyme

I’m just starving
And that makes me vulnerable
But you remind me of someone I loved.

I’ve never met you and I want you to rule me. That’s out of character for me but I’m not going to overthink it, I tell myself as I overthink. I’m just going to enjoy it, and you.

I look forward to giving over control to someone that knows what to do with it, how to handle it.

We avoid getting too “personal” but I think you might “get” what I mean. Walking into work this morning, heels, skirt, I reached the door before whoever is behind me and politely hold it open. A man who far outranks me in my other life takes the door from me and says “not on your life ma’am, after you”. I LIKE the chivalry. I like the reminder that I am a woman. And it makes me think I’d be fine if I never put on the uniform ever again. It’s still a man’s world in or out of service but it’s more…polite, when I’m not trying to be a man.

But my horoscope for this month looks good. It hints at sex and connecting with someone unexpectedly. I can only hope it means I meet kinky Mr perfect and maybe at the least I don’t beat myself up overgetting it on.

I deliberately don’t ask too many personal questions. I know minor details like where he’s from and what that small tattoo on his back means. But I don’t know if he’s an only child or his favorite food. I’m careful not to get too friendly and I mean that quite literally as our conversations revolve around sex and kink almost exclusively with a little bit of ambiguous bitching about our jobs in the most general terms. But I have researched him just enough to be sure that he is who he says he is. But I don’t look up anything else. I don’t try to find him on social media. I’m not looking for pictures or details of how he spends his time.

But I was tempted. After 3 weeks of daily chatting, he disappeared for 3 days. Mid conversation too. I assumed that he had gone on a trip, maybe back to his home state where I envision him walking nude beaches and hooking up with liberal women before going to watch the super bowl with his boys. All I knew was that he wwas likely watching it wearing enough red to look like The Flash.

And so I reconciled that I probably wouldn’t hear from him until at least Monday. Although I was disappointed and felt disregarded.

He told me I should start wearing plugs to prepare for him. So even though I didn’t hear from him, I was still obedient and went to the store to purchase a couple of graduated plugs but I didn’t Wear them that weekend. I Missed his attention and figured if he wants me to stick something up my ass for him, I require encouragement.

We were discussing erotica and I mentioned my favorite collection of poems by Richard Siken. As I began to reread it and share with him, I was inspired and wrote this in the back of the book:

He hasn’t earned anything
Not the pictures, not my trust
But I give it to him anyway
After a ‘no’ so firm with everyone else
I hand it all over to him
Like a burden, like a grenade
That I’m relieved to be rid of

He said he liked it. I think to myself, it doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t.

3 days, I watch as his message string moves further and further then disappears down the line.

I cheered when the opposing team beat his. One because I love underdogs and two, because I was hoping it put a damper on wherever he went that he had gone to forget me.

Because it’s all about me, of course.

And then he reappeared as I expected with plausible or made up excuses, it doesn’t matter.

You said you missed me and I laughed, don’t toy with my emotions. I was sincerely worried by the time 48 rolled into 72. I have no illusions of romance or friendship but he should have been more considerate.

I wish I had worn my plug to dress rehearsal. It was stressful and I could have used a psychological anchor. Something to keep our upcoming play time at the front of my lobe and give me something to look forward to like a kid weeks before Christmas.

You say the most romantic things. Like: I’ll shove it in one of your holes or I’m waxing my rope for you. You sent me a picture of the rope and you were wearing blue plastic gloves while you worked. I said, oh baby, leave the gloves on. Those gloves scream “I’ve got a shovel and a bag of lime in my trunk.”

You think I’m funny. I know I am. You also crave my Beyonce sized ass painted red by your hand. You’ve already seen me, what I have to offer top to bottom and you still want it. Your reaction is encouraging. Especially at a time when my physical body is out of control and I starve and punish it with more activities that it can handle. The punishment you offer will be sweeter. Funishment you call it. I said I’d use that, and I also said I’d give you credit for it.

You asked me how my day went at work and I told you. We lost guys in a fire fight. And in the midst of it, people around me were bitching about what playlist to listen to on YouTube, their favorite sports team or wishing how they were outside on the water on this gorgeous day rather than here… But I was holding my breath for the release of the names of killed. He didn’t respond. He understands but he’s not my friend. It honestly makes me wonder what we will even talk about when we do meet in person if we can’t get too personal.

Separately but not completely unrelated, one of my cabaret ladies is starting to write again. She’s fearless and so I don’t think she would mind me sharing her blog with you, whoever YOU are, if there is even anyone on the other end of this line…


Reading her stuff makes me mildly ashamed of my own. I know we shouldn’t compare something as intimate as writing but hers does not read like a bitching teenager’s diary. I could write better, I tell myself, if I took the time to proofread and edit. Or maybe, just as with my dancing or singing or acting or whatever else artsy farts that I throw myself into, maybe my writing is just as “okay”.

Unremarkable. The occasional a-ha or punchline but overall, long-winded and unfocused. So thank you if you made it this far.

“You may not be the one but you look like fun” ~Selena Gomez

I haven’t written in a few months but I’m feeling inspired. My dry spell may
be coming to an end. Although I wonder if I’ll jinx it by even typing
that. I’ve met someone.

Not on the usual dating apps either (although I am swiping more these days in attempt to make a local connection). This guy lives 1,000 miles away and isn’t looking for a serious relationship by my judgement. But he’s
coming to town for a couple weeks next month and we might end up l0vers in the short term. I instinctively trust him, even as little as I know about him.
Our contact started innocently enough, even for a BDSM lifestyle social site, as he was reaching out to those of us in the area to ask about events. So that
already puts him into a category all his own, meeting on a kink-based social
site where I could see his bdy before his face. I admired his rope work
(among other baser things). He asked where my photos were and I admitted
that I haven’t been properly tied in many years. After chatting, I
tentatively, conditionally, offered up myself as a subject for practice,
after we meet in person for coffee and determine that we are both comfortable with that of course.
But then we got to really talking, sharing. On a site like that, people are free to take the social masks off, to bear our sexual souls anonymously or openly, chatting with like-minded people whose interests are considered “alternative”. He asked questions that I’d never been asked before and I responded honestly, after deliberate consideration, perhaps for the first time in my life clearly articulating what I like and don’t like. I know what I want in a husband (ref the 13 “non negotiables” list in which #3 on there is a vague “must be a bit kinky”). On regular dating apps, I’m turned off by men who pose shirtless in bathroom mirrors, jump into sex talk and send
disembodied dick pix before we’ve even met face to face. But here, we are just two people with intersecting interests, having a frank conversation about those interests as well as sharing stories. It was just a conversation.  We weren’t even flirting, and definitely not sexting or sending photos, even though he’s an exibitionist and I a voyeur.
After several days, he offered me his personal cell and I offered mine in turn. He immediately offered up proof that he wasn’t catfishing me and I reciprocated.
We are on the same page in so many ways that it’s a bit uncanny. The chemistry is undeniable too. If he WAS local, I could see myself wanting to
pursue a real relationship with him. Which would be disastrous because he’s not monogamous. And he reminds me of “C”, my lightning strike.
Through the dates and dances and even hanging out with friends, I find
myself distracted, wanting to talk to him. But I’m coasting, haltingly down
this hill toward him, riding the brakes the whole time. I’ll let him txt me
first or I deliberately put a limit on how much time I’ll allow myself to
communicate with him. Because nothing will come of this. We might never
share our last names or birthdays or follow each other openly on social
media like true friends but I like him. Respect him. Desire him or someone like him.
Realistically, my expectations are: We meet for coffee next month and if we
both feel comfortable, we will move on to a rope session which may (very likely) lead to something more physical.
I’m a smart, sane, chronically celibate single woman. I’m cautious. Certainly not “easy”. I don’t have FWB or casual lovers. But I want this one. At least for the short time that he’s within reach. And I’m not going to apologize for or overthink it.

“Am I only dreaming? Or is this burning an Eternal Flame?” ~The Bangles

It’s already been a week since I returned home from my belated birthday hiking trip around Mt. Ranier and while the photos remind me of the inspiration of the Cascades, my words fail me. But if I don’t write about it now, I wont write about it at all, as I failed to write about last year’s bday hiking trip through Banff in Canada.

For weeks and days leading up to the rescheduled trip, I watched the weather reports and the hikers notes on All Trails. Sixties and seventies, they all reported. So I packed for 60’s and 70’s. Day one, it was 60’s and 70’s. Days two and three, it was in the 30’s and I had nothing but a windbreaker. No gloves, no hat. No thermals. But I came to hike so frostbite be damned. I managed to keep my digits and most of my dignity intact. The last two days of trudging were a bit like my military experiences: glorious and miserable. Learn to love the suck and feel pride that you endured when others would have said “hell, no.”

I had plenty of company on these hikes too for a change. I usually hike alone to avoid the pressure of keeping pace with someone else or the obligation of any schedule other than my own. But this time, I had friends and acquaintances coming out to meet me readily. My close Army friend, S, who’s sofa I crashed on, my long-time Marine friend “M”, both of who I’ve mentioned here previously. And an old radio acquaintance and true mountaineer who drove in from Yakima to accompany me on that final, snowy third day.

The first day was by far perfect in weather and scenery even if I was distracted by self-conscious feelings of inadequacy from the moment “M”, a stoic John Wayne type, stepped out of the car looking just as much a Marine as ever despite the face scruff and shaggy hair. “You look like a goddamned hippie” I said as I embraced him for the first time in a decade. We both had changed but time had softened and broken me whereas it further chiseled and hardened him. “S” in full wingman mode paved a baited path that went untouched and while I was touched by his matchmaking efforts, it made me hyper-aware of percieved rejection. Like a full plate of hot, salty fries neglected on the table. Who wastes it?

Many reasons why the opportunity may have gone ignored but of course I got hung up on the one: he’s not interested. Ten years ago, both in uniform, the timing was not in our favor when M admitted feelings for me. Now that the path is seemingly clear, he was no longer hungry. Maybe his dick doesn’t work, I inevitably wondered. Sad how that thought always crosses my mind now if a man catches my attention.

But otherwise, it was a long overdue trip that was better than I had expected, rejection and freezing rain aside. My rehabilitated foot held up over nearly 40 miles of rugged terrain while conversations bounced from serious debates to bowel movements to dating over the hill to Belinda Carlisle (which resulted in us =singing “Eternal Flame” up and down the mountain trails). And I reconnected in person with people that give a damn about me. There are still a few left. Even if the one I built up in my head didnt want me for dinner.