The high of sex. There is no stronger more addictive drug than sex. After that night, I was hooked. Like a hard hit of a crack pipe, a snort of that sweet line of snow, the rush of liquid meth running through my veins, I was hooked. And so here in lies the problem. We committed to just this one night. That's all I wanted from him. That's all he wanted from me. Neither of us are in any place for anything more than just one night. I don't do feelings, I don't do emotions. I don't do relationships. And him. A failed marriage, his chance for a new beginning, a new life, It was his time to discover who he is as a man. I was there once. I know exactly where he is at in life and what he needs. I gave him a "Welcome Back", an intro into life as a single man, something I would never want to take from him. He will always remember that night just as I did my first time after divorce. It is a defining moment, to feel alive and free again. This night was about giving, not taking away.
I lay next to him in bed, both of us completely exhausted. It had been hour after hour of impulsive, animalistic sex. The high began to drain as I listened to him fall asleep beside me. I was coming down. The euphoria being replaced by something all too familiar for me in the dark of the night. My mind was racing, my thoughts bouncing between the synapses in my brain, firing like a war zone only it's a war that's never to be won. Because like any war ever to be fought, it makes no damn sense.
You would think, if I were like any other woman out there, the war would be about love and romance and who is going to be the first to call who. You would think I was laying there hoping he felt the same things I did and that maybe he was really impressed with my hair or found me funny enough to want to see me again. You would think I would be all cuddled up basking in the thought that maybe this is the one. But I am not like any other woman.
I found myself laying on the far side of the bed staring at the wall. I had to make sense of all of this somehow before morning. I tried to rationalize what I was feeling. The connection, was it chemistry? Just pure and natural hormones that were a perfect match in bed? Maybe that's it. But can chemistry make you feel safe with someone you for the first time are getting to know in an intimate way? Because that is not me, I don't ever trust anyone in that way. And the need for more. Not a want but a need. As I thought this I rolled over to look at him. Naked, his sweat now cooled, covered slightly by the hotel's classic white duvet. After acknowledging just how creepy this was, I found myself just wanting to touch him, but he was back to being untouchable. I had allowed my thoughts to interfere briefly with what had transpired that night. I can touch him when he's touching me but I cannot reach out. He wouldn't understand. Hell, I don't even understand.
I didn't want him to roll over to me and say he loved me or shoot me some cheesy line that he thinks I would expect him to say. I'm not a princess, I'm not in need of patronizing flattery. I just wanted to look at him and for the first time in so many years feel like someone was there, I was not alone. Only I grappled with the fact that I wasn't content with just someone being there, but that it was him that was there. So I don't want to date him, I don't want to hold him back, I don't want to talk feelings and emotions and live happily ever after with him but I want him there. And not just tonight. But not every night either. And I don't want obligatory next-day call backs, but I want more of everything else from him. I want him but on my terms. Yeah, fucked up...I know.