I’ve been thinking a lot about intimacy. How we build it, and what happens when its destroyed. How we simultaneously can want it, and shrink from it.
It can be fucking terrifying, yet freeing.
Many people were surprised I would spend a weekend away with someone so early in our relationship. I wanted to see what it would be like. What he was like, and what we were like together. It’s hard to be only on your best behavior for four days. And given his early declarations of love for me, I was very keen to suss out whether my gut was wrong: could he actually be needy and in love with love?
Hyacinth has said to be a few times that I am exceedingly diplomatic and take a scientifically analytical approach to things. She’s not wrong, I just hadn’t thought about it that way.
I suppose my decision to go away with him aligned to that. I figured I’d have a good time with him, but it was also research.
One day I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom with the door open. He came in and then asked if I minded if he peed. “Yes, I actually do mind, and I can explain why in a minute” I said, and he graciously exited.
I came from a marriage where we often peed in front of each other. Will once had to take a splinter out of my ass…which I hadn’t noticed for a week. It was pretty disgusting. That’s when I knew maybe my ass was too big. I would occasionally see to his pimples.
Way back when we were first together, starting to get comfortable with one another seemed the natural development of a serious relationship. It seemed like intimacy. I remember when it felt good to be able to “just be myself”, even if that meant losing concern about whether I farted in front of him.
It wasn’t these things that created our sexless marriage – but I have come to believe that pimples and farting and splinters out of a loved ones ass run counter to passion.
So no, I don’t want to see him to pee in front of me. He understood when I explained it to him.
Yes, I’m okay with someone seeing me without makeup, and occasionally in sweatpants, and when I’m sick. But I don’t think it can hurt to be mindful of the little things that can erode the delight of a lover.
But are you able to not fart or poo for four days? It’s a little difficult sharing a hotel room with someone when you’d prefer if they didn’t know what your shit smells like. I’ve come to hate bad hotel room layouts and weak exhaust fans. I’ve become pretty good at knowing when I need to release some gas and how to hold my ass cheeks apart to limit noise.
Yup. I went there.
Oh, apparently I also snore. Fucking sexy, right?
Friends are a slightly different story, but I’m still not going to let one rip sitting on the couch next to a girlfriend.
Perhaps this stuff is practical intimacy – getting to know the day-to-day of someone. I’m not so afraid of this, with the caveat of the boundaries above.
Emotional intimacy is a whole different thing. So many of us are afraid of it. What happens if we let someone in? They could reject us. Once we’ve shared our deepest thoughts and fears with someone, that rejection becomes personal.
I don’t feel afraid of this. I know what relationships are like when it’s absent – Tony being the most recent example – and I missed it. Fox and others told me what I wanted to hear. But Sevag is different.
Our similarities in how we think creates quick comfort. I’m less afraid to tell him about my feelings and my thoughts because I feel he truly understands.
I missed him this past weekend. A good sign I think.
But I’m still not ready for him to know what my shit smells like.