The hot: Our last (and second) overnight date saw Leo continue our fisting adventure, this time adding double penetration with his hands and the Hitachi, for long enough at times I almost saw stars.
I could kiss him for hours.
The sweet: Every time he woke up that night, he wrapped me in his arms. He would nuzzle the back of my neck. He gives me bear hugs and tells me how good I feel.
He sends sweet memes.
The work-in-progress: He’s working on his weight loss. A good start, but a long way to go. It’s had an impact on his – ahem – ability to perform. It’s clearly not a deal-breaker for me at this point.
The mature: He made arrangements to go see his Doctor next week to deal with his performance issues, and he told me about it. When I asked him why he’s okay with taking it slow, he told me he doesn’t want to get hurt. He’s had long-term relationships before. He feels it’s important to know someone has long-term potential before they meet his friends or his children. He hasn’t asked to be exclusive even though I know he’s not with anyone else.
The challenge: It’s mature. It’s sweet. It’s hot. And while I’m totally fine with the pace – after all, if he asks for exclusivity I would give it to him, and it’s goodbye Lewis, Clark, and Todd – there’s a part of me that wonders why he hasn’t asked for it yet.
I’ve been decently good at keeping the overthinking at bay. Two years ago or even three there is no way I would be this chilled out about things. I would push and dissect. Never mind I’m okay with taking it at this pace. I want this pace. I used to get so wrapped up in why the other party didn’t, I forgot what I wanted in the first place.
My suspicion is he’s fighting an internal fight. After all, a man who sends the kinds of memes he does – about finding the right person at the right time, being the reason he smiles when he wakes up, and the like – is super into me. But he also knows that the mature thing is to give a relationship some space and time.
We jointly agreed he shouldn’t attend my annual January party. There were too many friends for him to meet all at once. I didn’t want to yet again have a man only attend one of those parties (Johnny Id, Fox, HWSNBN) and to have to explain to my friends what happened to this one. He didn’t want to run the friend gauntlet.
How mature of us.
The challenge is wanting fireworks, but knowing their presence isn’t ultimately a good sign. This isn’t limerance. This is balanced, real, mature, and the right pace. The fireworks are in the bedroom when he plunges his fingers between my wet thighs, gripping the back of my head and sucking my breasts hard enough I orgasm just from that stimulation.
That’s where the fireworks should be.
I catch myself wanting to lose myself in the romance. I want to write about passionate and frenetic words spoken. I crave a bit of the intensity of some past loves. And then I remind myself how they ended. The man who said he loved me on our third date has a restraining order against him. The one who wanted me to be his whole life lost his shit when he realized it wouldn’t happen. The one with whom I had a 4am-ending first date, who sent electricity through my whole body when he touched me… well that was 2 roller coaster years.
Instead, I have this.
This feels like what it should really be. Maybe my century-club man will be around for a while.
All pictures from the Leo posts are from the 1962 film “Phaedra”