"I have a secret to tell you."

Oh? I ask

"I am the one that sends you poems in the mail."

We were laying entwined and naked in some marvelous downtown hotel room that she had paid for. All relaxed caresses and staring off to space.
I was watching a stray bit of lint, caught in both sunlight and the air current of the room, dance slowly above us.
We had been lost in our senses for the last several hours as we would be for several more hours and then again and again for a total of three days.
Licking, kissing, touching, grabbing, cumming, fucking, feeling.
I was feeling everything.
Everything was insanely intense.
The lights, smells, tastes, textures, my heartbeat and hers, the awareness of our breath, the unawareness of time.

It was my first time having sex in over a year. And I was nervous.
It was her first time being with a man in over 8 years. She too, very nervous.
Everything was electric.
And she sends me the poems.
Or should I say "but" she sends me the poems?

I met her in the summer of 2017.
I was part of a panel on the history and future of Wonder Woman at Denver Comic Con (which was an incredible experience that I hope to do again someday).
She called herself my groupie. She approached after the panel ended and said I needed to hang out with her the rest of the day so that she could "fuck my mind" and listen to my thoughts.
We did hang out for a little and shared a passionate kiss in some deserted hallway.
But she was married to what seemed to be a very nice woman. She had a couple of teenagers and a career and I am no homewrecker.
Except I sort of am.
Because she "just happened to be in the neighborhood" for a karaoke night at the bar near where I lived.
She excused herself from her friends and met me in a back alley where I pressed her against a wall and we kissed so hard that we got dizzy and her hands along the front of my pants and her voice saying if she had a little more time and the ground weren't so dirty and me probably not saying much at that point other than the primal noises of my ancestors.
And then she, back inside. And me, catching my breath against the cool brick of the wall.
Then one more time soon after, a coffee shop in the middle of the day, she asked if we could go to my apartment, we hemmed and hawed, torn between morality and desire. Ultimately she decided to abstain and I was relieved and sad and felt so incredibly desired.

The poems started arriving soon after.
Postmarked from Denver, but never signed. Never full on romantic, but poems that seemed to be deeply understanding and caring.
I have written about them on here. They kept me going during my darkest and deepest times of depression.
What I loved most about them was that I didn't know who was sending them. I never once tried to find out. I loved that there was someone simply caring for me without expecting anything in return. I am so used to strings being attached and all care and concern giving with condition.
I always feel like I am disappointing people.
That I am rejecting them because I am not providing for them the level of emotional care and devotion that they "need" from me.
But I am hardly ever the initiator. I always feel so guarded of my sacred inner-space, what I am thinking and feeling and how I am perceiving the world.
And I don't trust people with that stuff because it is fragile and most people don't understand.
And in every relationship I have been in, the biggest cause of conflict is how much alone time I prefer and how I don't open up and share.
So I try. I try hard. And it always drains me and overwhelms me and I usually feel lost in the swirl of all their emotions and can't get a good handle on my own and can never say no and am terrified of conflict and don't know what boundaries look like and eventually I burn out.

And I see how that is a problem. So my response has been to not be in a relationship.
Which works, but gets lonely.
But the poems made me feel loved at a level of intensity that I could readily handle. I wasn't overwhelmed by it.
No guilt and shame over my hurting their feelings or making them feel rejected or not being enough.

I loved it.

She started writing me on messenger a few months ago.
Mostly sexual stuff, sometimes more emotional.
But mostly just hot and steamy wonderful sex stuff.
She is an incredible writer.
And seemed so intuitive.

We had jokingly talked about meeting halfway between Denver and Tulsa, which is Lawrence, Kansas.
But then she non-jokingly said that she had recently become divorced and wanted me enough to take a little vacation time and fly out here.
And then we were both vaccinated.
And then she was here.

And Jesus the sex was good.

But the intensity of it got to me.

After she left I wept for hours. Full body shaking, big ugly tears.
I think there was something healing in me.
And I was grateful. And I told her so.
But there was also still a lot of shame and guilt and just plain old over stimulation.

And since she's left
she's been worried and sad.
Said she felt more than she expected.
Is scared she'll never feel that way again
And she is worried if I am okay.
She says I am quiet.
She wants to know when we can see each other again.
Did she do something wrong?

And those are all very normal, expected sort of thing for someone to say.
It is a sweet and wonderful thing, someone caring for me, wanting to share part or all of their lives with me.
But it also happens to scare the shit out of me.
And causes my body to tense right back up to how it felt before it was released in her arms.

Sometimes I want that. Or at least the idea of it.
And I know I probably have some idealized version of a partner in my head that no one can live up to.
But it never feels right in practice. I know I am just anxious-avoidant. But I don't know how to get over it. I don't know if I want to.
I have always spent most of my time alone.
I can't imagine being any other way.

Right before I sat down to write this, I wrote to her and explained, probably awkwardly hopefully not cruelly, that I have come to depend on my solitude and though what we shared was truly magical, I am still leaning towards being mostly celibate. But if she is okay with the occasional incredible weekend, we can explore that option together.
I have been afraid to see if she has responded.

But I suppose I should now. Would hate to leave this on a cliffhanger.
But God, I am nervous.

She responded by saying that she needs time to process and think about things.

So I guess I am leaving things on a cliffhanger.

I hate being myself sometimes.

10:09 a.m. - 2021-05-02