taking a ride

I’ve been sleeping almost every day this week from when I get home from work, till when I get up for work. I work a normal day job. Nothing feels better than my sleep right now. I tried to commit to writing every day in October — to try to finish to the big parts of this Love story — but my sleep wouldn’t give up for the past two days. I set alarms so that I will get up to write. Sleep won.

I’m not sure if I’m telling the next adventure in order or not, but I think Love and I took a road trip. It was random, just like going over the Skyway bridge. He didn’t mention where we were going. I didn’t know what to wear. It was June still, I think. I was trusting Him to lead me.

We got in the car and went for our longest ride. He stroked my leg and caressed my hand. I still held my breath and then exhaled. He interlocked Our fingers and held my hand as He drove with the other. For the first time, I think I gripped His hand in return. I could feel His surprise. He melted. We talked for the entire trip. He told me about high-touch, low-touch and told me He came from a high-touch family. I told Him hugging and stuff was not normal in my family — that I was later introduced to the concept when my homegirl’s in-laws used to hug all the time and included me in their violating behavior. But then I got used to it. Never initiated it though.

Old lover has never hugged me. He has wrapped his arms around me in our early days to remove my clothes when we used to fuck after work. He wrapped his arms around me as he lay on my body one time after he had gotten fully clothed and just stared down at me. He felt like a big bear. I was confused because he had never expressed any such “emotion.” He then removed all of his clothing and fucked me one more time before he left to return home.

Love told me I was low-touch, like His wife. He said He was the one who did all the hugging and emotional expression to His son. He worried about that. I think of it now. Surely His boy gets a bunch of hugs ever since…

Love hugged me every time He saw me and every time we parted. Hugged and kissed..eventually, when I started kissing Him again. Every time.

Back to the car ride…I was noticing that we were headed down I 75 South for quite a bit. But, at no point did I ask where we were going. We ended up in Port Charlotte. We didn’t know where We were going in Port Charlotte. He asked me where we should head. I told Him to try to find the water. We drove West, but did not see any mention of a beach or anything (I don’t think We drove far enough). So, We ended up at a park on a lake in some neighborhood. He parked and We sat side by side on top of a sheltered picnic table. We talked and talked about…anything.

I think we were there for about an hour and a half. We left and He asked if I wanted to stop somewhere and get a drink. I declined. But We did stop at some small, old county-like diner for lunch. Whites only. I wondered what people were thinking when they saw Us.

I had never seen Love eat. Any time I had been with Him at a hotel in the past, He was eating what I call bird food, or some shit. He was a slim guy, though not fit or cut. So I figured He was on some white people meal plan. I discovered, however, that He could eat like a beast. Take that back, We had eaten at California Pizza Kitchen one time when We were on a lunch break, about a year prior. But I didn’t order much food. And I gave Him what I couldn’t eat.

We had a nice ride home. The total time spent on this trip was at least 4.5 hours. And I don’t remember if He dropped me off at home, or if He came in and We hung out some more. Most of the times, it was the latter. This was the time He spent “Ubering.” If He didn’t Uber over night sometimes, I could probably say He spent more time with me, than with Uber. (He died overnighting with Uber. He should have been home. Or with me.)

The thing about Port Charlotte was simple: Before summer began, I told Love that I had big plans to travel. I had set aside several thousand dollars and said I was going to have a dream summer even though I had had an awful work year. Two awful work years. When I said I would travel, I mentioned Key West and Port Charlotte. The reason I wanted to go to Port Charlotte is…well…kinda odd. Almost a decade ago, a lovely lover of mine was traveling for work and was in Port Charlotte. One day, he got a fine hotel with a glamorous view on the beach for us to spend the night. I was exhausted from having traveled from across the state (and then I went to work) and could not muster the strength to then go another hour and a half South after work. I mean, I could have, but I just didn’t feel like it, partially because I was sexually sated. He was extremely upset with me and I felt bad about it because this was a nice guy who had treated me kindly. I’m not sure I ever forgave myself for it; and I’m not sure he felt the same about me afterwards.

So, I just wanted to go to Port Charlotte to see the water and/or what I had missed, long ago. Love didn’t know the back story; but it didn’t matter. He did it to please me. And I was elated. I’ve never found such a good listener, or pleaser. And now I have the memory with Him — another thing, embedded into me so that I’m triggered when I drive South. A good trigger, I guess.

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