Between the Sheets
So this weekend I had a real bona fide date. I mean like dinner and a play. And it felt amazingly terrific. Not just because I love food and theater, but because I felt like I was with someone who was actually interested in getting to know me rather than just showing up at my house for a quick romp or to put their dick in my mouth. Anyway . . . since the date, I’ve been feeling very introspective.
I have been contemplating my own propensity for not engaging with men beyond the bedroom. In part I think it may be as a result of not wanting to feel attached or encumbered because let’s face it — the possibility of anything more than a sexual connection is scary as shit to me. So I engage with men who don’t have the expectation of a relationship because I am fearful of becoming reliant, attached, or emotional. Fucking is so much easier without all the complications of feelings.
However, as an empath, this plan is often foiled by my own mind. I “catch feelings” in the fleeting moments between the sheets. And, this creates problems for me for when I emerge from my sexual stupor hours later. Especially if I feel a strong sexual connection — if that energy is there, my mind wanders wondering if there is anything else beyond it.
And then I am reminded of the past. Of the hurt. The disappointment. The anger. The apathy. The hot tears falling down my face as I tried desperately to cry myself to sleep . . .
Maybe love is best left between the sheets.
