Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy
Accidentally Falling in Love on a Hookup
The first date we agreed would be a hookup. We didn't expect the sexual chemistry. Not only the chemistry, the ability to lean into each other comfortably and without judgement.
We could have gone all weekend, but my kids had Circus Class and their father loves to crack the whip on weekends. I had to be at their class. The day before I asked my kids if I could take one day off of all responsibility. They agreed and spent the entire day with their father.
“When you miss a class,” their father said, “it is noticed.” The kids' classes are the only time I am forced to sit in the same room with him, so he is not letting go yet.
Heath, the lover boy, and I untangled from each other’s limbs, skin and hair and said goodbye.
The second date was, again, immediately sexual.
The first time we made love, he made me bleed.
The third time, he wept.
The fourth time, he confessed he was in love with me.
At 29 years old, there is still a fearlessness with love.
At 46, as a woman, as a survivor of a narcissist relationship, it is fucking terrifying.
“Wait look up here,” he directed me.
I moved my eyes to the spot of his direction.
“Wow,” he said. “Your eyes are amazing. They aren't just brown. There is green in the center and like a bright orange on the outer rim.”
This feeling crawled up my sternum. I almost cried. Almost. I felt my eyes sting with warmth and said, “No man has ever noticed that before.” If he had, I don’t remember him making a point of it.
Heath arrived regularly with donuts. He wanted to watch anime together. If I looked on my phone or played a game of chess online, he paused the show so I wouldn't miss anything.
We smoked ganja and got lost in side conversations. We spoke about our families, our childhoods, politics, my job, his roommates — my excessive formal education, his lack of.
When we fell asleep and made love again and again, my dog was so beside himself, he threw up on the bed.
It is hard sleeping next to an adult. I am used to using the night to savor my solitude. Now, I lay there, totally still, waiting for Heath’s body spasms and deep breathing before cracking the window for my late night hot flashes.
On the third date, we made love less and talked more.
“Sex with you requires this kind of surrender,” I said. “Your penis is so big, I feel like a hand puppet. It is so overwhelming having you inside me, I let go of all control and let you take over my body,” I said.
“The things you say, just the ideas that come out of your mouth, turn me on so much. It gives me an immediate erection.”
He threw back the sheets to show me.
“You get so close to my cervix, it is like popping a straw through the lid of a soft drink.”
He laughed. When his face hung over me, his hair fell all around like a lion’s mane. His shoulders are broad, I can hang on to them, like I am falling off the edge of a cliff while the rest of me hangs in the wind.
“You could hurt me during sex. I can feel that. You choose to be gentle, and that's where I can trust you. I have to trust you.”
Sex became less about orgasm and more about just being inside of each other while talking:
“It is unfortunate, but trauma is part of becoming a good person. I almost think it is necessary,” I said.
“Well there is innocence, then there is trauma and only when it is processed properly, is there wisdom,” he said.
I showed him “True Detective” with Jodie Foster.
He showed me Nascar. While explaining his lust for the sound of a car engine, I caught the light in his blue eyes and felt warmth down my throat and over my heart.
My friends are very concerned I am being used. Younger men prey on older women to support them — and of course I’ve considered this.
The issue of love bombing came up in group therapy, and we discussed how an abuser may want to collect personal information to use against you later.
And, of course, this is also a concern and consideration for me. However, when he opens up about his ex-wife’s affair, his bingo addiction, the moment he discovered Santa wasn’t real, his psoriasis…. I just wonder at what point may I stop worrying about being injured and at what point may I enjoy intimacy again — fearless intimacy.
After all, first there is innocence, then there is trauma, and after processing that trauma properly, there is wisdom — and hopefully love.
