Eleventh and twelfth dates

Over a span of eight weeks this summer, I spent fourteen nights with D. When I stop to do the math like that, it’s quite a lot.

I’ve had two business trips in that time. For the first one, back in late June, she was able to join me for an unprecedented ten days; then this trip, early August, the other four.

I’ve tried to think if there were any overriding themes for either date, but all I can pull together are odds and ends. Still, maybe that’s better than nothing. A few of them follow below.

From our eleventh date: ....

I discovered that D has very sensitive toes. Magically sensitive toes. Normally our fucking is so intense and all-consuming that they get bypassed; but on a whim one evening I began sucking them slowly. And the most delightful tremors rippled up through D’s body, and then burbled out in her voice: “Hosea, don’t do that – aaah! You’ll never let me do that to – aaah! – you because you’re so ticklish – aaah! This is really embarrassing – aaah! Oh my God!”

I also insisted on slowing down enough that I could play with her underwear – bite it, tug on it, really play with it – before finally sliding it off of her. She didn’t expect this. In fact, after I had paid so much attention to her toes, she had even forgotten she was still wearing any underwear. But it piqued her interest: after we both returned home from our eleventh date, and before our twelfth, she told me one day she had specifically gone shopping for sexy underwear.
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The weekend of this date, we had what must count as a perfect Sunday. In the morning, D suggested that we go to services at a local Orthodox church. She is Catholic, but she knows and loves the Orthodox liturgy and I knew nothing about it. So sure, hell, why not? Well, the Orthodox liturgy turned out to be very long, and it is all sung. But it was a peaceful, contemplative, devotional experience. Besides, D commented afterwards, “When you go to an Orthodox service, you really know you’ve been to Church today!” And then she laughed.

We stopped at a local delicatessen for lunch. It was a lovely summer day, so all the (many) patrons were enjoying the tables outside. From there it was a short walk to the theater where a new play was opening. I had secured tickets for two for the Sunday matinee, so we spent the heat of the day in a dark, air-conditioned room watching a remarkably inventive new story unfold.

After the play we wandered the streets a while talking. And then, about the time we were thinking of going back to the hotel, we heard what sounded like music coming from somewhere down that-a-way. We turned down that street, walked another couple of blocks ... and came upon a street fair we had read about but had not been able to figure out how to find. And here we had found it. A band was playing, booths were selling food and drinks and face painting, kids were running about playing, adults were talking, and everybody was having a lovely time. So we found a table near the music, bought a couple glasses of wine, and sat down.

Time passed, a new band replaced the old one, we had a few more glasses of wine and finally some food. The new band was playing strongly-danceable music, so D got up to dance. I’ve never been very good on my feet, but after enough wine I didn’t care so much; so I joined her. And it was fun. Before I realized how late it was the sun had set, and the folks organizing the fair were putting up a huge screen. The band finished, and the fair proceeded to show a movie (“Star Trek” 2009) out under the stars, for anyone who was still there.

We got to bed awfully late – actually that was true several other nights as well – but it was a perfect Sunday.
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But I also started to wear out, and my exhaustion came to light as bouts of depression. Up until this date, D has always reacted pretty badly when I get really depressed, backing off as if I were growing a green exoskeleton and bat wings. Finally this time she explained that I really do look physically different to her when that happens: my eyeballs get rounder (that’s what she said!) and my posture gets hunched and stooped. And she admitted that she found it scary.

But of course having her back away in fright just made me feel even worse, so it became a vicious circle. And we talked about more constructive ways for her to react. First, I told her, you can’t back away. Stay with me, hold my hand, talk to me, something. But don’t back away. Second, try humor. I spend a lot of time trying to make stupid jokes; humor is a very big deal for me. So make a stupid joke, even at my expense. If you can get me to laugh, it’ll get better.

At the very end of this date, as we drove to the airport, D told me that she was reflecting on the lessons of the trip. Two of the three were those two, right there. The third was just that our time together is finite. Unless we live to statistically improbable ages, we are both in the second halves of our lives. So we should treasure the time and not waste it ....
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And we talked about infidelity. This came up in a couple of ways. But actually, now that I sit down to write about it, I think the topic deserves a post to itself. So I’ll leave this remark here as a placeholder, and come back to the discussion later in more detail ....
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From our twelfth date: ....

We talked about attractiveness – who is attractive, what makes them so. D has given this a lot of thought. And it is great to listen to her talk about it. When D warms up to the subject of sexual attractiveness, her eyes shine and her face beams and her voice carries the echo of inexpressable yearnings. Nor does it matter whom she is talking about: old or young, male or female, black or white. Don’t misunderstand – there is no doubt that D is straight, as far as that goes. But Beauty and Attractiveness are things that delight her and entice her and compel her attention, whoever owns the body from which they radiate. She cannot help herself for loving Beauty, and to hear her put that love in words is a thing lovely in itself.
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D thinks I drink too much coffee. Maybe this is because I wasn’t very hungry for breakfast Sunday morning, so I drank five cups of coffee while she ate. Then by dinner-time I was famished, so I scarfed up most of the bread on the table while we were waiting for our meals. She later reminded me that this is not a healthy way to eat.

Dinner itself, however, was wonderful fun. The Consultant was in town; so we all ate together and compared notes on our lives. His divorce is complete, and he has asked his girlfriend to marry him. For my part, progress towards a divorce is on hold, and I am inclined to wait till both boys are in high school at any rate. But D and I still continue to see each other, naturally, every chance we get. The Consultant says he thinks being around D makes me calmer; he adds that he has no doubt she is a good influence in my life. We told a lot of stories (the Consultant, in particular, keeps a huge fund of them) and had a wonderful time.
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I spent several hours of the weekend reading aloud to D. It’s a very natural form of recreation for us when we’re not fucking; I love reading aloud, and D loves to listen equally well. I had also come to realize that a lot of our ongoing conversations seemed to hover around a number of the same topics over and over: education is one of these, religion is another. So I finally decided to start reading her Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. (I write this with a bit of trepidation, because I anticipate eye-rolling on the part of readers who have encountered one too many Pirsig-cultist over the years. But I do think his discussions are interesting, they are relevant to other things D and I have talked about ... and she has never read it.)

Reflecting on these hours after she got back home, D wrote, “In analyzing the weekend, I was struck by the polarities; your depression concerned me and left you battered and overwhelmed, yet those hours we spent when you read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance stand out as some of the finest hours I have ever spent with another person; a genuine dialogue and engagement with an important work. I will treasure them for years to come and eagerly look forward to September when we will pick up the discussion. I am ever so grateful for the time with you, and your love ... which exceeds all expectations.”


We’ll see each other for a day or two in September, if our current plans hold. I’m looking forward to it.