“You’re like totally digging on my Skye-bird, huh?” Jason’s brother’s fiancé blurted out over beers on Friday.
Yes, there’ a huge physical upside to this woman: 5-foot, 11-inches tall, raven hair, olive skin, hazel eyes and she’s built like a woman should be – all hips and curves (and has no need or desire to spend her time looking at labels to check the friggin’ carb amounts).
She’s also very sweet and very kind, judging from just a couple of conversations.
“You are totally in,” the fiancé said. “She’s going to be at my wedding, you’re going to be at my wedding; you guys have a couple of drinks, you get out on the dance floor – and you’re hooking up.”
“What time frame are we talking about here?” I said as I turned red – and Jason kept poking at me under the table.
“We’re getting married in June, that’s like four months,” she said. “Of course, she likes tattoos.”
I showed her my three.
“You are so in.”
And thus the theme of this post emerges: I am ready to move on. I need to move on.
Because I’m human – and humans require touch and feeling and closeness of the opposite sex (if you’re heterosexual, like me).
Hell, we deserve it – as much as we crave it.
The thing about a divorce is, you get a lot of advice, opinion, blanket statements. Mostly unsolicited, but sometimes you open yourself up to it by answering questions that close friends are only allowed to ask.
Here’s a sampling, on-topic:
“Oh, ThomG, you’re nowhere ready to date yet.”
“Honey, you’re damaged goods for a good six months.”
“You’re going to hate women for a good long time, and that’s OK.”
“Go out and get yourself a good grudge-fuck.”
“Hey and don't wait until your divorce comes through to start your life again, you don't need a bit of paper to say 'the show must go on'...get on with it now, life is for living.”
“You’d be celibate for nearly a year thinking like that. I dunno if I could do that. What I’m saying is, I think you get a signed petition for divorce, and you’re a free man.”
“The one thing you don’t realize, is that when you are ready, you jump straight to the front of the eligible bachelor line.”
“Dude, just go for it – she didn’t wait, and neither should you. Go, be happy. You’re a handsome dude.”
The decision to move forward comes with terrific trepidation.
On two levels.
I’m a guy. I have a penis. I like sex. Mr. Stiffy would like some female companionship. A shag, a toss, a fuck. Getting laid would do a body good.
Ahhhh, but I also am in touch with the emotional aspect of the act (call it being in tune with my feminine side).
It’s why I’ve only had a couple of one-night stands in my life (and didn’t feel good about them at the time).
The need to fuck conflicts with the need for an emotional connection. I have no want or desire to be a dick. But I want to be honest. I’m currently not looking for Ms. Right, just Ms. Right Now.
Does that make any sense?
I did get some very good advice from a terrific, insightful woman on the subject of moving forward (that addresses the mess above):
“If you're going to start dating again, be nice to the first girl. You (and maybe her) will both know she's not forever but part of the healing process, so don't promise what you can't deliver. Find a girl who's not looking for the happy ever after, if you just need the company, someone to hold, etcetera.”
Someone, right now, to hold, to joke around, to cook dinner and drink wine and listen to jazz – with no promise of a future – would feel fantastic.
I do know what I want – and deserve somewhere down the line. A woman who is deep, who truly cares about the world around her, someone who has true nurturing feelings and is open about sharing them – and is willing to give me her entire heart for the rest of our lives.
3 hours ago