An interesting time has passed for me, notable more for what hasn't happened. I suppose lurching to a halt can be counted as action, as it does require a re-orientation before proceeding.
The arc with my lover has been completed: friend to lover to friend again. Myriad reasons, most of them well-defined over the course of a few platonic days we spent together. Sigh. He's lovely, I'm lovely. That's not the point.
Over the years, we've grown to recognize that we are twins, for better and for worse. On the side of good, the likeness allows for a natural intimacy, an accidental understanding. This recognition of each other within the other drew us into friendship almost a decade ago. It's enabled us to relate with joy and generosity, despite physical distance and sporadic disagreement and the usual solvents of friendship.
The risk inherent in similarity, of course, is that when twins fight the gloves come off. On occasion, we have butted heads with precise savagery. The ability to effectively wound each other could be incidental, could be tempered by forgiveness and a larger understanding. We could, as they say, make it work.
However, there is one obstacle we cannot overcome, and that is a fundamental emotional incompatibility. How we give and receive and express love, what we want to know and what we would rather not discuss. This distinction looms large enough to cause us to stop, gauge if it's possible to scale it or circumvent it; no. We could just keep running into it over and over, but we'd eventually give up bruised and bleeding and disgusted, me with his arrogance, he with my insecurity.
I suspected this incompatibility before we began the Experiment, and he probably did too. But being both reckless (or fearless, as you see fit), we were curious and horny and hopeful enough not to care. We had a murky faith.
The good news is it's ended before we built up resentment towards each other, or regretted the attempt. Not to say it's been all gooey-eyes and hot sex and flattery--hell, no! We've gotten irked and pouty along the way. But mostly, yes, it has been lovely and sexy and romantic, something to remember fondly.
That said, we've missed each other as friends. Sounds strange, for doesn't romantic cover platonic each time in the Rock-Paper-Scissors of love? Maybe, maybe not. We have the emotional incompatibility factor in play, it adds another element. Quicksand swallows all.
At any rate, while there are parts of me that are grieving and seething and pouting (sexual rejection is not fun), they still comprise a minority to the ruling parties of relief and affection and gratitude. He's my closest and oldest male friendship, and I'm his female counterpart, as much as a relationship carried out over the years mainly via email compares against face-to-face friends. We'd like to be in the other's life as long as we can, and both of us could see the logical conclusion if we tried to continue as sporadic lovers. All in all, I'm a little heart-battered and tired, but also conscious of a new sense of freedom. My infatuation was consuming me to the point of irritation with myself.
We clicked over into our resurrected friendship quickly enough for him to a) assist with a new romantic prospect as we were out for a walk (arc from friend to lover to wingman, perhaps?) and b) offer some dating advice I would likely never, ever hear from a female.
Let me hasten to add that this does not mean it is Right, or universal to the males of the species, or anything other than one person's perspective. But seeing how this person is dear to me (and I suspect more clever), and has a startling and hilarious degree of success with attracting the Ladies, I take his advice seriously and think it worth sharing.
A quick caveat here that this advice is predicated upon pursuing romance, with no end goal in sight other than good/great sex and a hope to be swept off my feet one day. I'm not "looking for a relationship", in the same way I'm not looking to encounter a crisp $100 bill at my feet while out for a walk. If I find it, I'll pounce on it, you're damn right! But I can't will it into existence. All I can do is keep my eyes open without fixation, and who knows, find a few fives and tens and even twenties along the way. All nice, all valid forms of currency to be spent and enjoyed without denigration. Five bucks for the taking? I'll take that!
We came up with three behaviours for me to take forward. As this is getting long, I'll start with one and make it a three-part series.
Behaviour #1: Eye-fucking
Okay, you're sitting in a coffee shop updating your blog and waiting for your laundry to be done. You see an interesting man by himself. Check out the ring finger. (In this case, he's wearing one so focus on the blog, child...)
If not, position yourself in such a way you can sneak surreptitious glances to confirm your first instincts. Check. Now make eye contact. Say hi. Engage in small talk, smile. Eye-fuck. This is hot.
I have yet to meet a person who didn't enjoy a little tickle as someone attractive sends out an appreciative gaze. Of course, it's like conversation. If you stare at someone unilaterally, you're committing the equivalent of monologue. Especially if their attractiveness is not relative to yours, or you're drunk and they're not, there's a chance you may be thought of as a creep. But maybe not.
On the other hand, if you avoid eye contact, you're sending out a clear message. If you initiate eye contact and then get unnerved and duck your head, you'll come across as hesitant. Ask yourself if hesitant is hot. Whether you want to call this flirting or checking someone out, the goal is the same: initiate. As Maria Von Trapp says, let's start at the very beginning.
Part 2 coming soon...
G
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