Stream of consciousness vol 2: the little spoon

I’ve never had an out of body experience before but last week I had one for the first time. I was wide awake and laid in a bed with my face centimetres away from another face, just barely visible in the dark. The heat had been unbearable. Hell on earth. My week on my new placement had been sticky and uncomfortable. The owner of the other face and I had been out a couple of nights before, on something which he would wryly remind me qualified as a date but which I always shrugged off as ‘hanging out’.

We had eaten Korean food and gone for ice cream in the harsh sunlight at the end of my shift. We went back to my apartment and fucked. But it felt different, at least for me. He put his hands either side of my face as I climbed on top of him, and for the first time we made eye contact from start to finish. My tummy churned nervously the whole time, but not because I felt it was unpleasant. It was because for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to look away. That terrified me.
So for me, making my way over to his place that night had felt so dangerous. I had been to a god awful bowling alley with people from my previous placement, and pushed fries around on my plate while waiting for my turn.
Once I arrived, we hung out for a while. I fell asleep at some point, curled up on his bed like a cat. When he came to bed, we kissed slow and deep and his hands shot electricity through my body. I trembled for minutes after we were done. And he held me. And I let him. And then as we always do, we began talking. It’s the time I feel safest to have these little conversations, unseen in the dark despite my proximity to him. I heard myself ask him, after some skirting around the issue “do you want me to be your girlfriend?” And it was at that point that I sort of oddly felt myself raising out of my brain and watching the events transpire from above, where I frothed and freaked out and gawped at this version of myself I barely recognised.
Ultimately, I really only listened to one part of his response. “I do” he said, but followed it up with a bunch of rationalisations, which I realised were for my benefit. Don’t freak out, his words said without saying. No pressure or whatever. He talked about being willing to wait to have the conversation. In disbelief, I watched myself say “let’s not wait”. Aghast at my own lack of control over the situation, or rather lack of control over even my own behaviour, I froze rigid then, and he kissed me. Soft and hard somehow. And that was it. Some-crazy-how, this time I was the instigator. And it’s wild. Thinking of it now, I still can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.
The whole thing is continually odd to me. But a sort of pleasant odd. I’m fucking seething at myself sometimes for being so….content with it, but then also at other times I have mini meltdowns and try to self soothe by saying “it’s okay I can turn my phone off the whole day if I want to….I’m in control. I am in control.”
But then he disconcerts me by doing things that in theory I just want to hate. But I can’t get myself to hate them. Now we’re….together….it’s like I’m walking towards everything that fucking terrifies me, but for some reason I won’t stop walking into it.
After so long being ostensibly “alone” in the romantic sense, it’s just a trip to have him surprise me sometimes by being so gentle and whispering to me “it’s okay, I’m safe” while he’s fucking me at god knows what time in the early hours of the morning.
Although it doesn’t really matter why I feel so much like a free radical bouncing around in the ether, I find myself picking it apart anyway. It’s weird but I think somehow as I turned 26 I had persuaded myself that the ‘boyfriend, girlfriend’ part of my life was over. And furthermore I had persuaded myself that I was super okay with that. Relieved even. Ironically, in the months following my 26th I got slowly more reckless in my behaviour.

Until finally I decided I wanted to fuck a stranger. Not a stranger from a bar. That’s too easy. You have conversation, you have drinks, it’s too friendly, too safe. No, I wanted to just meet someone and let them hammer me like I was nothing. And I started talking to a few people on that blasted app. But I agreed to meet only one. It’s so fucking weird that in my effort to become even more off the rails and out of touch with romance…..I met a guy and had sex with him. Kinky sex nonetheless. And then I didn’t stop. And then….
I just wasn’t as in control as I thought.
There’s plenty I don’t say to him. But the craziest thing is there’s a huge part of me that is totally toying with the idea of just trying to trust him. What the fuck. I mean come on, brain, we agreed. We fucking agreed that we were gonna get some strange. No more making friends with goofball nerdy types and then descending into charged sexual relationships. Just some random stranger whose photographs provided evidence of a baseline attraction and then from there on out just primal rutting.

Hell, I even had myself persuaded that it would be one to three encounters at most. Fucking insane. What the hell is going on in my life, seriously. I can’t even read the manual anymore, we’ve gone totally rogue. We haven’t really casually fucked a stranger, and we’ve even left behind the friendy-Wendy nerdy goofball cookie cutter relationship far behind. We are on no mans land.
So I only really have one option left which is to persuade myself that I’m just throwing caution to the wind like always and that actually maybe I’m doing this because I’m just too darn wild, mmkay?
We’re still slightly strange to one another. I’m sat here writing this, while he occupies himself across the room from me. Occasionally he shoots me worried glances and checks that I’m not secretly #superpissed that we are doing separate things. Shadows of old relationships bugging him out. Meanwhile I sit here writing about him to my stupid online pseudodiary and wondering when it will be socially acceptable for me to fuck him again. Sex fiend problems.
Let the social experiments begin I guess…


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