I came to a realization yesterday, aided by Judith Sills. A clinical psychologist and author (BTW, I highly recommend her book, Getting Naked Again), Dr. Sills contends that women starting over must decide what they need and want, and dating is part of the process. One can learn even from a bad date, she says. Ala: learning what you don’t, gets you closer to knowing what you do. If you are interested in reading more, there’s a short recap in I Still Want Fireworks, pages 274-277. The same logic can be applied to a failed involvement. I shan’t use the word relationship, at least not in my case, because neither man in my recent past “did” them. (One, in fact, avoided them.) But moving on . . .
While working on my next post for next week (entitled “Sex vs Intimacy”), I found myself doing a lot of soul-searching and self-examination. Not so long ago, following Dr. Sills’ advice, I had decided what I needed—ergo wanted—was casual sex. But after experimentation with such—and an involvement that became intimate without his want or my intent—I have reached a different conclusion. In addition to learning a priceless life lesson (and trust me, those are the ones that hurt like Hell!), I realized what I need is not the same as what I want. Need can be mitigated by logic, common sense, outside influences and even financial practicality. So, no, not need. Just want. Period. And I don’t give a fuck anymore what others may think of my choice. Let me say it again. My choice. Whether my friends think it’s a poor decision or even my own voice of reason says, “What in Hell are you thinking?” I simply (and crassly) don’t give two sh*ts anymore. Only what my sons think or say matters to me. And they want me to be happy—so I know they will accept who I bring into my life.
That being said, I have preferences—boxes that must be checked off. (We all do.) As independent as I am, I must have strength. I want to know I am protected when I am vulnerable. Naturally, strength entails physical size. I want a muscular body and a solid build. The scrawny need not apply. I want an air of dominance and danger, even wildness (that only I can tame). In a nutshell, I want big. I know they say size doesn’t matter (and to each their own), but to me it does.
So on to other desired physical characteristics . . . yes, I’m being shallow, I know. But again, to me they matter. While I’ve had blond and fair-haired, even reddish and graying, I just prefer dark, black actually. I’m ok with short or long. I like the look of long, but short is neater. In truth, I’m open to all possibilities. Just as long as that spark sparks.
Speaking of sparks . . . I want to look at him and melt. Yes, him. Never would I think less of another’s orientation, but I’m me and I’m inclined toward males. It’s the way I’m wired. But if you’re into females, certainly it’s your choice! No one has the right to judge. Besides, how boring a world this would be, if we all liked the same things. So back to me . . . I want to look into his eyes and see adoration. And trust. Loyalty. I don’t want ever again to wonder if the male in my life is going to stay in my life. I want to know he is!
I want to snuggle and cuddle. The plain truth is, I need—and want—physical interaction and contact. I want to feel his hard body fold next to mine in the night. It’s ok if he hogs the covers and takes his half of the bed out of the middle. The warmth and security and knowledge of safety he provides . . . yeah . . . it’s a fair trade because I have slept too many years now alone.
But I’m not naïve. This is not my first rodeo. In crudest terms, I’ve had others—lots of others. I know it’s not just cuddling in bed. There will come times when he’ll want to play rough. It’s the nature of males. And speaking of their nature, I know he’ll have those disgusting habits they all do. He’ll fart and snort and burp and snore. And as much as I don’t want to clean up after him, I know I’ll end up doing so. I also know there will be moments of anger, disappointment and frustration. Those furious “WTF are you doing?!? God damn you!!! I swear I’m going to kill you!” moments. Not the pretty side of a relationship, I’ll grant you. But they happen. At least with me. I have a temper—and a mouth.
Yet in the final balance (remember, I’m a Libra), the positives will far outweigh the negatives. Because he’s my reason to get up in the morning when life knocks me down. I matter to him because he needs me. Ahhh . . . time now for another soul-baring confession. Of late, I’ve learned that truth about me. I need to be needed. And truth be told, I want it.
While I want him to always be happy to see me and to want to be with me, I won’t mind if he’s social when we go out. Even if he pays attention to others, I’ll quash my jealousy. And here’s another confession, I actually kinda like it. ‘Cause no matter how much attention he pays to another (and even if she’s stunning and gorgeous and thinner and younger than I), I know without doubt he’s always, always coming home with me.
For better, for worse, in sickness and in health. WOW! I never thought I’d say THOSE words again! But, yes. I will be there for him. Heart and soul. He is mine and I am his. Crap! Talk about your Harlequin romance and Hallmark movie trope! But it’s true.
You know, it’s funny when I think about it. Not ha-ha, but rather ironic as in the Cosmos is getting the last laugh. I really thought I didn’t. But now I know. I want commitment, after all. I want love. Unconditional love.
Yep . . . dear readers, I know what I want.
I want a dog.