Sweater Weather
The Dorf and I were talking last night, as we lay awake for hours as seems to be the norm these days. Somehow, we started talking about when we first met.
The long and the short of the story is that we started out as tape trader/pen pals, and ended up falling in love. I'm sure I've written about that before. If I haven't, I'll cover it in the future.
As a teenager, I felt rather detached from my sexuality, my ability to be attractive. A few years of being walked on built a very tall wall that I was not willing to let go of. It was easier to never dream, or think of anything good, because then I could never be disappointed. Having sex and being sexual are two very different things. I only ever expected guys to want one thing, and that my attractiveness only went so far as what I might do for them so to speak.
I'm aware of the fuckedupness of this. I am.
When the Dorf and I met, me off the bus, he driving to pick me up, it was like coming home. It was like finding that old blue cardigan I lost long ago. It was soft, comfortable, and it remembered me.
We were never weird around each other. It was like continuing a conversation we had just stopped the other day. I was 15 or so, and we'd only been writing for a year or so, most of my letters chronicling how stoned I was on a particular day or weekend. I was traveling through, and thought we should meet, hang out for a few days.
The Dorf says he pretty much knew we'd end up together. (and yes, I do think this is the coolest thing I've ever heard)
I spent most of the intervening years believing no one would ever love me, want me, truly want to be my lover and partner. I was preparing myself for that life. Turns out, the entire time, he was thinking of me, wondering why he bothered with girlfriends since he knew, somehow, we'd be together someday.
Once, in Guelph of all places, as I slept on his floor because I cannot stand beds up off the floor, I lay awake wondering if we, if I should take the next step. Turns out, he was thinking that too. But we weren't ready, I wasn't at a place where that would have been cool. At that point, I would have pushed back at him so hard he'd still be running to forget me. But the tension was there, lord was it there. It's the one thing I always remembered between us.
When we finally, finally let all of this free, and found our arms around each other, it was so simply complete, I hardly have the words. 9 years later, I can still feel his lips up my neck like fire. I can still feel myself begging silently to not be hurt, remember the consuming need to be with him. How even hands held became so extraordinary.
I hardly believe in fate, that some things are meant to happen. Doesn't really fit with the world view of an Ayn Rand reading atheist, now does it? But ponder, I only met the Dorf after finding the letter I wrote him, which was lost behind a dresser for months, and mailing it out on a lark. Without that letter, we would not be here. We would not lie awake laughing about what brought us here, what gave us the possibility to be happy. I would never have known that someone once secretly wanted me the way all 16 year old girls so desperately want to be wanted.
I would have never known that it was ok to believe in good things.
Some people in this life are old sweaters. The Dorf is my favorite one.
The long and the short of the story is that we started out as tape trader/pen pals, and ended up falling in love. I'm sure I've written about that before. If I haven't, I'll cover it in the future.
As a teenager, I felt rather detached from my sexuality, my ability to be attractive. A few years of being walked on built a very tall wall that I was not willing to let go of. It was easier to never dream, or think of anything good, because then I could never be disappointed. Having sex and being sexual are two very different things. I only ever expected guys to want one thing, and that my attractiveness only went so far as what I might do for them so to speak.
I'm aware of the fuckedupness of this. I am.
When the Dorf and I met, me off the bus, he driving to pick me up, it was like coming home. It was like finding that old blue cardigan I lost long ago. It was soft, comfortable, and it remembered me.
We were never weird around each other. It was like continuing a conversation we had just stopped the other day. I was 15 or so, and we'd only been writing for a year or so, most of my letters chronicling how stoned I was on a particular day or weekend. I was traveling through, and thought we should meet, hang out for a few days.
The Dorf says he pretty much knew we'd end up together. (and yes, I do think this is the coolest thing I've ever heard)
I spent most of the intervening years believing no one would ever love me, want me, truly want to be my lover and partner. I was preparing myself for that life. Turns out, the entire time, he was thinking of me, wondering why he bothered with girlfriends since he knew, somehow, we'd be together someday.
Once, in Guelph of all places, as I slept on his floor because I cannot stand beds up off the floor, I lay awake wondering if we, if I should take the next step. Turns out, he was thinking that too. But we weren't ready, I wasn't at a place where that would have been cool. At that point, I would have pushed back at him so hard he'd still be running to forget me. But the tension was there, lord was it there. It's the one thing I always remembered between us.
When we finally, finally let all of this free, and found our arms around each other, it was so simply complete, I hardly have the words. 9 years later, I can still feel his lips up my neck like fire. I can still feel myself begging silently to not be hurt, remember the consuming need to be with him. How even hands held became so extraordinary.
I hardly believe in fate, that some things are meant to happen. Doesn't really fit with the world view of an Ayn Rand reading atheist, now does it? But ponder, I only met the Dorf after finding the letter I wrote him, which was lost behind a dresser for months, and mailing it out on a lark. Without that letter, we would not be here. We would not lie awake laughing about what brought us here, what gave us the possibility to be happy. I would never have known that someone once secretly wanted me the way all 16 year old girls so desperately want to be wanted.
I would have never known that it was ok to believe in good things.
Some people in this life are old sweaters. The Dorf is my favorite one.
Ash isn't my old sweater (mind you he does WEAR a lot of old sweaters... Hmmmm)
He is a practical joke played on me by fate. I wanted to be single. But fate threw love my way and knocked me on my ass. Yep, he is my fate curveball.
Posted by
Anonymous |
11:27 a.m.
Ray and I have a similar story in some respects.
Yours is beautiful.
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:47 p.m.
9 years and its all still there. Don't lose it. You two fall into most likely the 10% of the world that can make long term relationships work.
Posted by
Anonymous |
4:20 p.m.
Dude, you met Dorf when you were 15???? That's amazing!!!
Or did I read that wrong?
Posted by
Anonymous |
11:22 p.m.
Eric I hope so. A few years back, we came very close to ending it just because of other things in our lives. But our kids have kept us close, and just changed everything. I've never loved him as much as I did after having my kids, and we just have this deeper connection now. Actually admitting how we really feel to each other helps as well.
Nicole Yep. I was 15 or 16 when we met, and I think I had just turned 15 when we starting writing eachother. Crazy, wot?
Posted by
thordora |
12:08 p.m.
I just say crazy. However, I'm jaded.
Posted by
Anonymous |
12:42 p.m.
I was 14 when I met Glen. I'm still waiting for him to ask me out. It's been 17 years. We just "were". Its nice to read about another set of loves that were obviously meant to be.
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:37 a.m.