The March afternoon sun was still high enough to provide radiant heat on his face and it felt wonderful. It had been the warmest winter in many years although no winter ever really satisfied him anymore - too many years spent under the Southeast Asian sun. The sidewalk was, as are all sidewalks in Manhattan in the afternoon, bustling with activity. Nothing like the mass of humanity on the sidewalks of Hong Kong, of course, but sufficient to maintain more than a passing interest in watching the diverse faces and shapes of people as they passed.
Both wore black. The dominant, active dyke had streaks of orange in her hair and Doc Martins on her feet. Black full canvas pants accentuated her ample girth and the heavy oversized black jacket completed her violent and aggressive message. Her slight, tall companion with a vampire white face, skirt tawdry yet very feminine and coat with highly padded shoulders was the perfect counterstatement. They were a couple and wanted that made clear to all who looked. It was.
Checking his watch, he found himself whistling again and stopped with a touch of exasperation.
To prevent his mind from providing him with more imagination gleaned from his horrid past, he began to review what he remembered from her profile. She had described herself as “single, smart, sexy and sociable.” She was a few years younger than he if she had not lied. This was important, as he had no wish to start anything up with someone not his equal again. (One of those gifts from Karen. He had quite a list of gifts she had given him over the years – almost enough to balance the ledger.) All in all she had torn through his life like tornado tears through a Philippine Island. Sometimes his inner dialog reminded him of a character in a Raymond Chandler novel.
What else? He took the printout he had made from his hip pocket and started to read. She was Jewish, a writer and editor and she didn’t own any pets. She wanted a man who was, “Smart, funny, active, off-beat, 50 to 60, politically aware and accustomed to intimacy. Kind and caring, tolerant but not without standards, a mensch. Not rigid. Not bossy. Not impossibly self-involved. (I'd have a serious problem with a man so self-centered that he never asked a thing about the person to whom he was talking...) Hope he'd have an interesting take on the world and good stories to tell. I'd like to enjoy him and I'd like him to enjoy me. I'd hope that there's a good relationship or two in his past, so he knows how to be cozy, loving, and intimate”
We’ll see, he thought, cynically.
More importantly her picture showed a very attractive, slim woman with a vibrant smile, living eyes and truly magnificent hair. Why should her hair attract me, he wondered?
The restaurant behind him was empty of customers. Too early, he thought. Good, we should be able to have a decent conversation without much distraction. Still, it didn’t look like the sort of place that allowed smoking. They both smoked. And she drank occasionally – another of those important facts divulged immediately, before one became so emotionally attached to a date that inevitable disappointment became too deep to hide. Actually, it was one of the first things he mentioned in his own profile. Not that he really cared if his date smoked or not. Just so she wasn’t one of the cigarette nazis. More Raymond Chandler?
Suddenly. The hair was real and so was the smile.
“Sorry, I got the street corner messed up.” she said.
“It’s alright, only one block off and the restaurant is hard to miss. I doubt they will allow smoking, though.”
“I think they do, at the bar.”
The ideal couple was just passing again. “I know of a great place that allows smoking but it is about a five minute walk. Is that OK?”
She took his arm as they crossed the street and he was impressed. Skirting Gramercy Park she told him how it had been opened for an afternoon to the public on 9/11. “For one day no elitism.” He smiled and thought how nice it was to be with someone who enjoyed being an intellectual and wondered if she had any access to her heart?
She drank Scotch and he drank Canadian. The talked of their work and got equally animated about her writing and his theater directing. They “shared the pain” of their past loves and betrayals. Cigarette smoke floated back and forth as easily as the conversation. It got specific quickly. Histories and commentaries. Eye contact and grins. Soon enough they were ready to go to dinner.
Passing around Gramercy Park again, he surprised her and himself by taking her in his arms. They kissed for several moments. She kept her lips closed but seemed eager for more when he stopped. So they kissed for another few moments and he moaned slightly. She pulled back and smiled. “Hmm.” was his only comment.
Tom,
Thursday was great and I know we'll do it again. By the time you come back to NYC, it will definitely be spring (today is absolutely flirting with spring, isn't it?), and it might be fun to go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden or stroll around Chinatown and Little Italy. I love NY's neighborhoods, and it would be a treat to share them. Think about it. And come see my apartment soon, too. It's very Mexican and very
Cheery Actually, I just sat down to write to you, even before climbing into my bed (at 4:30 in the afternoon!) after an impossibly difficult day renewing the lease on my apartment.
Anyway, I came home thinking that the only safe place for me today is in bed. So time out here for throwing on a nightgown (daygown?) and crawling into bed with my computer.
Okay, so now I'm tucked up with a glass of juice, a piece of pound cake, vitamins, two copies of the New Yorker, my iBook (are you a Mac or a pc man?), and the telephone. Sounds like a totally regressed Single Girl in New York story.
Your turn now: How are the rehearsals going? Any talent emerging? (Aside from yours, I mean.) Do you have an extra copy of the play to lend me so we can talk about it? In fact, I'd love to trade you a copy of one of my books for a copy of the play, if that's any inducement.
The pear trees are in full bloom, the magnolias have popped, the daffs are everywhere, and the forsythia is ready to burst out in Gramercy Park.
Remember Gramercy Park?
Sally
Whew, Sally,
Let’s see.
First - glad you resolved the apartment issue. Good for you.
Second - sorry to hear you are not feeling at your peak.
Next - I own an Ibook. Been a Mac user for twenty years, since the early days of the Apple II.
And - I may come in this weekend. No good reason, except to see you if you wish and can find some time.
Meanwhile - I am imagining you in your daygown, eating in bed. Very exciting pictures my mind sometimes provides. Surprisingly – I just found out about an hour ago that a friend wants to sublet my place during the winters (returning it to me for summers) and I am considering that. I am used to moving but it is still stressful at times. I hate packing – so many decisions to make.
In the meantime – rehearsals are going well but there is never enough time to do a good job with amateurs. Doesn’t mean I won’t try or that they lack ability, more a matter of insufficient training and having other interests beside theater.
In addition – I will be happy to trade a copy of the script for one of your books. Sounds like a fun read. I’ll bring it along when next I see you.
Moreover – I do remember Gramercy Park and the warmth of your mouth, as well as the surprise of it all. The forsythia may not be all that is ready to burst. I know – slow down, buddy! I assure you I am a gentleman under all conditions. I am also considerate and sensitive. I have my own needs for feeling safe.
Finally – I love the long emails, although I may not be able to respond at such length myself.
Affectionately, Tom
Off to rehearsal!
It was decidedly colder when they emerged from the quaint and very romantic little bistro in Greenwich Village. They warmth of the open fireplace, the drinks, the food and a kiss or two over coffee had them both flushed and excited despite the edge of “too fast, much too fast!” that kept whispering like God’s voice in their ears.
Specific traditions, often spoken and codified in the social norms of American internet dating did not permit impetuous sexual behavior no matter how attracted they may have felt on this second date. So the whispers were persistent. Still, she had invited him to her apartment and he had accepted easily.
Mexican artifacts were everywhere where books weren’t. He asked her if she were just neat or compulsive. She admitted to a little of both. She offered a drink, Canadian! He asked for water first. She on the couch, he in the chair, their eyes kept up a constant and lively flirtation, as they talked further about writing and theater.
“Most writers simply need to learn the business,” she said, “it has changed drastically in the past ten years. Editors at publication houses no longer edit.”
“Just as directors on Broadway no longer direct,” I replied, “they supervise complex productions.”
Somehow, inevitably, they were kissing again. “Are you sure about this, he asked?”
“We aren’t going to have sex.” She replied firmly.
He couldn’t seem to restrain himself from making little moaning noises as they kissed. It became so ridiculous to him that he had to stop and laugh. “I keep making little noises. I simply cannot believe this. I mean... I knew the sex energy was really strong between us but I didn’t expect such intensity of emotion as well.”
“Yes.” She smiled.
Finally, he pulled away and stood up.
“ I didn’t think this was going to happen so quickly,” he said.
“ I know. We’re like a couple of teenagers.”
This is going to be difficult. I am not prepared for this.”
“What is it?”
“OK. Let’s both take a deep breath and relax. I have to tell you something and it is going to be difficult.”
“You’re married.”
“No.” he managed a strained smile. “Look Sally, I…”
He felt himself freeze. In a minute, if he didn’t just spit it out, he knew it would become manipulation, drama.
“What is it?”
“Just give me a minute here. I wasn’t prepared for things to go so fast and I am feeling very vulnerable right now, as I’m sure you must be. But I have to tell you… Look, just listen and take your time, OK? I have herpes.”
In the end, breaking old habits are the greatest test of our ability to be human. Only in breaking old patterns of thought and behavior can we finally be free to choose. Breaking habit may be the most difficult task in life. He took a deep breath and felt a moment of joy. Seldom had he felt as free and comfortable with himself as he did in that moment. And this despite the fact that she sat motionless and pale.
“I know how difficult this is for you. Please understand that this has gone very fast and that there is no right time for news like this. I didn’t want to put it on my profile for obvious reasons. But I would never have sex with anyone who didn’t know. I have had it for over twenty-five years. I have long ago accepted it and come to grips with its place in my life. I want you to know that Karen, who was my intimate partner for 14 years doesn’t have it. I am very careful. Still, there can be no guarantees.”
Gradually they began to talk about it, calmly but with the kind of strain in their voices that one hears in the voices of people who sit day after day with a friend who is dying of cancer. Eventually he sat back down next her, reassuring her he would not dream of having sex with her that night. And that he understood fully that she would need time to reflect and he would not contact her again until she requested it. He also told her that if she decided to make no more effort to contact him there would be no blame.
In the post 9/11 online America Internet dating was increasing exponentially. There were literally tens of thousands of profiles on Match.com. Tom had first begun using the service last November and the fact that struck him most was the homogeneity of self-description he read in women’s essays about themselves. One of the most attractive aspects of Sally’s was that it had avoided some of that remarkable sameness.
They had another drink and each went to the toilet. He asked for coffee and followed her into the kitchen while she made a small pot. They gradually began making eye contact again and smiling from time to time. Then they were sitting together on the couch again and she had moved easily into his arms.
On Match.com the descriptions have a surprising sameness:
How she describes Herself
I'm over 50, but look younger and in great shape. Friends often tell me I am very attractive but I suppose that is in the eyes of the beholder. I am honest, sincere, warmhearted and am emotionally and financially secure. I like to walk, explore new things, ski on baby slopes and swim. Beaches and mountains are great and I am very open to new adventures. I am an attractive, educated, sensual, caring, compassionate, outgoing and fun-loving lady. I love music, dancing, tennis, yoga, horseback riding, running and working out, dining out and theater. I love people and can relate to a variety of backgrounds and age levels. I dress very well but I am as comfortable in jeans as I am in an evening dress. I am a great listener and cook. I love fires in the winter and barbecues in the summer. I can dance all night and love walking on the beach. People have told me that they see me as being intellectual and strong, while I see myself as someone who knows her values, has a lot of spirit, and who listens to her inner voice. I enjoy travel but do not do it as often as I would like.
Sally had managed to avoid almost all of this, he thought to himself as she lifted her face for a kiss. He found himself a little shocked that their kissing had lost none of its intensity; in fact they both seemed more passionate than ever. He couldn’t help feeling a bit of confusion. Should he keep responding or leave? The heat was impossible to ignore. Her blouse was open and his tongue was licking under her right breast. She moved up a bit to give him more room to explore. He realized then that she wasn’t going to stop him.
How she describes her ideal match
Seeking a full-blooded man who is sincere, caring, affectionate, grounded, has dropped his baggage and brings with him a sense of emotional maturity, and desire for intimacy. He's not afraid to look in new ways, and to dig deep when needed, nor is he afraid to share what he sees. One who believes in enjoying the wonderful things live has to offer with someone special. Is honest and warm. Preferably affectionate, considerate and somewhat attractive in his own little way. He can laugh easily, cry when it is appropriate, take care of himself physically, isn't afraid to try out new dance step (or make one up), and likes living through a sense of fun, adventure and curiosity. He's self-aware, and is interested in truth. I seek a man who is good looking/attractive both physically and intellectually. He is passionate about honesty. He will also know that being vulnerable is not a sign of weakness, but a part of self-awareness, and that open communication is an integral part of developing a sound, lasting, and loving relation.
When Karen had dumped him for a much younger man two years ago. Recently, he had had to begin caring for his best friend and mentor, John. In doing so, he had finally come face to face with the struggle he had been avoiding for so many years. He’d grown up. He had met the secret fear that lies repressed in every adult. After several months of tears and attempts at denial, he finally accepted that grief was the inevitable consequence of love.
Moreover, he had also left behind old habits of seduction and male display. He had no facade any longer that would attract a woman. His best friend, Erin, had assured him that he was more attractive than he could possibly imagine and that eventually, when it was time, someone would see who he really was and he would not need to seduce them. So, in November he had gone out into the world of match.com with the intention of just being himself and affirming his own need for intimacy. He intended to do this without manipulation and without trying to be sexually attractive.
He dated a number of women who seemed at first to respond strongly to him. There were a few at first who seemed ready to jump into his life or his bed almost immediately. He shied away from them quickly. Part of it was his resistance to telling them of the herpes before he could trust them not to be cruel and part was simply his need to feel safe before opening up to intimacy again.
Then he met Jenny. A tall, extraordinarily beautiful artist with a face that made you aware of your hip pocket. He fell hard. (OK, enough Chandler!) The fact was that she was beautiful, attentive, passionate and married. And she wanted romance but no part of any discussion about tomorrow or love. He reluctantly disengaged.
Then came Louise. Cool and reserved where Jenny was hot. Louise with her profound ability to distance herself from her own emotions; who needed an evening of drinking and gentle touch to whisper, “I love you.” before running to her car. She worked 50 to 60 hours a week and spent the rest of the time trying to control her bipolar daughter. And later, when he signed his emails with “Love, Tom” she replied with “Fondly, Louise.” Once she asked him if he thought any woman would go out with Bill Gates if he didn’t have a lot of money?
He had not had sex with either of these women.
Sally was entirely naked and, as he sat between her legs admiring her unblemished skin, well-proportioned breasts and wonderfully shaped vagina, it occurred to him that she was almost perfectly relaxed. He wondered for a moment, cynically, if she was drunk. But her body responded to his touch so quickly and her eyes were alert. “You are so tight.” He remarked as his fingers slowly danced inside her.
“A benefit of never having had children.” She replied smiling and then gasped as her pushed a little harder. He lifted her hips and began to stroke her clitoris with the flat of his tongue. This went on for several minutes, his whole attention on her reactions as he varied both the pressure and tempo of his tongue’s stroking. Then he penetrated her with it several times. She dropped her head back over the edge of the couch and her hips rose sharply. He lifted them even further up and began licking in and around the vagina and down the insides of her legs.
After several minutes of this he knelt up and looked at her for a long moment his hands continuing to play along her lower stomach and inside her thighs. “Are you sure this is OK?” He asked. “I mean you seem to be fine with it but I thought I had better check.”
“Yes.” She replied a bit tentatively. “But how about you?”
“I’m fine,” he smiled and lowered his head again, kissing and nibbling her clitoris gently. Eventually her head went back again and her hips began a slow undulation and his tongue again began stroking and penetrating. He began to push hard against her clitoris and then deeper into her. She was moaning slightly and the moisture from her was copious. She actually tasted sweet! What a cliché description, he thought. Then his thinking stopped and he could feel himself on the verge of an orgasm with her. That brought up a feeling of how embarrassing it would be to have to walk back to the hotel if he had an obvious stain on his pants. He almost laughed.
“ I am trying to decide if I should reach inside your pants.” She said.
“I’m am truly fine, he replied, it isn’t a problem in any way. I am enjoying your pleasure as much as I would my own. Maybe more.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen. For a moment her nakedness reminded him of the friend who was lying in a convalescent home dying of cancer. Just yesterday he had had to help John to the toilet and then had to strip his robe off because he had accidentally let it droop into the toilet while he tried so hard to urinate. It had been so disturbing to see the emaciated suffering body that his friend had become.
Despite his being clothed, she seemed unselfconscious about her nakedness and he felt his feelings for her deepen. Why? Because her acceptance of her own body meant that she was capable of someday accepting his. In this moment he knew anything was possible, in fact both her love and her death were as inevitable as his and he knew without question that this was life’s beauty and terror both.
“You have some reflecting to do.” He said as he stepped into the hallway.
“I know.’ She replied as he walked toward the elevator.
Dear Tom--
I knew when you left on Friday night that you wouldn't call me on Saturday, that you'd give me time and space to sort everything out. I can't say I've sorted everything out, but a few things are clearer to me.
You're a wonderful person--that's very clear. I'm powerfully attracted to you--equally clear. You're an amazing lover--generous,intuitive,experienced.
You were right, too, that the herpes issue gave me a bad jolt. You've been dealing with it for a long time, and you've worked out appropriate strategies for living with it. To me, dealing with the herpes would be a whole new problem, and a commitment as well.
That leads me, here, to something equally important: We're in two different emotional places. You've had time to heal from your experience with Karen and be ready for a long-term relationship, but I'm still only ten months out of a long, constricting marriage. I'm just beginning to shape the life I want; you already own your life.
It was my thought, when we met, that we could have a good time for a few months before you followed your dream to live overseas again. A built-in boundary
that I liked, that was comfortable for me. Knowing you a little better now, I understand that you don't consider distance to be a boundary at all--evidence of your adventurousness and openness, so unusual in anyone our age. I need to learn, work, feel myself into a place you already know how to inhabit. I don't see how to overcome any of these problems right now. To me it seems wiser for you to move on to someone who can join you in your life in large ways and small ones, too.
Sally
He contemplated refreshing his profile essay for Match.com. wondering what life would bring next. He often wondered why anyone would date someone who identified themselves as moondancer, snowhite, angeleyes, willowspirit, golfgal, NJprincess, lonelynscarboro, daddysgirl, or imbrave. Sally’s pseudonym was SallyNY. Very direct and appealing.
Dear Sally,
Okay.