This is a excerpt from the Words of Focus project.

It’s also written before The MVP-Approach to Love.

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There’s something that seems perpetually unsatisfying about a hook up. Hollow, like a trojan horse you’ve delivered to yourself. Or perhaps not a trojan horse, as that is full of enemies. Getting laid doesn’t contain pain. It doesn’t contain much at all. That horse is mostly empty.

The last time I remember walking away from a one night stand feeling great, it was because I was sure we’d see each other again and that this was the birth of a friendship. She didn’t see it that way at all, and I never saw her in the flesh again.

Sometimes, I leave feeling dirty. Not morally (I don’t have morals, in the traditional sense). Not sexually (a la “dirty girl”). I felt like I’d just done something dirty. Pun intended.

Getting laid is definitely preferable to getting nothing…but not by much. If you are cool with getting nothing, if you could just chill your urges a bit and re-direct your sexual energy into other endeavors efficiently, it would even be preferable to not get laid and not expend energy and time trying to. For a fair while, at least.

The real ecstasy, however, isn’t to be found in sex. Or at least not in sex alone. Ecstasy lies in the realm of love. Or at least intense and sustained mutual infatuation and care.

The pleasure I felt from my nights wandering the suburbs of Montreal, too restless to lie awake dreaming about Melanie, too filled with lust and longing and loneliness to sleep. So I would leave. Walk and climb and explore the world, allowing the excruciating and unbearable pleasure of my pain to extend upward to the stars, and return to me with the pain-dulling reminder that none of this mattered, and that this, right now, was all that mattered.

That pleasure goes beyond anything I’ve ever experienced outside of love. And it is minuscule in comparison to the sustained euphoria that can enwrap your world when you are in love. Rolling on the park grass, making out with Melanie and laughing at the taunting of the french boys across the field…oh. Wow.

So, then, where shall I expend my romantic endeavors? Tinder? I think not. The odds of finding a tribemate on tinder are quite small. Okcupid? Yes, if I were in a better location for it. But it’s all but defunct in Bali.

No, I know the answer. My best hope lies in continuing to do exactly what I have been doing, and to spend time with people I enjoy being with. Especially people who turn me on. Laura, Annelise, quite a few of the Hubud girls. The girls I meet in Kismet.

That’s where I belong.


This is an excerpt from the Words of Focus project.

 

I’ve developed quite the crush. Michelle (yup, that’s a name change)  is, I think, closer to my ideal lover and partner than any other I have ever met. For her, I think, I would even be willing to be monogamous.

She is so sexy. A gorgeous body, excellent boobs, a flirty attitude, a love of hugs and touch, hair I cannot describe in any better way than the kind I desire to bury my face in for hours. Oh, Michelle would be excellent to spoon. She is sexual, playful, and fiercely independent.

She is cute! Her eyes are the most adorable eyes I have seen, capable of expressing care and playfulness and flirtatiousness in a single look.

She is formidable. A woman who has indeed pitted herself against fate’s cruel jibes, and absorbed them as resources used to build the wonderously powerful woman she is. She has been through a true hell. And emerged smiling and caring and gorgeous and with clear scars that she needs no help to heal (yet they draw me to comfort and care for and love her none the less).

I fall in love with her every time I spend time with her. It is not long before she catches me gazing at her, absolutely absorbed by the pleasure and desire I find in her every movement. Her every word. The electricity I feel when our eyes connect… words are not adequate to explain it.

This is the closest I’ve ever been to true romantic love. A potent concoction of wonder and admiration, lust and comradery, the desire to care for and the assuredness that I am cared for.

And how will I try to bring this desire into reality? Slowly, and without attachment. For to have Michelle as a platonic friend in my life would be wonderful. To have her as a lover…bliss. I do not want to lose something wonderful because I am trying to force it to become something blissful.

So I will dance with her, as I strive to dance with all of reality. Allowing our movements to guide us both, allowing her actions to inform mine and mine to inform hers. Knowing where I desire to be, and guiding our dance as best as possible to that place, while never sacrificing the beauty of each step nor the enjoyment of my partner in this dance.

If we never delve into love together, then we will never delve into love together. It is a real possibility. Perhaps the most likely of all possibilities. And, even if we were to be irreversibly separated this very hour, my wistful longing for what could have been will be dwarfed by my warm contentment for what we have already had.