After spending five straight days home with Mom, away from the rest of the world and in an joyless state of limbo, it was nice to get out Saturday night and have a few drinks in the West Village.
I met up with Mr. Grey, who I hadn't seen in nearly a year. Who I also once had great sex with.
Time to backtrack.
Last summer, Mr. Grey and I had a brief fling. He was on the rebound, I was in some kind of special ambivalent emotional state, but we met and hit it off. We had similar music taste, and a common creative and intellectual streak, and bonded over bondage (and spanking). We spent so much time talking on our first date that I didn't think there'd be any room left for kissing. Instead, we ended up making out in Times Square, with passersby hooting at us. On our second date, we went to a movie and spent most of the feature in liplock. I ended up at his place that night. Most of our other dates became very bed-centric.
Mr. Grey was often late, took forever to order at a restaurant and took his sweet time doing everything involving nudity. He's one of the few men who I can honestly say was possibly a little too big and took a little too long. Even so, I was always satiated, and it was one of the few times where I was able to separate the physical from the emotional.
Don't get me wrong, Mr. Grey is a great guy: thoughtful, funny, smart... just not the guy for me. He's more slow lane, I'm more fast lane (much as I've slowed down in recent times). Even though he's great at being dominant when it comes to sex, his personality is still a bit too passive for my tastes. Also, he's a bit lost career-wise and not the most financially stable person. All of which add up to not-so-great relationship material for me.
Even so, we had some good times. We played Scrabble in a tiny garden in Hell's Kitchen. He made me pies and fed me fresh pineapple while massaging my bare legs. We sat at a picnic table eating italian ices, both dressed in black jeans and t-shirts for the same post-punk band we liked. Mr. Grey is one of those guys I almost wish I was more compatible with outside the bedroom, because I think he'd be a great boyfriend. Alas, we were somehow out of synch; after a few balmy weeks, I did the fade. We saw each other a couple of times after that, once for a brief lunch and once at a concert, and then nothing.
Until early last month. Mr. Grey emailed me, letting me know he had a new job in my neighborhood, asking how I've been doing. I was still with Ex David at the time, so I suggested meeting for lunch, but was hesitant about following through. Instead, I decided to set him up with Roommate Rachel. She's his type physically, and I thought his patient nature might gel with her laid back attitude. They exchanged a few emails, but nothing came of it.
After Ex David and I broke up, Mr. Grey and I resumed a light correspondence and made plans to meet. Roommate Rachel said she ultimately wasn't interested in him romantically, and gave her blessing for me to pursue any possible outcome with Mr. Grey.
Back to drinks on Saturday. The bar was dim and cosy, the atmosphere initially awkward. There was a lot of discussion of our previous relationships and crushes (some of his online obsessions made me feel better about my own irrational fixation on Film Felix), a lot of drinking, and some light flirtation and reminiscing. I was open to the idea of making out and, prior to seeing him, thought it might happen. After the hell of the last few weeks, I figured sex or even kissing would perk me up. It felt good to dress up, look pretty, and to be out on what could have been a date. Except that we did nothing but talk, so it was more like old friends catching up.
Mr. Grey and I closed the bar and stood talking some more on a street corner at 4:00am. Had he made a move in the bar, I probably would have reciprocated. There was still a vague spark and kissing could have happened. Could have, but didn't. We spent too much damn time talking. And then it was too late at night and I was too sleepy and tipsy to think of anything but taking my (painful) high heeled boots off and sleeping in own bed for the first time in nearly a week.
He invited me back to his place, but I declined. He helped me find a taxi and we shared a rushed and supremely awkward hug and chaste kiss goodnight. I spent the next day nursing my hangover and feeling relieved that we didn't hook up. I thought something might be better than nothing, but I don't think that something should be Mr. Grey.
Considering this depression that will just not leave me alone, I'm glad Mr. Grey and I stuck to conversation. I don't think I want to resume a physical relationship with him, though it's nice to know it's a possibility. Even though he and I have already slept together, I don't think I could handle being intimate with anyone at the moment. I can barely handle getting dressed and leaving the house.
Mom is home alone today and I feel awful that I can't be with her. She swears that she can make it through today by herself, but I'm still worried. I've already cried at work twice, once in front of my boss. I'm overwhelmed at everything that needs doing. I dread going to work, I dread coming home, I dread having trouble falling asleep again, I even dread the good things, like upcoming parties.
I know this will pass, that the pendulum will swing the other way and I'll get through it, I just don't know how or when. I feel like life is giving me a hell of a beating right now.