Friday, February 13, 2009

Is Cupid using broadheads?

"Where would I be without you?" Shayne wrote to me this time last year.

Apart from my lover's birthday, Valentine's Day resonates deeply in my heart as a highlight of the year to share. This annual celebration of love, romance, and sex is something I've long treasured and used as an excuse to pamper my partner silly.

I remember, as a kid in junior high school, going far out of my way to hand-deliver a box of Russell Stover chocolates to a sweet, geeky girl. She was tall, with frosty Farrah Fawcett hair, and she had made eyes to me in gym class. It was raining as I stood at her front door, handing her the box, and she guffawed like... well, like a schoolgirl. It was sickeningly charming. I was totally embarassed.

In high school, I would hide flowers in my leather jacket for chica bonita Mandy and heavy-petting Ambimbola. I would pass Valentine's love notes to headbanger Solange and cocoa-skinned Tinitrias. I would get expensive cosmetics for soft-punky Maria, with whom I would discover the rudiments of phonesex and never lost my crush on. And all the while, mostly in secret, I swooned over hardcore Joan.

In the years we were together, I learned to love making elegant and romantic Valentine's Day dinners for Diva. I would involve her lovely daughter in these culinary decadences, which was always a treat. Long after her wee one was fast asleep with her Teddy Ruxpin and My Little Pony dolls, Mommy and Stepdaddy would languish in their own private celebrations on the colonial waterbed. For seven years we had fantastic sex, and to this day I have known precious few women who possessed oral skills and backdoor desires to match hers.

I loved Diva very deeply, but I was comparibly a boy in those days, and the ending of that relationship initiated me into so many important mysteries of myself as a man and as a lover. After so many years, we're cordial friends now and I'm pleased for it. Her daughter continues to call me Daddy to this day. I never completely fell out of love with her.

I still think of her sometimes, and I miss our better days.

With Heidi, my ex-wife, I discovered the pleasures of Valentine's jacuzzi baths with strawberries and a bottle of Cave Springs chardonnay. We honeymooned at their vineyard estate.

The first Valentine's I shared with the Grrl was amazing. I was in a terrible apartment with some equally terrible housemates, but somehow I managed to make it a winning evening. After picking her up at the airport, roses in hand, I made a sumptuous dinner of garlic steamed mussels, French bread with taramosalata, chicken kiev with cremini mushrooms and lightly buttered cauliflower, and all followed with chocolate mousse made from scratch. I drafted the most charming "menus" for our in-home dinner, written in both English and French.

That was the night I had one of my most memorable sexual experiences ever, after the Grrl and I smoked some herb and polished off some wine in my candle-lit bedroom. The energy was vibrant and resonant between us, and we writhed like lions for hours. I saw stars when she mounted me, slowly gyrating her hips as her thick thighs clutched my own. I felt all the world's tension leave me in a rush as I came during the first of many blowjobs she gave me. I remember her panting voice echoing for me to take her ass as I pumped deeply into her body. I can still remember the scent of the spiced candles in the room, the feel of the sweat at the nape of her neck, the glowing light as I shot images of our passion together. That night was five years ago now, and it's difficult to believe.

Three or four years later, we had our final Valentine's together. We languished in a charming Victorian bed-and-breakfast in a quaint Ontario village, and as it was off-season for tourists, totally enjoyed the whole place to ourselves. We almost peed ourselves laughing when the jacuzzi began overflowing, water and rose petals cascading across ceramic tile and threatening the thick carpeting of the bedroom had I not soaked it up with the Egyptian cotton towels. Like a pair of kids, we had take-out Chinese on the floor beside the bed. A romantic drive along the Lake Ontario coast. Cuddling under thick blankets. The box of Godiva truffles that I graciously allowed our host to mistake as his tip.

I still think of her sometimes, and I miss her when I do. I enjoy nice memories.

... But what I really came here to say is this:

Had my desires come true, right now I would be on Interstate 196 with a dozen roses and a box of panties beside me.

Following my last trip to celebrate Thanksgiving with her and her excellent family, the coming week was supposed to have been my next visit to Chicago to be with Shayne. My plan was to surprise her by arriving early, and sending her a sexy textmessage to join me at Small Bar, one of her favourite haunts. I had thought of taking her to dinner at Coco Pazzo, the elegant cafe where the evening of our first bondage play session began, and from there perhaps to the Galleria Domain dungeon for a night of more intense debauchery.

"Where would I be without you?" she penned in glittery blue ink in the pink Valentine's Day card. Pink is so Shayne. "My anarchic gypsy awakening would be who-knows how long off? I would never have had a delicious 3some! I would still be wondering how kinky I am and still believing the naysayers who mistake poetry for passe`, dreams for immaturity, and magic as fantasy fodder. I would be the unsure, bound up, fear footed wretch I was if not for you. You, with the intoxicating voice. You who makes belief possible. You who listens as well as (if not better than) teaches. You who create surprize when I doubt. You who would never laugh when I pontificate on joy. I love you."

I love you too, baby. I really do.

But, no, that isn't happening. Our romance had ended, and of late we haven't even been in the kind of cordial contact that we both expressed strong desire for. (Although she called me last night and sent me a cute huggy meme thing on Facebook.) Perhaps we're still adjusting, and that can be ok. We're still important to each other, and I don't necessarily need constant assurances to be confident that that remains very true.

I think of her every day, and I miss our romance deeply. I understand what it means to nurture a friendship following romance, and I can happily treasure her as a close friend, though I know I will always love her too. I had really wanted to show Shayne a perfect Valentine's.

I haven't sent her a Valentine's card or gift. I'm respecting "the way things are now." It confuses me because I'm drawn to, but experience has also taught me to step back if I intend to nurture the Best Possible Outcome. Or maybe I'm finally learning something important.

But, perhaps out of simple optimism or for the lark of it all, I've decided that I'm still going to harvest some fun out of Cupid's sacred night as the single man that I am.

Diva, I am told, is single again also, her cigar-puffing boyfriend of these last few years finally scurrying away after she brought up the topic of marriage. Heidi, I am sure, remains with her cuckolded new man in her downtown condo. I wish I knew what was happening with the Grrl, but whatever it is, I'm certain she's found a way to make something spiritual from it.

Shayne, I understand, is delightfully smitten with her new love, a lovely woman who plays viola for a chamber orchestra. I'm happily jealous for the grace and elegance I am certain she finds herself exposed to these days, plus I understand that the lady's quite the cook. Truly and honestly, my heart swells in pleasure for her, and I'm glad she's not enduring the dating headaches I have been of late.

She would probably tell me that I haven't been following my intuition, but since our romance ended, I've been dating up a storm throughout this winter. On some level, she is right, that part of my dating is to distract myself from my wounded heart, and because I knew this Valentine's was approaching. Was I trying to fill a void, or was I opening up to new options and possibilities, allowing myself to have fun for fun's sake? In these last few weeks, I likely would have given different answers depending on my mood.

Shayne can't and won't be "replaced." She's Shayne, and I love her as and because she's Shayne. There are no voids that can be filled, because there are no other pegs to complement those places. There are no other Shaynes any more than there are other Rogues.

A Valentine's with delicious Morgan would have been excellent fun, but as I've written previously, she isn't available. For his sake, I certainly hope her spouse doesn't forget to give her something for Valentine's... as he did with both her birthday and Christmas. God.

This winter, I've dated and had disappointing experiences with Redhead Carla, Control Freak Hannah, and the Insane Iranian. I had an omfg moment with Lee. Stacy remains characteristically elusive. Biting Tina has interest, and I may get together with her later in week, so long as she promises not to treat my nipples like doggy chewtoys.

This winter's experiences have reminded me that dating just to assuage my heart may not be a "wrong" reason, but its not the best reason. Sometimes I forget the benefits of being single and to enjoy the simple pleasure of just meeting, shaking hands, and conversing with interesting women strictly for its own sake. I've always known this, of course, but I find that sometimes its important to remind oneself of these basic truths. It's healthy.

I probably, really, owe it to myself to let go of Shayne completely.

But I'm having a just little bit of trouble with that.

Just so you know.

So, hey, it's Valentine's 2009 and I'm not in Chicago, enjoying laughs and romps in Pixie's delightful bed. So I've decided to do the previously unthinkable. I'm attending a Valentine's single's party tomorrow night, my very first "singles" thang ever. My eyes are already rolling in sarcastic anticipation of a totally vanilla, totally tacky evening of overdressed desperantes swaying their throwback wardrobes to the cat-wranglings of some drunken second-rate wedding band. (But, no, I don't have preconceived notions, nope, none whatsoever. Really.) My intent is to do nothing but simply to have a few drinks, dance a few steps, and maybe enjoy some new introductions. At the very least, it'll beat being around scores of huggy couples at my local haunts.

My Valentine's date is me, and dammit, I'm a fucking good time.

6 comments:

Not-so Virtuous Vivian said...

Weirdness as a category. This makes me smile inside.

I would imagine you are a very good time indeed. If only for the vocabulary.

Rogue said...

God knows there's a lot of weirdness in my sex life.

Take me out, buy me a dirty martini, and I'll show you some vocabulary, Vivian. And some of it might be amusingly weird, too. A good time can be had by all. ;)

Me said...

I'm sure you'll find someone interesting at your singles' party :) Hope you have fun !

(And I'd love to be remembered by a lover the way you reminice about yours)

Rogue said...

Oh, now, you. Don't be so sure that you're not!

And the party tonight? Well, if the band plays anything even remotely like the macarena, I'm outta there and hitting the nearest stripclub, dammit. A man has his limits, by God.

Shayne said...

Good work Mister! This post is strangely congruous with the letter I just email you. I'm glad to have finally allowed myself to come have a peek here again. PS: the catchpa before I can post this comment is "mantskin." How awesome!? Hello ;)

Rogue said...

Hello, babe.

It's good to see you commenting here again; I'm pleased. I'm glad that you're doing well, and that things with the Violist are delicious for you.

I'm glad that you reminisce about me also. I'm glad that you're healing. I'm sorry about some very important things, and I know you know that.

I also enjoy the memory of when you mounted me, the phoneplay we shared, so much more.

The things I would have shared with you this Valentines.

Miss you, love. Miss your love.

:*