My Married Man asked me over this afternoon. Is there an equivalent male-gendered term for “mistress?” Today was only our second rendezvous, but already we’ve become quite attached. He confided in me that he’s got a crush on me—he used those words, delivered like Juliette Lewis in her amazing star turn in the remake of Cape Fear. Evidently he doesn’t talk with his other sex buddies. We talked for a very long time this afternoon, mostly about relationships and Carol Reed, and again, four Moments of the Clouds and Rain between us. When he asked if I was dating anyone, or having intimate relations with other married men, I could sense that he could see something in our interaction that he was yearning for as a main course, instead of the amuse-bouche that we’ve become.
A few hours later, back at Casa Coco, Lucky Bachelor #13 came over for dinner and Meet Me in St. Louis. We didn’t exactly dance the hoochie koochie, but we did finally do some serious making out. I was so pooped from my earlier encounter, that I asked if he’d be comfortable staying at first base. So we kissed and talked and kissed and talked. It was like being in the 7th grade again, and kissing Lori Simpson at the dance, only without Styx…
I’m sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea
I’ve got to be free, free to face the life that’s ahead of me
On board, I’m the captain, so climb aboard
We’ll search for tomorrow on every shore
And I’ll try, oh lord, I’ll try to carry on
That was the makeout part, remember?
Anyway, back to my entry here… I’ve been thinking about Bachelors #12 and #9, looking forward to seeing them in the new year. #12 called tonight just as I was about to start the movie, and hearing his voice felt very comforting. No, it was more than comforting, it was familiar. Not familiar like reminding me of something else, but familiar like touching something inside of me that hasn’t been touched in a while.