Chapter 11 (part 4)

Just because I’m more separated from the situation with Mimi doesn’t mean that I’m OK with it. She’s e-mailed me a few times since we met for lunch and tells me that she and Neal are bickering and she hasn’t even told him she saw me yet. I wonder if she'll ever tell him or if they'll even discuss me. I certainly don’t want to give them anything else to bicker about but I’m curious about where he is with everything. Then again, it sounds like they have enough on their plates already without adding me to the mix.

I write in my morning pages:

I’m in a crazy place these days. Not sure how to stay in the moment. Don’t know what I feel any more but empty and lonely so I go out looking for something, anything when really I need to find me again. I’ve been going nonstop for almost three months now. I’ve changed so much since Mimi and Neal. I don’t even know how I feel about Mimi anymore. My stomach is still very upset on and off. I’m finding that I’m looking outside for what I need to find within. When I had Mimi, I thought I had found it, but really all I found was her. Without her, I’m still that lost little girl looking for validation.

I tell Mimi that I want to be there for her, but that it can’t get in the way of her progress. Whatever she decides to do with Neal has to be in her own best interest and not with any ulterior motives or ideas about whether something might or might not blossom between us in his absence. I certainly can’t guarantee anything and still don’t feel comfortable with the idea of being in a relationship—especially with her. As much as I feel close to her and want to be with her, there are a lot of things about her that I’m not sure I could handle on a long-term intimate basis. In any case, I know I can’t get involved in her journey. She agrees and apologizes for getting me involved:

Sweet Dawn,

I’m so sorry I've drug you into this. I’m so so sorry. I was so worried this would happen. That my weakness would just wreak havoc in you head. I feel so ashamed. You have already fought this battle, and don’t deserve to watch me go through it. I want to reach for you, but I care for you too much to bring you down, any more than I already have. It’s not the fair thing to do. So keep me as close or as far as is comfortable to you ok. And I will always hold you in the highest of regards. I don’t know what life has in store for me, but I am going to care for myself. I wish I could just hold you Dawn. I know it wouldn’t make anything better, but it would make the darkness a little less black.

I cancel my account with The Reader X-Matches the next day. I’m still getting the occasional e-mail from interested couples and I’m not in the mood to deal with them. It’s not the kind of validation I need anymore (I’m not even sure it ever was). All I know is that the thrill is long gone. I give my remaining condoms to Corbin. I don’t need them anymore either.

We get the results of our speed dating e-mailed to us five days after the event. The three that I pegged as matches (including Pam, who I was with when Vann came by) all chose me as well. So there are, once again, distractions to keep my mind off Mimi. Of course, I’m even less sure about how this speed dating thing works than I am about how regular slow motion dating works. Who contacts who? Do I write to them the same day that I get their e-mail addresses? Or is there a two or three-day rule with speed dating too? I decide to wait and see if any of them contact me. I am still not sure I’m up for dating anyone now anyway.

While I do have this strong need for validation, I’ve at least become confident enough in who I am and what I want to recognize when an attraction isn’t mutual. I never believed I had that option before. I thought if someone liked me a lot and I liked them enough, it was kind of a given that we'd end up together, regardless of whether or not the feelings were the same. With Naomi, I recognized early on that we were on different pages, in different books, on different shelves, in different libraries (possibly even in different cities). I think she may be seeing this finally as well. She may also see that my wall against relationships is not going to be an easy one to scale. She’s stopped e-mailing me for the most part and I no longer initiate contact.

The realization is hitting me that as much as I would like to be a player and be able to have sex with multiple partners at once, I don’t think that’s the way I operate. It’s not in my makeup. Casual sex is not the same as intimacy and I’m coming to realize that I need a sense of intimacy in order to be truly open to a sexual experience with another person. It is, after all, a very personal experience and not one that I take lightly, however hard I try.

Plus, finding someone who is exactly on the same page sexually as you is virtually impossible. Naomi is not a person with whom I could have casual sex with because she wanted more. I don’t know what Ginger wanted from me, but it was not the same thing I wanted from her. Mimi and I obviously couldn’t keep things casual for long, but we might have been successful if we’d stopped after the first encounter. Vann is probably the only one I’ve been with who seems to be in the same place as me. Of course, none of these situations has been without its complications.

I’m discouraged by this revelation and find myself stuck between the idea of never having sex again to avoid the pain and drama that comes with it and the fear of falling into another unhealthy relationship to avoid the former. Neither leaves me feeling particularly joyful. The idea of a healthy, happy relationship is not even in the picture. Is there such a thing?

It is with this mentality that, two days after not having heard anything from any of the three speed daters on my list, I reluctantly write something to each. I include a snippet about the conversation each of us had to prove that I remember who they are and what we talked about in our three minutes.

I hear back from each of them in due time, but not one of them makes any definitive move or suggestions about how to proceed. I tire easily of being the initiator and decide that I don’t really have the energy to pursue any of them. With no one to pull up the net and release the flopping cargo onto the ship’s deck, all three of them disappear into the sea again for another, more willing harvester.

It’s less than two weeks away from my 10-year AA anniversary (July 4, 1995) and I’m amazed that I’ve somehow managed to stay sober through all this. That, in itself, is a miracle. It’s a lot easier to stay sober when you’re in a long-term relationship and you don’t go anywhere or do anything out of the ordinary. Trying to date and have threesomes and break up marriages tends to throw a wrench into sobriety. When I think about this, I start to be glad for my relationship with Kat (for a moment anyway). Maybe if I hadn’t been in a relationship with her and had been out playing the field 10 years earlier when I was still in my twenties, I would have never been able to stay sober. Everything happens for a reason, and maybe, just maybe, Kat’s role was to help me stay sober through the early years.

In any case, typically as it gets closer to my AA anniversary, I tend to get a little more edgy. I become ultra-sensitive to everything. One minute I feel like I’m on my spiritual beam, the next minute I’m yelling at Mousse for taking too much time sniffing a tree.  The Mimi situation on top of my AA edginess doesn’t make anything any easier. I feel like I’m trapped in a PMS loop where the period of relief never comes.

Armed with the tools I’ve learned from these past 10 years of sobriety, I step up my meetings and even start meditating. I have to learn to let this go and realize that, like so many other things in my life, it’s out of my control. I get a meditation tape from Pema Chodron and she talks about how we try to escape from pain through various forms of addictive behavior but that we should really just learn to stay in it—feel how it feels and get to know ourselves in a deeper way. She says if we don’t learn how to do this, all we’ll do is prolong the pain and discomfort.

I understand the concept—I’m just not sure I understand how to be still and feel my pain or even how long I’m supposed to do it before I realize I’m wallowing in it instead of moving away from it. Whenever I try to feel what I’m feeling, I find myself crying and I can’t help but wonder how much longer I have to cry before I know myself in a deeper way. Will I ever? Perhaps if I stop distracting myself with people, places, and things, I’d have a better shot at it. Maybe if I stop being afraid of what lies beneath the surface, I’d dive in a little more readily.

Anyway, on to another distraction. Despite my seeming lack of interest in everyone but Mimi, I’ve somehow managed not to alienate my remaining friends and prospects. In fact, I tell Vann the whole sordid tale (in as abbreviated form as I can muster). I hadn’t planned on ever telling anyone besides Corbin, but out of the blue she asks me what I think of threesomes and I can’t resist:

Well, as a matter of fact, I just got out of a threesome that I have been hesitant to share the details about with anyone. However, given our history and such, I feel like I can trust you, so... After getting out of my virtually sexless relationship with Kat, I put an ad in the Reader X Matches looking for both women and couples who wanted to have fun sexually. The lesbians never answered my e-mails (big surprise), but I did manage to hook up with a young couple. The woman was bi, the guy was ... a guy. We had about a dozen encounters over the course of about 3 months, but it was increasingly obvious to me that I was definitely NOT interested in him at all. Unfortunately (fortunately?) the sex and connection with her was quite intense... so I stuck around a little longer than I should have, feeling much like I was prostituting myself to him so I could be with her. I eventually couldn't take it anymore and broke it off about two weeks ago whereupon it was revealed to me that 1. the idealistic relationship between the two of them was, indeed, too good to be true (again, big surprise); 2. she is unhappy with him but too codependent on him to do anything about it; 3. we were a little more attached to each other than we should have been; and 4. I'm pretty sure someone owes me a toaster oven.

She takes it in stride as I’ve come to learn she seems to takes most things:

That is an awesome story and not surprising. I am the last to be judgmental on what anyone chooses to do and nobody has the right to judge anyhow. Trust me when I say, I understand the necessity of discretion within our community...within women in general. I am the last to reveal details regarding who I am with and what happened because of that sense of respect, for both myself and the person I was with. Women can be vicious creatures.  I felt safe with our encounter though because I knew you had that same respect.

I’m glad having sex with Vann didn’t screw things up between us. She’s a good friend to have since we seem to understand one another and she doesn’t have any of the usual judgmental bullshit that gets passed around in our community almost as much as the lesbians themselves. It’s especially nice to have someone else to confide in. I think Corbin is getting tired of my rambling e-mails (though he does love the drama, which I think is why he puts up with it).

Speaking of which, I’m making plans for pride weekend and it’s sure to involve plenty of drama for everyone. It’s always the last weekend in June and it will be here in three short days! This is the first time that I’ll be able to experience it single and I’m really looking forward to it. So far, there’s another drag kings show on Friday (supposedly the last ever from this particular troop and while I’m not shedding a tear about that, it will be fun to go for the crowd and hopefully dance with Vann some more). Saturday, in addition to the race that Frontrunners puts on in the morning, there’s the dyke march in the afternoon and something called the backlot bash in the parking lot behind Cheetah Gym at night. The dyke march is pretty much what it sounds like—lots of dykes putting on combat boots and taking off their shirts to stomp down the streets with electrical tape on their nipples. Truth be told, however, only a few women don electrical tape in lieu of shirts, but those are always the ones that draw the photographer’s lens (much like the men in tightie whities on the floats are often the main focus of the TV crews during the parade). Normal-looking gay people are apparently too boring to photograph.

The dyke march started years ago as a means of bringing the lesbian community more into the forefront of the pride festivities since the parade always marches through boystown and features more gay men than anything else. At some point, a group of lesbians got together and decided that, rather than try to get more lesbian participation in the pride parade, it’d be better to have a separate event. When it first started a few years ago, it was in the same neighborhood that the parade winds through and certainly helped the lesbians gain visibility in boystown. However, someone ran the gay flag up the pole after the first dyke march happened there and made the lesbians move their march to Andersonville where it belongs. Now in a neighborhood already largely populated by lesbians, the day of the dyke march just seems like any other day in Andersonville only the crowd is a little larger and carries signs.

The backlot bash is a new event so I will be experiencing history in the making. Supposedly there will be girl bands, booze, and a grill (three of a lesbian’s favorite things). Then, of course, the parade is on Sunday. No word yet on who I’ll be doing all of these activities with but between Vann, Amy, the Chicago Rainbow girls, and Frontrunners, I think I’ll have enough people to hang out with.

Meanwhile, it’s Wednesday night and I’m up too late again, unable to sleep. It’s been just over two weeks since I broke things off with Mimi and Neal and yet it feels like an eternity. I still have so much going on in my head and need to get it all out so it stops bouncing around so much and starts to make some sense. Unfortunately, all the journaling isn’t helping. I want very much to be honest with Mimi, but I’m not even sure what that means. Ever since I broke the silence that had been perched so precariously between us and told her how attached I was to her, all I’ve really heard about is how she’s coping with Neal and what she’s going to do now that she’s finally admitted she’s unhappy in the relationship.

I start composing a letter to her, hoping it will be just as revealing to me as it is to her.

Mimi,

I am up too late, thinking too much and feel the need to share some of where I’m at and what’s going on with me.

I think of you now and I remember seeing you last Friday for lunch and coming back to my office with the smell of you on my clothes, wishing I could bottle it and keep it with me at all times. And I still want what I wanted then, what I’ve wanted since I met you, what I never wanted to share with Neal or anyone else.

And I’m scared of what that means. I feel the walls coming up again and I feel myself shutting down because I am so scared of what the future holds, of making the same mistakes, of wading in water that is already too deep. Knowing you have so much ahead of you makes it that much more complicated. But, I still have a long way to go before I feel like I can truly give myself to anyone again anyway. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get there. I feel toxic because I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever been with. I’ve wrecked homes and lives enough already, I think.

I'm nodding off in front of my computer as I type and read and reread my words, but I can’t go to bed. I know as soon as I leave the computer that I will be wide-awake again. It’s after 11:30 though and I should at least lie down. This thought comes at about the same time the phone rings. I am startled awake, hoping against hope that it’s Mimi. The voice on the other end is a welcome beacon.

“Hey sugar, I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“No! Not at all! I was just thinking of you.”
“You were? What were you thinking?”
“Well, I was actually thinking of how much I miss you.”
“You were?! Well, how would you like to see me?”
“Really?”
“I’m right outside your building. Shall I find parking?”
“I’d love it! Good luck though. It won’t be easy.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be right up.”

When I get off the phone, I’m immediately consumed by an indecipherable barrage of emotions. I’m happy, excited, scared, worried, and aroused. Mousse is up off the bed in a flash, wondering what’s going on and why I’m so excited. She seems sure that something good is about to happen. I feel the same way. I scatter around the apartment, looking out the window, moving things around, and pacing in and out of the foyer. It’s a familiar routine, but for very different reasons now.

It takes probably five to ten minutes for her to hit the buzzer downstairs to be let in and the whole time I’m thinking there’s no way she’s going to find parking and that I won’t even see her after all this excitement. Thankfully, my pessimistic side loses this particular battle and I push the button in response to her call, whereupon Mousse bursts upward like a coil from a can of nuts.

I peek out the door and wait to see Mimi’s arrival up the stairway. Mousse pushes her way out the crack in the door and barrels into Mimi before she can even say hello. I grab Mousse and usher them both into the apartment lest we wake the more sleep-enabled inhabitants of the building.

Once inside the confines of my tiny cube of a condo, Mousse heads for the toy box to start a game of show and tell. Meanwhile, Mimi and me have reunited and we can’t seem to tear ourselves apart, despite the fact that Mousse now wants us to indulge her with her newest toy. I hold Mimi close to me and inhale the fragrance of her I'd been dreaming of since last Friday.

It feels so strange not to have Neal here. It’s wrong in a way it wasn’t before or in a way that we used to pretend didn’t exist. Now the wrong stands in the very minimal space between us and I feel my walls go up even more. I can’t do this. I think it to myself at almost the same time she finds my lips… and my tongue. Correction: I can do this, but I shouldn’t. There’s a difference.

While this is exactly what I wanted, it’s not something I expected would ever happen. I figured that even though my feelings for her weren’t over, our sexual escapades were (they had to be)… at least until she was separated or got a divorce from Neal, which I saw being a very long, drawn-out process. In some ways, I thought it’d be better if it was a long process. At least then I would have time to figure out what I really want, if anything.

Of course, it appears now that neither of us is any good at processing much of anything at this point. She is more aggressive without Neal in the room and I forget everything that’s wrong with this and instead concentrate on all that is right. Mousse grudgingly accepts that it’s not about her tonight and harrumphes herself down in her bed while Mimi leads me to my bed and pushes me down.

“Wow. I like a woman who can take control.”
“You do, huh? Well, what else do you like?”
“I think you have a pretty good idea of what else I like by now, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”

She grins that grin of hers as she climbs on top of me and we kiss—our tongues mingling with a freedom we never felt before. Still, a part of me holds back because I know she’s going to go home to him tonight even though she’s here with me now. I try to put that out of my mind and enjoy the feeling of having her alone in my bed but it’s almost like a dream I’m still having as I sit nodding off in front of my computer.

She eases between my legs and uses both her tongue and her fingers to bring me to an orgasm that would stir anyone from even the deepest sleep. There’s no question that I'm awake now, perhaps more than I’ve ever been. This is no dream. 

We stop in between orgasms and she tells me what’s going on with her and Neal.

“I told him I didn’t want to be in any more threesomes with him.”
“Yea? And how’d he take it?”
“Not very well. He still wants to keep seeing this new woman we started seeing.”
“Wow. Seriously? His marriage is on the rocks and all he wants to do is have sex with another woman?”
“Yea, I guess.” The way she says it implies that he's been like this all along, only she chose not to see it. Her blinders have obviously been removed and she’s not happy with what she sees.

I take my turn with her, and breathe the smell of her into my lungs, hoping it will stay there long enough for me to draw upon later. I love how I know her body and what turns her on. It’s a comfort that’s impossible for me to reach with a one-night stand, which is one of the reasons I find myself getting so wrapped up in her. To have someone know you and know that person in return is a priceless commodity for someone like me who comes from a long-term sexless relationship where neither one of us knew or even tried to know each other. Maybe that was our major problem—there was only so much mediocre sex we could have before it started to not be worth the trouble any more.

With Mimi, it has never been any trouble to have sex with her. She leaves before 1:00 a.m. We hug for a long time at my front door, neither of us wanting it to end. I am tempted to say, “I love you,” but I don’t know if I really do and I don’t want to complicate things any further. Instead, I hold her tighter. She responds in turn as though the same words are behind her lips. When she leaves, I am left alone again to think about what I’ve done and where this is going. I am the other woman now.

I try not to go into the future and force anything, reciting AA catch phrases like, “Let go and let god,” “one day at a time,” and “Everything is as it should be.” Still, I can’t help thinking about what it all means. I tell myself that even if Mimi leaves her husband, I am under no obligation to be with her, but there’s a part of me that insists that I belong with her and that this is what the fates have in store for us. I tell myself that the problems I see with a relationship between the two of us are fixable or more ideal than they are. She is opposite me in a lot of ways, but opposites attract, right? She has a lot to go through but I want to be there to help her, even though I feel trapped whenever I think about having to be there through her divorce. I am not ready for a relationship, but then, is anyone ever really ready?

I tell Corbin what happened the next day in an e-mail. He is shocked, as usual:

My my my my my.

What a tangled web we weave, my darling. Where will this go from here? I thought this door was closed and you were keeping your distance? Is this best for your sanity? You might have to meditate heavily over this one

Leave it to Corbin to be the voice of reason. Of course, like most voices of reason, I tend not to listen and choose instead to argue or find a loophole.

Me: Do you really think this Mimi thing is crazy? Am I nuts for not just walking away?

Corbin: Well, it seems a bit intense. Kinda like a made for TV movie. But, I'd ride it out a bit longer. Just don't get snarled.

Me: The problem is that I'm a sucker for drama. Anything that shakes up my normally dull existence is OK by me. But yeah. Getting snarled is bad.

Corbin: Drama can be fun as long as you're in control and can ride the wave!

Now there’s an answer more along the lines of what I was hoping for. If I look at it a little backwards and upside down, I can almost convince myself that I’m the one in control. Almost.