Heart to Heart, Face to Face

Two weeks after my amazing first date with Max, he had vanished into the ether. I was more than aware that he has primary custody of his sons, but still, it only takes a few seconds to respond to a text, especially when you claim to care for the other person. After a few days without hearing from him, I started to fear that he was going to be the next Terrence in my life.

For the first week following our date, we had maintained somewhat steady communication. Of course, I was the one putting in the most work, but I knew that we had only been on one date and I could never be his first priority; his boys have to come first. It wasn't until a week had passed without a response that I really started to panic. I couldn't help but wonder, doesn't he care what's going on with me? Doesn't he want to be a series regular in the sitcom of my life?

Once radio silence had hit a week, I was responding to a Facebook message to my friend James, when I saw that Max was online. I decided to take a chance and see if he'd open it. I figured, the worst that could happen is he would leave me on read. His phone is old and turns on Airplane Mode frequently, so I figured sooner or later, he'd see the Facebook message; at least I'd know for sure if he'd seen it or not. If he blocked me, that would be a clear message that I needed to move on.

Surprisingly, he responded. I was miserable with a cold and couldn't help but whine about that. We made small talk for a few minutes before I bit the bullet. Normally, I'm walking on eggshells trying not to rock the boat or risk upsetting someone, but with Max, I'm comfortable enough to give him hell if need be. He had told me that somehow his mom and stepdad had found out about our date; they even knew my name. Growing up, many people had assumed that Max was gay; he'd gone to great lengths to prove that he was not. Now, he didn't want to give anyone to satisfaction of getting to say, "I told you so."

I asked if that was why he had ghosted me. He said that he hadn't ghosted me per se, but he had been in his head a lot. There was something he wanted to talk to me about; he asked if I preferred in-person or a phone call. I've always hated being on the phone unless it's my mom, my cousin Megan, or a close friend, so I suggested meeting in person. Max was nervous that what he had to say would upset me, but I insisted that it would be fine. I jokingly asked him if he was "breaking up" with me. He said he wasn't; we weren't dating. Fair enough. We made plans for me to pick him up when he got out of work and we'd talk while I drove him home.

I had mixed emotions about the conversation. Obviously, I was attached to Max, enough that if he didn't want to see me anymore, it would hurt me but not so attached that it would send me into a depression spiral. The thirty-four-year-old part of me understood that people can't help how they feel and if the spark wasn't there for Max, I had no right to be upset about it, certainly not to the point of turning it into a fight. Rejection is unfortunately a natural part of life -- for everyone. I suspected that I was about to be friend zoned once again; I was fine with being just friends, but if that was going to happen, I'd have to be honest with him. I'm cool with friends, but I never see my friends, other than the ones that I work with. My job is very draining emotionally and physically; when I'm off the clock, I want to just be alone with my cats and catch up on my sleep or relax some other way.

He got out at midnight. I skipped dinner, not wanting to risk getting sick to my stomach. I already had enough anxiety about the whole endeavor. I took a shower and then tried to decide what to wear. Max had only seen me in designer couture or work clothes, but I didn't want to go to the trouble of getting dressed up just to get shot down. I decided not to bother with makeup -- too much work for something that was bound to be a quick interaction. I didn't want to wear sweatpants or pajamas and give the impression that I didn't care. I finally decided on my lavender sweatsuit from the Comfrt pastel collection; it's so amazingly comfy and warm. I figured that it would be a good comfort to me, considering I was about to get my hopes dashed.

When Max got into my car, his expression was unreadable. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, which just cemented the idea that whatever romantic future we might have had was over. We exchanged pleasantries, and then, sick with dread, I told him to just spit it out.

Max began slowly. He said that he had enjoyed touching my dick, but he hadn't wanted to do in a Meijer; he'd only done it because he thought it would make me like him more. He felt that he wasn't ready for anything sexual and didn't want to hold me back; he thought that it would be unfair to keep going on dates with me, but not do anything sexual with me. He knew himself well enough to know that if we hung out at his house like he'd proposed, he'd give me head to make me happy and then hate himself for not respecting his own boundaries.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This sweet, caring guy would rather give up any future with me all because he thought that he was holding me back sexually? I jokingly act overtly sexual, but the truth of the matter is that I can count my sexual partners on one hand. Sex isn't something I can do with just anyone; I need to be comfortable with someone before I do anything, but oral is a lot less intimate to me than penetrative sex. Had I given him the impression that I was some kind of sex addict?

I parked in front of his apartment and killed the engine of my car. I confessed to him that my sexy siren persona was just that. When it comes down to the actual deed, I'm like a blushing maid. I assured him that I was more than okay with going slowly and not getting sexual for a while; after all, I pointed out, he wanted to top me, and I had never bottomed before. I was not ready for his giant cock to tear me apart. And more importantly, I didn't just want him for sex. I liked the small romantic gestures he made; it wasn't his dick I wanted to so much as the comfortable intimacy we shared.

Max confessed to me that he had never had a relationship where he was liked for himself, it was always for his skills in the bedroom. He said that all of his exes had told him that they'd just stayed with him because the sex was good. I knew Max well enough to know how deeply that must hurt him. Sex is all very well, but I wouldn't want someone to be with me just because I'm good in bed. There is so much more to a relationship than bedroom deeds. A part of my heart broke for him then; I had never anyone like me for me, either. I had never had anyone like me period, not for long. For most of my twenties, I'd start talking to a guy; we'd talk about going on a date or at least meeting up, but within a few days I'd get told that he had started dating someone and I needed to leave him alone.

He explained that he hadn't responded to my last text because he'd gone into a depression; when he's depressed, he shuts down completely and doesn't talk to anyone unless he absolutely has to. I can relate. When I'm in my deepest depressions, I just want to be left alone; I don't care who you are. I told him that I understood him on that and that that didn't mean we couldn't continue our relationship. I promised that if he needed the space, all he would have to do is tell me and I'd give him space. I figured we were over anyway, but I didn't want to leave him with the impression that I was immature or uncaring. So far with Max, I had tried to play it cool. I didn't want to be the one to make any moves and risk getting shot down. When we'd first agreed to go to a movie, I asked him if it was a date. He asked if I wanted it to be, and I rebutted by asking him if that's what he wanted. I didn't want to make myself vulnerable if I could help it, at least, not until the state of our relationship had been clearly defined. Any time that Max asked me if I had enjoyed something we'd done together, I immediately asked him if he'd had fun. In my mind, I was keeping my heart safe by not disclosing too much until he'd make his thoughts known.

The more that we talked, the more that our normal repartee resurfaced. Before I knew it, he was kissing me, and I couldn't help but admit to myself that I had missed this intimacy. I missed him leaning on me, I had missed his lips on mine. Most of all, I had missed the silliness that happened whenver we are alone together. It had felt so nice to just laugh and be stupid without being judged. I wanted to go into his apartment so that we could talk and snuggle on a couch or bed, not my tiny car. He said his place was a mess, but if I wanted to come over the following night, I could. He was out of work early enough the following day that he'd have time to tidy up the apartment. I assured him that I wouldn't judge any messiness, but I also understood where he was coming from. After more kissing and cuddling in my car, we made concrete plans for the following night.

At the end of my shift the next night, I decided that since I needed groceries and Max was free that night, why not go together? I rushed to shower and get dolled up; I didn't care that he was wearing a hoodie and basketball shorts. I decided on my black Karl Lagerfeld sweatshirt and a fancy pair of jeans that I'd gotten from Forever 21. Even though they weren't designer, I liked the diamond shaped rips all over them. I picked him up; as soon as we were on the road, he laced his fingers through mine and brought my hand to his lips, kissing it. A shiver of excitement shot through my body; no one else had ever done that to me. In my mind, this was true intimacy. I could wait to make our relationship sexual, but I could not forgo kissing and cuddling. I very much wanted to be more than friends with Max.

Once we got back to his place, I had him show me his bedroom. I wanted some proper cuddles, plus I hadn't eaten all day and I was tired. I figured a few minutes of cuddles wouldn't hurt either of us. It was possible we would fall asleep, but with the boys gone, it wouldn't really matter. Besides, I wanted to see if we had good bed chem. We laid down in his comfy bed -- with me as the little spoon. I was cold, but his warm body felt great. Having Max hold me like that, I felt safe, like I wanted it to last forever. I couldn't believe that a time had existed where I had thought that I wouldn't like cuddling. I was so grateful that we had been able to move forward together; having Max like me for who I really am -- and not just what my mouth can do -- was the most amazing feeling. I just hoped that I mde him feel the same way.

Far too soon, he told me that I needed to eat. He picked me up and carried to the living room so that I could eat my sandwich and watch Twilight: Out of Focus, a BL anime. Max had introduced me to BL, and I had come across that one by looking for a series other than The Summer that Hikaru Died. I'd devoured the six volume manga series and raved about it; Max had already watched the anime with his sister Ember, but he wanted the two of us to watch it together and cuddle. I certainly had no complaints.

After I ate my dinner, we resumed our cuddling. Max was sitting to my right; he wanted me to lay with my head on his chest. It was nice, but before long, I started to get sore. I laid back and asked him to lay on top of me. I don't have a smothering fetish, but I had not had the weight of a man on me in years, and it was something that I craved. He was worried that he'd crush me, but it felt so right. "Do you like the cuddles?" I asked, running my fingers through his dark curls.

"I love the cuddles. Do you?"

"Yes. 1o/10?" I don't know what possessed me to say something so cheesy, but it was cute, and I wanted to allow myself to be vulernable and cutesy with Max. I wanted to make sure that we had a solid foundation.

"10/10. Actually 11/1o."

We started kissing, gently at first, but with growing intensity. I knew that I wouldn't let it get sexual, but I allowed myself to get into it, after all, we were in the privacy of his home, not in my car in front of an apartment complex. Everything was going well until I bit his lip; he pulled back and retreated to his side of the couch, looking dazed.

He assured me that it was nothing that I had done, that everything was okay, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd crossed a line. The last thing that I wanted to do was upset him, especially since he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable with me and had confessed his sexual insecurities. Despite the weird reaction, he didn't act upset or uncomfortable in any way. Within seconds he was back to wisecracking and being flirty. I forced myself to not dwell on whatever had just happened. I'm in my head alot; if I didn't move on, I would hyper fixate on it to the point of obsession and make myself crazy.

Around 2:45 AM, he yawned and said that he should get to bed so; we agreed that I would leave at three; I told him that he could do whatever he wanted with me in those fifteen minutes, hoping that he would want to cuddle again. We spent those fifteen minutes having amazing cuddles. I didn't say it aloud, but I could very easily get used to the cuddles, and the chivalry. I couldn't deny that I was emotionally attached to Max; I wasn't sure what we were yet, or what would happen in the future, but being with him so intimately had felt right. I felt myself relaxing; I could let my heart be open with him. Even if we didn't work out, Max wouldn't try to hurt me; he is a very good guy. "10/10?" I murmured against his chest.

"11/10."

My heart melted like butter. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid; I was comfortable and content.

Max walked me down to my car, and after a few more kisses, I forced myself to drive away. I was glad that we had handled our first hurdle like mature adults; that made me more confident that as the relationship progresses, we'll continue to work through it and come out stronger. Before Max, I don't think I was emotionally mature enough to handle being so open with someone. Sex is how I show affection; without sex, how could I convey to anyone that I liked them? Growing up in a very cold household had shaped into someone afraid of expressing feelings. As well as I can remember, my mother has told me she loves me once. One time in almost thirty-five years; I know that she does, but we don't express it. We only hugged when I was leaving for a weekend with family; her mother had been very British in her affections as well. It's taken me years to get comfortable with people telling me that they love me and responding in kind.

I truly believe that everyone comes into our lives for a reason. No matter how badly friendships or pseud-relationships have ended, I've always tried to walk away having learned a lesson. It's been so long since I've been attached to someone who had genuine feelings for me; I'd almost forgotten how it feels. I'm hoping that if Max and I end up in a serious relationship I'll be able to continue to open myself up outside of my comfort zone and that together, we'll be able to help heal each other's scars.