There is this old saying…think before you speak. So, for a week I thought about how I was going to approach Mr. Grey with the concept of being FWB. I played out the conversation…filling in his responses with what I assumed he would say. I did this in the shower, while getting ready for work, to my boss, to my friend. I played the what-if scenarios in my head, out loud, as if I was in one of those choose your own adventure tales. When it came time to barring my soul to Mr. Grey, in a way that was neither intimidating nor threatening….I caved.
I said half of what I rehearsed, naturally. He looked scared. He actually used the expression I am like a deer in headlights and I will run if I feel threatened. So, was I really going to go balls to the wall in on him with regards to how I felt? Of course not.
The unfortunate thing is that people don’t see what I see when I am with him. They only hear how I portray him. Which is both inaccurate at times and unfair. And it isn’t done intentionally, it is just I am really horrible at expressing myself. I feel deeply and honestly, but when it comes time to convey what I am feeling or thinking…it comes out like mush. I am a horrible expressionist.
With that said…since establishing our ground rules for our FWB status…this. is. all. he. references.
So, let’s recap. He comes to my house Sunday morning at 9:30AM and requests that I hold him and nurture him basically back to health. He wants to cuddle, and nuzzle, and for me to rub his head in his time of oh-so-much-agony. Right. Then he leaves to pick up his children, plays with them, has a wonderful day with them. Meets me at track, which both of our children run for fun. He hangs out with me, talks to me, doesn’t scour the field for hot young single moms (which don’t exist in my Wonder bread Suburban town). He then comes back to BBQ, with his bags packed for not one, but two nights…without me even suggesting that he stay (forever). We have a wonderful night. We sit outside and eat, laugh, relax. We fall asleep together. We joke. We talk. It is…dare I say, perfect?
All day yesterday, we are flirting, we are being coy, we are acting like people honestly in a relationship…not just some fake-ass title because there is no other way to maintain some level of consistency or predictability, something we both so strongly need. I ditched his paper that I had to write him and met him for dinner at the park where he works part-time. I told him that the deli server was flirting with me (and if by flirt you mean peering and being extra creepy?) and this is why I got more spaghetti squash. He says, “I am going to g in there and say, ‘My girl came in here and you were flirting with her and served her more food than me.” My girl? He jokes with me, he is kind, careful, and thoughtful. He then calls me on his way home from work. I don’t answer as I was talking to the landlord outside about the possibility and significant potential that he is going to be moving in…when I call Mr. Grey back he says, “better have all those guys out of the house by the time I come home.” Everything was perfect. He works out in my bedroom and while doing so, I take a phone call from my friend. We are chatting for about 20-30 minutes on the couch. My daughter is peacefully sitting next to me watching TV. Nothing bad is said, in fact, good things are said about Mr. Grey. He finds this out and he sort of um, flips out. Not in an aggressive way, more in an emotional state of duress way. For what? No. idea.
He pokes fun at me because of it for a few minutes, denies that we are going to engage in coitus (sorry mom) and then eventually reduces his fears, realizes that I am not one of his torturous women from his past, and not only do we sleep together…but it bordered on making love. I don’t know why, but he was sensual. He was kind. It. was. climactic.
This morning…I simply text him to see if he is coming back tonight. I don’t invite him, I don’t question why, I don’t respond any other way than, but it is Cinco de Mayo and Taco + beer + sex Tuesday. You would have thought I gave him an ultimatum to marry me. Like as if he was trapped. Stuck. With no way out.
Not sure if any other men out there would be so disgusted and turned off from the thought of beer, tacos and sex on a random Tuesday evening?
After having a rather unpleasant conversation with him via phone, while getting an earful of sound, solid, brash advice from my sister from another mother….it was determined that he lumps me in with his other women. Which, for those of you avidly reading this…never do. Just never. There is no reason. Of course, there are going to be slight characteristics and behaviors that remind you of someone else, which may rub you the wrong way, or evoke a negative emotional or physical at times, response. Please, dear God, please….keep. this. to. yourself. We, are never the other person. We are not the other girl. The main way you can tell that we aren’t the other person, is we are with you! In whatever capacity.
After I realized what was happening I called him on it. I told him to stop. He thought that I was begging him to come over. He thought I was being clingy and emotional….I said, “Bro, tacos, beer, and sex…I didn’t ask you to stay over…I didn’t ask you if we could hit the chapel. Stop. confusing me. with your other psychos!” And, like, literally, stop. He apologized…which I guess is the end result and added in a nice victorious “you are right.” To which, of course I said, “Are you placating me right now? Appeasing me?!” He said, “No, I was actually trying my hardest to sound sincere because I am being serious…you are right.”
Moral of the story: Communication is key….
Oh, and just an FYI: He wound up coming over after all of this anyway….not for beer or tacos….but you know…just for some good ol’fashioned fun. Good game Mr. Grey. Good game.
[5/6/2015]