Sushi with Bubbles

Bubbles

The text read, "My x told me this was gay. What do you think"

Shortly after starting to text him, he sends me a half nude photo of himself in a bubble bath. Funny or strange? I am not sure, but Bubbles is doctor and a dad to four kids. On paper, he meets my requirements: attractive, physically fit, employed and a dad. I met Bubbles at a sushi place in KY. Sushi in the midwest scares me. Logistically, it is impossible to be fresh. fresh frozen then thawed kind of fresh, I supposed. In any case I like sushi and was willing to take a chance. Bubbles seemed normal enough so the sushi seemed like the biggest risk of the night. We’d been texting for a couple weeks and he sent me videos of him and his kids. It was actually a nice kind of relationship. He checked in with me throughout the day and I became interested in hearing what was going on during his day with work or his kids.

He was running late, so at his suggestion, I went to the bar and ordered an Appletini, his favorite drink. About 10 minutes later he showed up and I knew what he looked like but I was not prepared for the overwhelming smell of Abercrmbie cologne. He leaned in to give me a hug, and I could imagine that I was now in an Abercrombie bubble and had to burst out! I was afraid to hold my breath and pass out or breathe and pass out. The hug lasted for about 2 shallow breaths. Dizzy, but didn’t pass out. Phew. that would have been a disastrous way to start a date.

He sat down next to me and ordered his Appletini. We had not been there for more than 10 minutes and I wanted out. But I am not a quitter. I was going to have fun on some level. So I figured, I’ll just go with it. I’ll see what kind of guy he is and give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he accidentally spilled his cologne and that that amount of dousing was unintentional.

I told him specifically that I am not a floozie and that I am not going to sleep with him and that this was a ‘friend date’ which to me is code for “keep your hands to your self unless I touch you first.” He kept inching closer and closer, and I felt like was backing up and about to fall off my bar stool. He saw I was about to fall and he grabbed me and pulled me in close to him again.  I had to admit, it was actually nice having someone’s arms around me.  But he scored failing marks in the “I hear what your saying and respect you” category.

His mannerisms were strange: an odd head tilt and an occasional blank, vacant stare. I assumed his brain took a mini vacation or simply turned off for a milisecond which I found annoying, yet familliar.  He offered a drawly, “Fuuuucck yeahhhh” as his response to most things I said. He reminded me of a stoner surfer who I used to bang in college. So, candidly I just asked, “did you ever smoke a lot of pot?” His response, “Fuuuucckkk yeahhhh. My kid was in my stash the other day and I was like, ‘dude, I want my shit back’ and he was like, ‘here dad, take a hundred bucks.’” So failure in the “are we likeminded parents” category.

Second round of drinks and the awkwardness of his touching my back, my hair, and shoulders is wearing off. It wasn’t a creepy gross groping, it was nice, but obvious to me that these moves are coming right out of his play book. nothing about the way he was touching me was about me. Not a good reader of body language or verbal cues. Again, Failure. Sleeping with him would be a disaster because he clearly can’t take direction. But, still it is nice to have a man touching me all the while saying, “fuuuuckkk, you are soooo hottttt.”  At one point he and kissed the back of my neck and pulled my shirt down a bit in the back started making out with my trapezius and  said, “Fuuuckkk, you smell sooooo gooodd. But I think you have a splinter back here that I am going to get out.” Then he started biting and nibbling in the strangest way that was neither good nor bad but i did want it to stop. I really think he thought there was a splinter there. Maybe smoked more than pot.

Food arrives. Thank god, the night is almost over. I am generally unimpressed. The sushi was covered in some kind of a mayonnaise sauce with another heavy corn syrupy orange sauce. I was starving and didn’t want to get drunk. So I ate.

When the plates were cleared, made my move to go to the ladies room to get ready to go home.  I returned to the bar and Bubbles grabbed me and started kissing me. he wasn’t a bad kisser, but that was not what I planned or wanted to do. but I was torn, it was just a kiss and it had been a while since I made out with someone. That’s when it hit me. I really miss GI Joe. I wanted him to be kissing me. The last time I kissed anyone was him, and we were in a restaurant in DC. we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. God I missed him.

It was then I announced it was time to go home.  I expected a polite yet awkward parting, but the response was “hey, your druuunnkkkk. we need to get a hotel here.” I reminded him that I am am not a floozie, I am not drunk, but it was fun and I needed to get home. Another meaningless, awkward kiss. then we leave.

A few minutes later he is pulled up next to me at a traffic light, honking his horn & asking me to roll my window down. He then points in front of us and says, “the country inn is open, last chance, we can get a room there.” I look at the sign that says, “truckers welcome, Singles $49/night.” I think to myself that there is no way that my Hudson jeans are coming off in any hotel room that costs less than they did. Most certainly not with him. so I try to speak his language and say, “Fuuuuuckkkk nooooo. Dude, I’m not that girl.”  The light turned green and I am off to my next adventure.

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Good Bye GI Joe

I realized a few weeks back that it was time to “expand my social circle” which to me is the polite way of saying I need to start dating and having relationship based sex as opposed to the kind that I had been having since my husband left.  The trauma of my divorce has not been what’s held me back, its been a love for a man who, for all intents and purposes is as real as the tooth fairy. I fell in love with him when he came back into my life after the tragic death of a mutual friend. In our mutual grieving and planning and attending the memorial service, we became close and an attraction grew. As luck would have it, GI Joe was to go back over seas for some super secret job so our ‘relationship’ had a definite expiration date and he didn’t know when or how often he’d be back to the States. We said goodbye and my heart was broken.

We had no commitment, but I wasn’t ready to shelve the possibility of a future relationship. I wrote him occasionally and cried often. He came back to the states about 3 months after he left and we met for couple of days. He was definitely changed by his job, but I didn’t care. I loved him more – damaged and all. He was a good man to me and I wanted him. Again, we said good bye and my heart was broken. again. It was a choice that I made. But then I started to think he would find that really stupid. Afterall, he’s my friend and he would want me to have fun, right? So the rationalizing of cheating on my fake boyfriend begins.

Gay trumps bitch

Always. No matter how much of a mean, evil bitch I was (and I wasn’t always evil). I might have been a bitch at times. I know I was, but not on a daily basis. He however was gay. Gay every single day. He wasn’t just, “I think I may want to explore these feelings I have” kind of gay. No – he was full on gay. He had gay affairs throughout our marriage. He posted and responded to Craig’s list ads and was active on gay internet chat/hook up sites. He wasn’t of the “I found my true love and it’s a man” gay. He was a man whore.

We didn’t have a perfect marriage (in retrospect, that seems like an underwhelming, yet obvious fact) but sexual orientation and his sexual exploits aside, the other aspects were good, even great. We were great friends, great parents, great business partners and great in our community. So I thought.

All the things that make a good marriage were present, well except for one major thing. THE BIGGEST thing. We just didn’t have regular sex and I chalked it up to low sex drive on his part or exhaustion from work. Possibly his lack of desire was due to health issues. Maybe the kids and our business and our general day to day grind was too much for him. I never considered that the reason we were not having sex was because he was gay and having gay sex.

I know gay men. I have a gay brother. I had a gay roommate in college. I have had many gay friends. I thought I had pretty good gaydar and could sense a gay man. What I was not good at sensing was the ‘masc’ gay man. The gay man who looks, acts, dresses and speaks like a straight man. This was a new category of gay that I was unfamiliar with, and perhaps I was being shallow and stereotyping gay men. But I never saw any gay tendencies in my husband. He chopped wood, built things, was sort of athletic, he was a guy’s guy who enjoys redneck things like car-camping and riding four wheelers. He was a terrible dresser and his appearance and fashion choices would leave me wondering if he ever used the mirror. I assumed he was straight.

And why wouldn’t I assume that he was straight? Our courtship seemed like normal courtship: flirting, going to dinners, going to bars, drinking, an having sex. It wasn’t frequent, porn star lusty sex, but it was sexual affair that lasted for about 2 months before  I got pregnant. 2 years later, we got married. Why would I ever think he was gay? He had every chance to dump me when I was pregnant or even after our son was born.

It is still a mystery to me how I could not have seen this.  Gay definitely trumps bitch. I am absolved of the guilt here – I get a pass on this failed marriage because you just can’t fix gay.