You can go ahead and get married, and this will be our secret thing.
I won’t tell a soul except the people in the nightclub where I sing.
- Old 97s
You will never read this. You’ll never know about this space at all. Though maybe, after it’s all over. Maybe, but probably not.
I’m just writing it for the reasons I always write things like this.
So, we met. I don’t go a lot of places, so the chances were slim we’d even meet at all. But I go to this particular place, sometimes. And sometimes, so do you.
I liked you instantly. The smile, the friendliness. Then I saw you again. And again—and then a few more times. Always so friendly, so likeable, so warm. Our chemistry was obvious. You made an excuse to get my number. (It was a brilliant excuse, with 100% plausible deniability built in.) Then you used it, under what I know now was a false pretense. But at first I had no clue. At first I assumed nothing.
Then you found another excuse. And oh my god, the brilliance of this message from you. I have known many clever men in my life. But this message from you was sheer genius. You found a way to say just the most simple, straightforward thing that still managed to be absolutely loaded with a very particular secondary meaning. Just the simplest turn of phrase that can be either purely innocent or very much not.
No lie: my jaw fell open. I honestly couldn’t believe it. It was so brazen, but also just so damn clever, since it again offered complete plausible deniability. But I knew. I just somehow knew what you wanted me to think. Where you wanted my mind to go. And oh my god, did it go there. So I decided, Fuck it. I’ll go first. (I have been there before.)
And then it was on.
And now it is happening. And with every word you say, and every minute I have spent with you, I am more and more excited to see what you will say next. What you will do next.
But the best-best-best thing about it? We are on the exact same page. Casual, infrequent, and most importantly, short-term. We each have our reasons. We are both clear-eyed. The ending is built in—that will not change. And that is what makes it so fun. No pressure. No expectation. And absolutely, positively, no delusion about what commitment would do to the thing we have right now—the thing which we are about to enjoy the fuck out of. (Narrator: It would kill it. It would brutally murder it, is what it would do.)
You came along at the perfect time. I have spent three years sorting through my thoughts on men—on what, if anything, I want from them at this point. I’ve allowed myself to get picked up twice in the past few years. Life is largely awful and very short, and sex makes me feel alive. But both times I pulled the plug early. Other than that I’ve remained neutral, open to possibilities—but also very happy in my solitude, and dead clear that I will never, ever get into a serious relationship again.
And now here you are, out of nowhere. And we have baaaaarely scratched the surface. Just the first tiny steps, because I have been torturing us both, because I know how precious this is, and you and I are going to maximize every single second of the ride. You don’t even know what I feel like yet.
But let’s back up, because you are amazing, and I want to write down all the ways I see it, so I can come back and read this some day and smile all over again.
You keep trying to do things for me. Let’s start there. I have to keep telling you no, absolutely not, you are not using your time and resources on me like that. And I’ll never let you. But the fact that I only have to barely mention something and you hone in on it and try to make it happen for me—you just have no idea how sexy that is.
You are insanely considerate, when it comes to both my actual, physical comfort and my psychological comfort. The little things you have done to make sure I am good and to elevate our time together? Just unreal. I haven’t been with as thoughtful a man in (and here I am actually thinking this through) fourteen years. I dated an artist who was wildly, creatively thoughtful, fourteen years ago. Before that? High school. The only other Pisces I have known, besides you. Go figure.
You’re asking a lot of questions, and they’re the right ones. You’re listening. You’re onboarding what you learn about me in the best way.
Best of all—and oh god, this part. You’re direct, you know what you want, and you fucking make it happen. I can barely contain my delight at being with a man who is fully competent and fully capable—and chooses to put in the effort. Makes the arrangements. Decides. Plans. Executes. Nothing needed from me other than to just show up. You have no idea how much you turn me on, just for this alone. (At some point I’m going to have to admit to myself that it probably has a lot to do with your age—just a couple years younger than me. But I’m not ready to have that conversation with myself quite yet.)
And then there’s what I’m not getting, which is equally wonderful, if not more so. I’m not getting all the exhausting maintenance required of dating. We don’t talk for days at a time and oh my god it’s the best thing ever. Because then when we do, all of the fire that has been allowed the oxygen it needs to keep burning is still right there. I never have to tell you my plans, or what I did with my day. And I don’t ask that of you. And I don’t care. I want you in the moments that I have you. I don’t need to know a thing about the other moments.
I know the clock has already started. This will heat up, this will be an absolute blast for a while—for however long we can draw it out with the infrequency of our visits. But familiarity breeds contempt and NRE always always always fades. Sooner or later, this will cool and we will become comfortable. And since comfortable is not good enough for either of us, because of how we’re built—we will turn and walk away from one another. And I’ll have this first confession to look back at, and smile, remembering.
My god but I’m going to blow your mind in the meantime. For all the things you have already given me. For all the things you’ve yet to.
Thanks in advance.