Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 45

On our first date, after he picked me up from the airport late when I returned from Florida, Drummer Boy held my hand in the grocery store. He grabbed it gently yet pointedly as we walked towards produce. I thought I would die from his sweetNess.

He seemed to have never grocery shopped before. Drummer eats mostly on the road and irregularly. I picked out a salad for our picnic that I didn't eat because I thought I didn't have silverware (turned out it was inside). He wanted no food. I selected warm Prosecco and ice because there was none cold. He was preoccupied with buying whiskey, possibly because I make him nervous and definitely because he's a functional alcoholic, which was 1 of the early items he shared about himself. Also, a workaholic. Candor about his flaws? Charmed, I'm sure. I mean, I'm gonna beeline to alcoholics anyway, so 1 who is functional and forthright and works overtime to support himself and his dreams feels like winning the lottery. 

Drummer was always so cute at the grocery store. He wanted to lead, but seemed overwhelmed by the purchasing options or too tired from work to make any further decisions, so I got to chose what to get. I was not used to choosing. He'd say, "Whatever you want, babe." He said that a lot. Restaurants, chores, projects... "Whatever you want, whatever you need, babe." He fucking vacuumed my house when I had to get it ready for a showing real quick like because we had spent all morning boning, so I missed my realtor's texts and calls. Drummer is way better at vacuuming than me. He takes pride in his work. And I don't want to be good at it.

On our first date, we talked about drumming and Charlie Watts and jazz and musicians and writers and artists in general in a larger sense while gazing at constellations, me wondering what it all meant, this compulsion to perform and create. To expose yourself while hiding behind an instrument or some word-making device. I mostly talked, but Drummer listened and asked good questions. Typically I ask dudes who are coming around 100 questions and they ask me nothing, or next to nothing, because they don't care. I didn't know Charlie Watts had just died when I brought him up, but Drummer Boy was like "Is he the guy who just died?" and it hippy-freaked me out that I had had Charlie on my mind for days and now I knew why. Drummer Boy's not into the voodoo that I do. He was raised Evangelical, so he just knows all kinds of residual Jesus stuff he wishes he didn't.

When Drummer climbed on top of me (after making sure it was OK--millenials are super cute about consent), then when I took off my huge dayglow sweatshirt from Orlando, he was gobsmacked. I get that a lot when I take off my clothes under a guy for the first time, to the point that I finally believe my situation is something special (or I just look really terrible in clothes). Drummer was particularly worried to look under the hood because I am middle-aged and he is not. After some heavy petting in the park, I invited him to my house to cuddle. He lived with his parents. Which meant we were doing it in the park or his vehicle, or he was cuming at my place. His parents were churchy units who wouldn't let me stay over and he never let me meet them, even though his dad wanted to meet me after Drummer's mother died. In consolation, I made his dad a casserole and brownies and he shared in a birthday cake I made for Drummer Boy. I wrote a nice sympathy card to his family as well, because Drummer didn't want me to go to the funeral. Without me asking the question, but looking at him and thinking it, he answered aloud that he wasn't ashamed of me. Maybe he was ashamed of himself?

He brought me flowers at a late hour the day after our first date. Purple, my favorite color (he said he had to go to multiple places to find purple flowers, increasing his tardiness). Drummer said I didn't even have to let him in the door (he was so late), but he just wanted me to have them. I was half asleep. I let him in.

The next time I saw him, he gave me a purple vibrating cock ring. I still have it. I also have his favorite sweatshirt (which a band he worked for gave him) from the last time I saw him, the morning after our Hot Tub Time Machine date celebrating his 30th birthday early, so he could work and I could move across the country on his actual birthday. Drummer Boy let me have his sweatshirt, and I took it knowing he hardly had any clothes. Drummer is Animal (the Muppet Show drummer) in all the best ways. No time for sleep or food or clothes. Just hit it and go man go.

I gave Drummer tons of stuff cuz I'm like that when I'm smitten. He took me on a large ratio of dates, considering the brevity of our courtship. He mostly insisted on paying for whatever we were doing, which was refreshing. He made me feel like a woman. I made him feel like a man. Yin meets yang.

I probably wouldn't have given him so much stuff if I hadn't been moving, or if I believed he would end our connection or never see me again. We weren't even together, technically. Yet he told me he loved me first and unprompted. When I was in Seattle visiting family and he called me from the road, he said out of context "You're going to make me say it first, aren't you?" and without pause I said "Yes." It took everything I had to keep that promise. Over the course of our romance, in bed, before, after, or in between doing stuff people typically do in bed, he murmured 1 breathtaking phrase after another. Words I wouldn't think you'd say to your just-for-now flame, because you don't have to.

I wonder if my old school stereo and CD collection and the black thick-framed mirror I gave him to check the hair he's so proud of or the glass table where he might set his drinks haunt him in those rare moments he is home, along with his mother's ghost. What about the loose rose quartz beads I shoved in his front black jeans pocket after that first night, representing unconditional love? Or the little Chewbacca he chose to use as a console charm when he worked, to remind him of me, but that I guess he doesn't use anymore, because he doesn't want to be reminded of me? It's not about the stuff. I forced the stuff on him and this list is in no way exhaustive. This list is just about how much I give. 

I don't think I should have given less. I'm balls to the wall for love. Perhaps Drummer Boy should have given more. But his mom just died and his recent ex was a nightmare and he needed to work and he Just. Couldn't. Do it.

Finding closure may be about as common as sneaking a peek at Bigfoot. I'd love to see a sasquatch or a yeti. But I haven't. I remain a love devotee with ADHD, staring off in the distance, forgetting to shut the door.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness