and back a week: chemistry and disability

I’m reading now the book Mastery, by George Leonard. J gave it to me, recommended it as I browsed distractedly through the books on his shelf, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom or kitchen or somewhere else out of sight.

I went to book club yesterday at his place, hoping to meet new people and learn how to be friends with him again. Kind of sad and wistful and yearning for hugs and physical affection after missing Tom so much. Thinking it would be nice to stay the night but not wanting sex, just full-body snuggles. I missed J, I like his demeanor so much. He’s makes it so easy to hang out and for everyone to feel comfortable and cared about. He’s smart and low-key and interested in things without being competitive.

So I arrived half an hour late and found him in the foyer just as I entered. How did he know I was here? :-] But no, he’d coincidentally just come downstairs to get coffee and so we went to the bodega together. I said I need a hug and we kind of bumped our way through a quick one. Nice, clumsy, warm, all ok. Nervous smiles at touching after so long.

There’s a familiarity and rhythm to our interactions. I am conscious always of navigating his little awkardnesses and inabilities and making them ok and less noticeable. It’s like steering through the crowded sidewalks in Times Square, the little dance you do so you don’t bump into folks, the constant almost unconscious scanning and weaving and dodging and calibration of speed and tempo. So I walked the bodega with J, careful not to crowd him or trip him, cut him off by accident, force him into a narrow space. I carry myself with contrived nonchalance; not looking too much at him, no scrutiny to trigger self-consciousness. He surprised me by taking a parallel aisle, and our paths met at the corner of the store in the back, I almost crashed into him as we scanned the coffee on the shelf. Picked an Italian espresso and then onto the refrigerated section to get milk and half n’ half.

We’re always suggesting things apologetically, tentatively—we should get milk, right? Or maybe cream? whole? Skim? Jokes about triple skim soy organic lattes: if we try to please everyone we’ll have 6 quarts of milk before we’re done. His hands grab little pint cartons and bottles but the fit is bad; his hands are too large and can’t close far enough to get a good grip. Reminds me of those arcade games where you have to grab the prize with a robot claw. I pretend not to notice that he almost drops them.

Back we go to the book club. Nothing special, no great insights. Social. The women are nice but there is something bland there. Generic east side new york. We eat good food and talk some and let the asian woman dominate with her tales of cross-cultural misunderstandings. And then it’s time to go and I’m the last one in the bathroom so the last one out, and J asks me if I want to hang out and talk, and I do. So I do.

We sit and talk. And I bitch and piss and moan about my job, nearly in tears at times and I don’t know why, why I get so upset. So what if I have a boring job? What is wrong with me? Where is my sense of perspective? This made even more poignant as J tells his worries about surgery. Should he leave a note for everyone he loves, in case he dies? He is scared, even though it’s a very unlikely possibility. He tells me he’s in therapy now, I’m so glad to hear about it and think we both have a vocabulary to use, a way to know each other better now.

In between all this, J and I talk about death, a bit, and his family and the tragic history of everyone therein. His mother with schizophrenia, father with Parkinson’s, the holocaust history of their family, and relentless lack of support and love for him. He deserves love and support, and I just want to hug him. Finally I say so, and he says ‘ok!’ with a smile and stands up to collect. He’s so tall I barely make it to his chest but what is it about his body that is so welcoming and warm?

He asks if I have to get up early the next day. No I don’t—is he asking me to stay over? Yes. OK, I say, but I’m not really up for anything sexual. Ok? OK. And I’m not. I just want affection. After much preliminaries we’re finally in jammies lying in each others arms and—surprise--I am overwhelmed by desire. I wasn’t attracted to him in the living room, even when we were hugging. But there in bed lying with him my whole body just vibrated in concerted longing. It’s chemistry, but so specific to his body and to feeling it’s length next to me. My body likes his body. It’s that simple and my body purrs and writhes in response.

He kisses great, we kissed a long time and then I eventually moved on top of him to feel him fully and kiss him fully and I could have come just like that but when I was getting close he worked his way down between my legs and went down on me until I pretty well screamed. :-] He’s got his issues, still, with full-on sex so we didn’t attempt anything further. But he hugged and nibbled and caressed and sighed all night long and we ended up with a repeat performance in the morning. Unbelievable how much I want him when I’m next to him. This time he helped me help him out---got started with his hands and I finished with my mouth. He has a great cock, too, and wouldn’t it be great to get him feeling comfortable and responsive? It makes me smile to think of it.

We ate and had tea and he walked me to the subway and kissed goodbye and I promised to call him on Friday when the worst of his post-op should be done (he’ll be out of the hospital by then, at least, we hope). Jokes that he can die happy now; great line to use on chicks.