After 11 days apart, I have seen BFD twice in three days. Both dates have been great, and tonight felt like we’ve never been apart. He’s been funny and sensitive and engaged and appealing and I realize just how much he must have realized he fucked up.

Like in January when we were apart for so long, now that we’re back together, he’s doing all the right things.

Tonight was really great because we talked, we shared, and it was normal. It was better than our normal. It was like normal the way other people interact. Normal the way it was in April and into May. Normal like people who see each other regularly. There was no awkwardness, no weirdness, just fun. Though he has been having a really rough couple of weeks business-wise, he brought none of that to our date. In fact, we didn’t really talk about business at all. When we did, it was about me and what I was working on.

On Monday’s date, we made plans to see each other tonight before he leaves for six days. Now, I know him, so yes, we had plans, but I was not convinced it would happen. Even though he had said, “we’re having sex on wednesday” (since it had been a while with the short separation), I was still not convinced that we’d see each other or have sex if we saw each other. He’s always busy and stressed out before he travels.

We did not speak Tuesday, though I think I sent him an email through facebook about a party tomorrow, which I knew he would not attend, but of which I wanted him to be aware. (I am going, and told him I would be representing . . .)

This afternoon, I got an email from him telling me he was having a tough, tough day, and asking if we could get together here or there around 8.

I emailed back saying I’d be there at 8 (he’s allergic to the cat) and asking if he wanted me to bring anything. I left it open-ended, deliberately, secretly hoping he would make a specific request. He responded with just one word . . . (Yes, it’s obvious, I am just not interested in having people find this by googling it.)

Even though we had three hours to go, I could not think about anything else. By bringing what he asked, we not only guaranteed we’d be having sex, but that it would be particularly satisfying for me. So, yay! Now that I think about it, the first time we were separated was the first time we did that here.

Still, I was late . . . stuck on a conference call and then a leisurely shower and then I could find nothing to wear. I wanted to basically wear nothing, the skimpiest slip of nothing, but I have neighbors, as does he, so I settled for a rather modest sundress he likes but that I think of as a nightgown.

Finally, I headed off, very little makeup — mineral foundation, lip stain and balm, smudged eye liner and my makeup forever mascara (fat long lashes . . . I don’t know why everyone doesn’t use it) — just enough to look good without looking like I tried at all and slightly tousled, with my hair down and big. Yes, I was dressed to fuck.

I walked in and he was taking out the garbage — barely dressed — which was good since I had decided to hit the bathroom first. When I got back down, he was just finishing making a fruit smoothie for us. Um, what? Never before has he done that, although we each drink them. Just separately. I dutifully choked down some of his concoction (blueberries, pineapple, banana, orange juice(!), protein powder) and he showed me the bird that’s built a nest in a potted tree a on his terrace. It’s adorable, like he has a new pet. We watched the bird until it flew off to hunt down the hill.

We talked for a bit about nothing and then had sex.

The sex was quicker than normal and felt a little rushed. It had been a really long time . . . more than a month since we’d had completely unbridled sex, and about 3 weeks since we’d done anything. We are so spoiled by having mind-blowingly great sex that sex that’s just okay, or in his words “pretty good” is slightly disappointing, but only slightly. We share the same proclivities and love turning each other on, which we did over and over again. The request was happily fulfilled, but even that felt a bit rushed.

Once we were done, clean, and dressed, he called down to remind me where he’d put my smoothie so I could finish it. he’d even poured it into a new glass for me. I picked it up and stood in the kitchen, drinking it. When he came back down, the bird was gone, so he had me get close to the nest to peer in. Even on tiptoes, I could not see in, so he encircled below my waist and lifted me up so i could see all the little eggs. They were beautiful.

I finally surrendered the smoothie. It was fine, but I was really not hungry. I told him the kind that I make “kefir? that’s so high in calories . . . ” I actually felt the need to say, I only do 2/3 c of each and . . .

(This is why two people with food issues should not date.  Or should only date each other.)

Though he was pressed for time ahead of his big important meeting out of town tomorrow, we headed out to dinner, at which he insisted I eat.  Two meals in a row at which he has insisted I eat makes me wonder if he wants me to gain a little weight.

He spoke about that fact that he hates spending money, that he’s anxious about a coming inflationary cycle that will actually harm his business, and so he’s developing a new model. At the end, as we drove back to his place, he asked me to draft an agreement for him . . . since he’d have to hire a lawyer anyway . . . He wants me to be successful and he is excited to hear when things are going well.

I kissed him in the car a bit more than normal. He said we’d talk tomorrow (we won’t) and he told me he’d be back Tuesday or Wednesday, so he could have dinner with me and my mother.

Yikes!

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