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This morning, I awoke in bed next to GT and realized I felt a little giddy. There was a charge of electricity between us and I felt a little different.

We had met late for drinks among our friends. The Reporter and I had been at a show a few blocks away and GT and I has spoken earlier: he had friends in town, so we knew we would see each other but hadn’t decided where. I joked that meant  the district in which I had re-met him and on which we went for date three.

Which is — of course — exactly where they went.

I had been feeling a little insecure about everything.  We have fallen into a routine some 5 or 6 weeks in: we go out on Saturdays, but without planning it ahead of time.  There just seems to be a presumption that Saturday equals time with GT.  Still, we hadn’t confirmed anything and The Reporter had invited me to an event in the hipster part of town we also frequent, and so I went with the Reporter, without saying a word to GT.

I figured that eventually we would all meet up, and then I would eventually leave downtown with GT.  But, I was also very insecure about it all.  Even toward the end of the evening, I was measuring and calculating exactly what would happen.  I was the only person unsure.

Around 115 pm Saturday afternoon:

  • Me: Are you pub crawling?
  • GT: I am not. Are you?
  • Me: I am not.
  • Me: A bunch of my friends are … and in costume. Kinda seemed like your scene.
  • GT: I did that a few years ago. It was fun, but it’s tough to get a group together.
  • GT:What are your plans today?
  • Me:  You have been on half of the pub crawls I’ve done in my whole life. Which would be two total.
  • GT: Haha
  • Me: And I have no plans as of yet. Working on my résumé at the moment while watching Graceland. Should do something though
  • GT: I could get a drink or two
  • Me: I’ve never seen you have a drink or two
  • GT: Ok, or 10
  • Me: Among the reasons I like you, [GT]
  • Me: East side tonight?
  • GT: Possibly. I have a few friends coming into town. We’ll see what they feel like doing.
  • Me: Heh, so [area]?
  • GT: Hahahaha. It’s entirely possible.
  • Me: Lets plan on meeting up tonight at some point. I want to knock out my résumé draft before I do anything
  • GT: I’ll keep you posted
  • Me: Sounds good. Now, back to resume the résumé. Ill shoot you a copy when I’m done. It is sort of odd, and you might find it amusing

So, we left it a little open.

Because I am insecure, I ignored the fact we already decided we would see each other — which we do every Saturday he is in town — and that it would be with his friends. So, this is a thing and he is my guy.

Still, I refused to reach out to him until like 9 when The Reporter and I were already out.  He was out, too, in the district where I knew he’d be, and I told him I’d meet him “in a bit.”

Which was two hours.

The Reporter and I met up with him and a friend on an outside patio. I’d fixed my makeup first, but it was still so hot even though it was close to midnight.

We hugged each other but our greeting lacked intimacy. It had been two weeks since I’d seen him — he was out of town last weekend for Father’s Day and then we had canceled out Wednesday date for work. I couldn’t get a read on where he was.

I forgot to consider the fact he had me out to meet friends of his who were in from out of town in the most popular district in our very social city. I keep forgetting I am his girl.

He offers to buy us all a round of drinks likely as a way of buying one for me.  We all talk and it’s a fun night.  I randomly meet two girls who attended art school in my home town, while GT and the Reporter are back at the bar.  I am moderating my drinking a little, as I have no idea how this night will end.  I say, in front of GT and his friends (more had joined) but presumably out of hearing range, to the Reporter: “I might be sleeping on your sofa tonight, as this is not going well.”

I am uncomfortable.  Or, rather, I am insecure.  Everyone is perfectly pleasant, but there is distance and we have not claimed each other.  In fact, I assume his friends think I am there with the Reporter.

I am likely the only person there who doesn’t know we are together.

We decide to close out and head to our new favorite place across the street. GT again is buying drinks and I have now switched to beer and he has switched to whiskey ginger.  It’s after midnight, but we are all having a blast. I am next to GT, with the reporter across from us and flanked by his friends.  It’s a fun little party and we cede some table space later to a nearby group. That this bar is like this is why we like it.  You always meet people and it’s always fun.

The Reporter from time to time goes off to hit on girls (unsuccessfully) and it gets closer to 2 am.  It’s now just 4 of us and we’re talking and laughing.  We start to figure out end of night logistics.  We get the drunkest guy into food and then a cab. And GT, the reporter and I head further down the street to GT’s car.

I am even at this point, not entirely certain, although I am alone in this.  We just by mutual assent and no real discussion decide we are driving the Reporter home. We stop so GT can buy cigarettes.  The Reporter, drunkenly, leans forward from the back seat once GT is out of the car, and says: “I don’t care what [my friends] said. I like GT a lot and I think he’s great.”

Yep, me, too.

[The more I think about it, the more that conversation sounds like a newer girlfriend’s undermining of a long lasting men’s friendship and less a matter that should have concerned anyone.]

GT slides back in and we drive up to the Reporter’s place which is essentially en route to the highway that takes you north to GT’s and south to mine.  As the reporter gets out, GT asks “my place?”

He has a broken arm.  It’s not terribly broken. It’s in a soft cast, but it is broken and I am hyper-aware of it.  Still, I place my hand over his, assent to his place, and we head north listening to music.  Eventually, he moves his hand to my lap and he holds my thigh through the fabric. It’s lovely and completely non-sexual.

I am, slowly realizing, very much his girl.

We walk up to his place and head straight to bed, fully clothed, and kiss for the first time. He laughs that he will need help getting undressed, and I unbutton his oxford, strip off his undershirt, and then take off his belt and jeans, before finally undressing myself.

We are comfortable and the sex is comfortable.  It is not satisfying for me, although it feels great.  I just haven’t gotten to a place with him where he understands how my body works, or what really appeals to me, and he hasn’t asked or explored.  I am okay with this because it’s rare that someone hits it out of the park on his first time at bat. (The LDF being an amazing example.)  I am comfortable with my sexuality and when and if I feel like sharing even deeper parts of myself with him, he will get it.

The chemistry is there. but we are often having sex when we’ve been drinking a lot.  In fact, takes forever for him to get there.  He uses moves he hasn’t before and I am impressed that it’s different and better.   It’s more aggressive in some ways, as he pulls me to the edge of the bed.  It means he doesn’t have to put weight on his broken arm.

It’s also completely unsafe.

The last time we had sex, some two weeks ago, we were in his car, in front of my house.  For fun, we had completely unprotected sex in the car, rather than upstairs.  He pulled out.  It was the first time he had done anything without a condom.

This time, the talk of condoms never arose.

It is clear we are in a sexual monogamous relationship from his perspective.

He says at one point in admiration “you’re so good at that,” which is something I always hate to hear in bed. “I love it” . . . sure. But the implication that this is a skill I have honed — which it is — is always vaguely insulting, though men never mean it that way.  He is convinced we should just sleep, but I ensure things end well for him before I roll over and go to sleep.

I am sleeping on his right side, so I am concerned about bumping his arm as we sleep.

I sleep fitfully, but as I awaken I am aware something is a little different. It feels different. I feel happy to be in bed with this man, who is still sound asleep.  The parts of us that are touching crackle with electricity. As we both adjust and stir and sleep in the early morning light, I realize that I am aroused and begin to ponder how to make sure we have sex this morning.

This is now the third night we have spent together (the last time, he stayed at his mother’s nearby, as we had already agreed before the date).  We only had sex that first morning.

I have an arm wrapped around him and his shoulder is cool against my cheek.  It is so comfortable here with him.  As he stirs a bit more, I realize he is more awake than I’d thought and wordlessly open to this.

We fool around for a bit, before I ask him “okay?” and climb atop him as he assents.

With his poor broken arm extended, I kiss his face as he tells me his breath is awful.

It’s early morning and he’s not yet gotten out of bed, so of course his breath is awful.  I continue to kiss his face, as we start to have sex.

It feels different. I am thoroughly in control of my orgasm and his, both of which happened faster and better than we intended.  In fact, he didn’t pull out. I began to realize and did.  I am not concerned about pregnancy — I am about to get my period — but it is not a habit I want him to get into when we have sex and I am ovulating.

I laid against him for a couple of minutes as we both struggled to catch our breath. As I rolled off of him, he laughed that he now needed a nap.  He walked into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water for me, which he then spilled over the bed with his bad arm.  He climbed back in without worry.  We have just become so comfortable together and I love how relaxed he is about things.

We spent the next hour or two just talking, which is where I find him so fascinating. He’s an avid outdoorsman — a hunter, a skier, a mountain climber, a sailor — and he lives by a code.  He is so much older than his chronological years.

He is so much lovelier and more interesting than I ever would have thought.  The more I learn, the more I want to know.

At one point, in bed, in the morning light, he is sitting up and i am tucked under the blankets and I realize how very much I like him.

I tell him this story about LP nearly dying.  We’ve been talking about adventure and death.  He is leaving for a trip in a month when his arm is healed.  When he told me about it, I said firmly “no!” Which is a ridiculously thing for me to say.

He reminded me it was far more likely he would be killed by a bear or a mountain lion than shot by bandits.  He also told me that he would be okay if he died on an adventure, and how preferable that is to dying of a heart attack in an office.  Hours later, over great coffee at a chic coffee shop, he described mistakes he and two friends made on a back country climbing and skiing adventure last march in which he could have died. A few times.

Of course, I find this intensely attractive.

It also puts GT squarely into the same personality traits that I find so appealing in my exes.  He’s very comfortable in his own skin, in solitude, and he will happily spend hours in pursuit of things he wants.

At the same time, he’s very present in my life.

He is entertaining a client this week. I joked with him about the fact he’d be spending a lot of time in strip clubs, which he acknowledged ruefully, but said he’d try to avoid it as he hates those places: “I should just save myself hours and give him $400 for a hooker.”

I offered to help if he needed it — to provide friends if he needed to be out among people, to go to dinner with them if he needed me.  It sounded like a silly offer to make, but it’s the highest and best use of my skills.

I am sort of becoming his girlfriend, which makes sense after 5 or 6 weeks.  We are in a monogamous sexual relationship.  We are in daily contact.

The more I know him, the more I like him.

He is becoming less handsome to me the more I know him.  He has the strong jaw, dimpled chin, great cheek bones, but I see him more clearly.  I see his hairline is starting to recede, he looks older and more weathered than his 29 years.  He is physically small and I often wonder if we are the same size.  And yet, I like him more.

The chemistry between us seems stronger.

Thoughts of him make me happy, even though I have other people in my life.  I spent part of my weekend lamenting not seeing my LDF and fretting a little over LP.  LDF now feels comfortable with “Love u,” which he sent again yesterday. LP is reaching out daily as he recuperates.

And there are other men I have been seeing.

But, I like GT. And the more I get to know him, the more I like him.

We have a big event among my friends this week: JerkFace’s birthday dinner.  I invited GT, though he will be the youngest person there, including some of the decade + younger wives.  Whether he goes is purely up to him, but he is the only person I would invite.

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