June 20, 2011

rooftop

Posted in life tagged elation, life, longing, lust, new york roof, sex, sorrow at 11:53 pm by woodynyou

It’s how life is.  It’s all about timing, mood, and whimsy.  In order for things to work out a myriad of puzzle pieces have to fall into place.  The other night these pieces almost interlocked for me.  But not quite.

 Last night I met Amanda and her friend at a bar in the Village.  (I’m staying in New York until August)   We had lively conversation and playful banter, and it was a good time.  After a couple of hours it was time to go and Amanda asked me to walk her and her friend down the street to her apartment.  On the way we stopped at another bar and had one more drink.  During this second bar we somehow started talking about classic rock, and in the course of the conversation it became known that I had never heard Bob Dylan’s, Blood On the Tracks.   

Amanda insisted that I come up to her apartment to hear it.  We went upstairs  and she put the record on.  Throughout the night she had been a tiny bit flirtatious with me, touching me on the arm or shoulder, smiling, and making eye contact.  This continued at the apartment and when her friend went to the bathroom Amanda came over to where I was sitting, leaned down, and kissed me full on the mouth.  I reached for her hands, but when her friend emerged from the bathroom she withdrew.

Another ten minutes passed and I decided it was time to go.  Amanda walked me into the hallway and she began to apologize for her impulsive kiss.  But I leaned into her and kissed her and this time she we embraced.  She then led me to her roof which had a spectacular view of the city.

Silently she drew me towards her and kissed me.  We kissed and embraced for a long time and eventually my hands slipped down her pants to feel her ass, which felt wonderful.  She let out a sigh of pleasure and after a little while I reached down further and I could feel her pussy. 

She was wet and she was responding — I was hard, and wishing we could go inside.  She unbuttoned her pants and we pulled them down and I was happy to see that her pussy was unshaven.  At that point I could have knelt down and given her head, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  She was standing with her pants down around her thighs and who knows the contorted positions we would have had to come up with to make that work.  It didn’t feel right to do it there.

I wanted to go inside to her bedroom but I could tell that she would have felt uncomfortable with her friend a few feet away in the adjoining room.  I didn’t want it to be like that either — it would have felt too much like taking advantage of a drunken woman. 

So I summoned up all of the will power at my disposal and guided her off of the roof and back onto her floor.  We embraced once more and I told her that I loved her, even though I knew that she could not tell me the same.  I left confused, but deep down knowing what had happened.

We met two days later back at her apartment, she sober, but no less beautiful, and me nervous and depressed as she explained with flawless logic how, even though my marriage is almost over, it still would feel somehow wrong and that there is a good chance that it would destroy, or inexorably alter our friendship.

I could not argue.  She is right of course.  But the truth is that she does look out for me, but she fucked up.  This I could not tell her, but in the aftermath of this truly bizarre weekend, it was all too apparent what happened.  With her drunkenness came capriciousness and daring.  I was there and in the line of fire. 

And you know what really makes me mad?  Here, finally, was a situation in my life where I was trying to take the high road.  I knew all along that Amanda did not have those feelings for me, and that if I were ever to make a pass it would end our friendship.  I had no intention of making a play for her, but when she made one for me, I allowed myself to believe, if only for an hour, that it could work out. 

I was so close.  When will I ever get this close to being with the woman of my dreams?  

The next day I went back into my blog’s archives and reread the two posts from last year.  I was surprised at how accurate my description of her was, and how my dreams had so closely presaged the future.

Folks I am hurting now.  I feel rejected, despairing, sad, and angry.  What’s more I am away from home until August and out of my routine.  I don’t know when and if I will see Amanda again.  The truth is, sex or not, our relationship has already been altered. 

So give me a couple of days and I will get over this bout of self-pity.  Here I am in New York City – I should be able to find some blog-worthy, happier subjects to write about.   Until that time, a little hang-in-there type comments would go a long way to soothing the wounds of this middle-aged man.

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