Wanting more

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He told me I needed a lesbian with a dick. I was complaining over Ethiopian food about my latest and persistent struggle getting an avoidant Autistic man to emotionally connect with me.

He told me he’d recently discovered the joys of deeply emotionally connected sex, sans kink.

Turning 40 had changed him, he had told me earlier. As he explained the concept of “over the hill” to me in detail I said “You can just say ‘over the hill.’” Because I’m nothing if not a patient woman. And that was when he learned what that phrase meant. This is one of the smartest and better-read people I know.

I listened to some lesbian music after getting home. Liz Phair’s Why Can’t I made me wonder whether someone can change so much it’s like you haven’t fucked yet.

When we met, years ago now, I knew very little about kink and wasn’t super interested in learning. He knew very little about deeply emotionally connected sex that wasn’t kinky and wasn’t super interested in learning. We just never really connected during sex, although it was fun and he was sexy. I was afraid he would accidentally hurt me physically. And outside of bed he would talk over me to the point that my pussy shut down.

The last few times I saw him I didn’t really feel sexually drawn. We didn’t have what the other wanted.

Tonight at dinner he said that if he was going to be having a lot of sex with someone he’d prefer to be emotionally intimate with them. There was a certain amount of bravado still there. Stories of seductions big and small. But the stories had more flirtations and fewer gangbangs this time. It felt like the shine of conquest had dulled a bit once compared to the burning of intimacy.

He complained about wanting and not having, but I corrected him. To want is sublime. I don’t want any more than I have of most people. When I find someone I want a little more of, I’m a little more alive. When I find someone I want a lot more of, I’m on fire. He’s a Buddhist though, so we may differ on the value of desire.

He doesn’t really make much time for people he’s not fucking. Every time I see him and we don’t fuck I feel honored. It’s been years since we’ve even kissed.

He told me selling produce at the Farmer’s Market was the best job of his life. I asked why and he told me the people are interesting and generally in a good mood and he likes being an expert on produce. I said his hobby (BDSM), his former job (education), and his current job offer him the chance to be the expert and have people learning from him.

I told him I think he met with me because I asked to talk about BDSM in preparation for my Domme class. Even though it barely came up. He was excited to teach me something.

He asked me if I mostly wanted just emotionally intimate sex. I like all kinds of sex, I told him. But the emotionally intimate kind is valuable to me because it’s rare. He said it was rare for him too.

Riding over to see him, I was excited in a way I haven’t felt since we met. Since we met, he’s changed careers, gotten sober, gotten super into meditation, turned 40, and apparently discovered tantric sex.

Today I know a little about kink and I’m super interested in learning more. He knows a little about deeply emotionally connected sex that isn’t kinky and is super interested in learning more.

Outside the restaurant he hugged me. I kissed his cheek. I looked up at him in such a way that he asked if he could kiss me and I almost said “Why do you think I’m looking at you like this with my face in this proximity to your face” but instead I just said yes.

I texted him on the way home in an Uber: “You left me with a tremendous gift: wanting more.”