I’m not entirely sure what to call this one. The one that stays. That one that gets real with me, manages me, takes care of me. The one that creates a huge, safe playground for me to … well, fuck, for me to just to be me, really. I’ve had a lot of things, but I’ve never had one that knew how to hold me exactly tight enough but not too tight.
“What do you get out of this?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer because he’s busy checking my cool vintage suitcase into cargo and bullshitting with my son and making sure his meeting in San Francisco is confirmed and probably starting a new company in his head or something.
I stare off across the long row of people who are all flying somewhere today. What is the cross-section of people in an international airport on Christmas? This older woman with some efficient tweed costuming, riding boots, a perfect silver bob…
I’m not going to be her growing up, but openly stare regardless. She looks past me at my man; he says something to her I don’t find funny; she likes it. And only now does she turn to me in approval.
“Ready?” he says to me.
He is large. Has some genius IQ.
Those things I understand; I know how to mesh with those things.
But in his world there is somehow a lack of complexity, and he navigates it freely, easily.
“Oh my God, I think I left my phone in the cab!” I tell him and Django, suddenly frantic, dumping the strange contents of my purse out on the glossy airport floor.
Three lipsticks roll in various directions.
Lady Tweed gives me an almost pained, tight look.
But he just watches me while he calmly dials his phone; a chiming sounds from my cleavage.
“Oh!” I laugh. Pull my phone out. Amaze my audience.
“Is she always like this?” he asks my son, as I’m sweeping everything back into my purse.
“Sometimes worse,” Django smiles.
Except I’m not. I mean, yes, this is a part of me. But there are so very many parts of me, not a few of which are nothing like this. Not a few of which are all power and cold control.
This woman just happened to be the one we designed, together, just for him.
Kinda. No, wait. It’s not that.
This is who I am right now because this is how the woman I am is allowed to behave when she has a big, strong, smart man in her corner. Which she has never, in all her gorgeous womanly life, had.
One thought on “delayed”
Well now, isn’t this good to hear. You are kinda losing your head over this guy aren’t you! Can’t wait to read more about all of it.