new clarity on old experiences

I am [today] the first to admit that, when I met my ex wife, I was incredibly naive with regard to the ways of love and romance. I'd just moved from Cleveland to Pittsburgh, in the process leaving behind my puppy-love college GF, who I'd been seeing since our junior year. She broke up with me at the end of our junior academic year, and I spent the summer pining away, finally getting over it after my summer efforts to reunite us were met with unanswered letters. My favorite one I actually wrote to her dog.

As youth would have it, when school resumed, she suddenly became interested again. She was a nice girl, but neither one of us had any real sense of where we were going or what we were going to do with our expensive BA's...after trying to forge a career in something, anything (advertising was my hope, but it never went anywhere) in Cleveland for 2 or 3 yrs after graduating, my first professional gig materialized and I moved to Pittsburgh. Which pretty much doomed that r-ship. The thing was, it was my first *real* career opportunity, I loved it, was excited by all the new challenges and experiences, and pretty much was working 12-16 hour days, 6 days a week. Though I'd seriously asked my GF to consider moving to PGH to be with me, she just wasn't wired for that kind of change, so our r-ship went from daily, nearly non-stop involvement (we even shared the same position at the same company for a number of years, which we both hated, though it's fair to say I hated it more than she did, maybe a lot more, but you'd never be able to tell for sure b/c she was one of those many people at the time who was pretty good at living in the superficial drama of the moment as a means of maintaining her denial of real issues) to pretty much a long-distance phone r-ship. This was terribly frustrating to me on many levels. We hadn't lived together, or even taken the plunge at the time into a fully sexual r-ship. Though we'd pretty much "done everything but" intercourse, she wanted to "wait"...like, this was the late 80's. Today, knowing what I know now, it's not only difficult for me to believe but downright embarassing that I didn't see that as a sign of some type of weirdness back then, but, as I said -- I was totally naive. It wore on me b/c, as much as I loved her, I saw myself at the time finally beginning to make something of myself -- I was getting valuable experience and feeling like I was using my abilities -- and she was still living with her roommate (who she met through me), hating her job, and going home to Parma for dinner every Sunday, as much to avoid her Yugoslavian mother's guilt trips as to visit her family -- yet she'd get upset with me for not making the 2-hr drive back to Cleveland every weekend to see her, when she very well could have come to PGH every weekend to spend time with me.

Anyway, within a month of my move, I met a number of new people...while I resisted, there seemed to be no end of new romantic opportunities. The first was a brilliant, tall Irish girl named Meg. We kissed once. She would have been a catch -- but I passed b/c I was still in this puppy-love, long-term, monogamous, committed, unconsummated r-ship with my GF.

Number Two was a stunning blond, who was in line in front of me in the public library that was adjacent to the theater I was working for at the time. I was there to check out a copy of a play (either Arms and the Man or The Hairy Ape, I can't recall which) that was on the theater's performance schedule and I wanted to be familiar with it. I remember being honestly struck by her beauty, getting turned on by being close enough to her in line that I could smell her perfume -- when she stunned me by turning around and smiling and saying hi. We made some small talk, and then she asked me, "Have you had lunch yet?" My actual response to this Unsolicited Invitation from the Goddess: "Yes, I did." That was that. I had learned from our chat that she worked at a pretty cool restaurant that was only a short walk from the theater. So, I began to go there whenever I could, in the hope of running into her again and rectifying my utterly clueless behavior. I finally did, but -- while our initial meeting was still the fuel of active masturbatory fantasies for me, the moment had clearly passed for The Goddess. To. This. Day. I could still kick myself.

Number Three was a little pixie-ish art student named Jenn. She swung between bleached her hair and dying it black, sometimes mixing the two. She had a great ass, accentuated by the punkish torn leggings that she liked to wear, and she always smelled like patchouli oil. She worked for me, and we made each other laugh and became friends. One night, clueless me is alone with her in her ramshackle little bohemian apartment, having beers and watching a candle burn, playing with the hot wax. Thinking back, it's impossible for me to envision anything other than voracious kisses leading to hours of hungry, intense sex...my hands and seeking her breasts and ass, my lips on her nipples and taught stomach, the sound of her purrs and then moans as my mouth found her wet pussy... In reality, I freaked and said a number of things (I'm involved, I have a GF, It's serious, I can't cheat on her, I'm in love, I'm your boss, I'm too old for you) and awkwardly escaped. As it turned out, I think she really was bipolar, the incident ruined our friendship, she slipped into a depression and wasn't any fun to be around anymore, and eventually stopped showing up for work.

Number Four stuck -- finally. Also worked for me. Of course, with the exception of the Art Student, I probably picked the most dangerous of them all. But, god -- I was worn out. And I needed to get laid, for crying out loud! Two things that my sweet little college GF did wrong: One, she should have let me sleep with her. Wed' seen each other for over 4 years. I mean, come on! -- she let me lick her pussy, but she wouldn't let me fuck her! In her defense (and mine, I suppose), I -- nice, respecting, loving BF -- never pushed her. And never left her.

Though, shortly after I graduated, while my college GF was still living at home, and the bulk of our time together took the form of me meeting her for lunch when she was still working the campus job that she'd had as an undergrad, there was something. I worked with this girl named MJ. She was a music student. Vocalist. Not the prettiest face in the room, but she was smart and funny. And we got along -- there was a tangible and irresistible physical chemistry between us. So, we went out one night, drank some beers, inevitably wound up back at her place, and -- perhaps in a foreshadowing of my future frustrations -- I spent the night in her bed, slowly and passionately making out for hours. The image of her strong body writhing beneath me remains clear, smelling her scent, my mouth sucking her beneath her panties as she pressed my face down, moaning. She so wanted me to fuck her. I'd still fuck her today. I owe her a good fuck. But I didn't. Instead, I left in the morning, both of us feeling guilty and frustrated. The only mitigating factor for both of us I think was was that she was "involved" with someone, too, so we were both able to take solace in feeling like we did the right thing by denying ourselves, each other and the universe what inevitably would have been some really satisfying sex. Our friendship was never the same. Though it wasn't lost on me that, in one sweet, steamy night, in a stuffy upstairs attic apartment, I'd gotten farther with this girl from Oklahoma who'd known me for maybe two months than I had in over three years with my GF. Hmmm.

I held out for another few years, until I'd moved, and been tempted by a steady string of hotties. All of whom seemed quite open about wanting me, physically, sexually, lustily - while this girl to whom I'd been unflaggingly loyal (with one exception) continued to limit me to dry-humping her with my zipper down. Christ. It's no wonder that, by the time I met Number Four, I could no longer resist. We hit it off immediately, I remained naive and inexperienced, as should be painfully obvious to the reader by now, and my ex aggressively pursued me and eagerly seduced me. And she was neither naive nor inexperienced. I confessed to my GF -- much to the chagrin and ridicule of my new best (male) friend, who (wisely) advised me to just be quiet -- and the rest is history.

Today, it makes complete sense to me that my r-ship with the long-term GF would end. I needed to be free. It was like the universe was trying to help make it happen. I realize now that the r-ship ended because my GF took for granted that I would always be in love with her -- regardless of her annoying lack of self-confidence (good job, mom) and mood swings -- not to mention her prudent attitude towards sex -- and I took for granted that she would always understand me, or at least give me the benefit of the doubt when I would exercise my right to be an individual. Years later I realized that what we thought was love was more habit and getting along. Neither of us knew I guess, at the time, being in our mid-20's, that there is a difference between love and being *in* love. On her end, I think it's fair for me to say that she didn't "get" that you gotta fan the flames of romance if you want to keep it alive. On my end, I honestly thought she'd somehow understand that, for whatever reason, I felt I *had* to explore the possibility of the new r-ship. Who was the bigger dumb-ass? I think it was fairly even, though I probably won the contest for insensitivity in that one. I truly thought we'd be able to still be friends. Duh.

I've come to think that a lot of life is being in the right place at the right time, though I don't still feel like I've developed a knack for that. I do believe that it's an invaluable talent to be able to recognize signs, when the universe presents them to you......but like I Ching readings........so much is open to interpretation, and your mileage may vary. Examples: During the time of this spurt in my individuation process, I remember two signs very clearly. One was sitting on the floor of a temporary apt I'd rented, with my new love, both of us sharing how badly we felt for my poor GF, and how neither of us knew what the best decision would be -- break off our new thing and chalk it up to an unplanned and intense fling, or take the plunge and leave the past behind. We did a little thing -- I tore a piece of paper into many pieces, and wrote on them either "Stay together" or "Marry GF" (though we weren't engaged) -- and then we agreed to draw a slip and promised that we'd do what the piece of paper said. Can't remember which one of use drew the slip, but it said "Marry GF" -- and we laughed, and didn't do it. I wound up marrying my ex, instead.

Which, ironically or not -- certainly not surprisingly, in retrospect -- didn't work out. Threw a big August wedding in my hometown, was pregnant with our son by Halloween (she was supposedly on birth control), and when he was maybe a year and half old, as we were getting the house ready for a New Year's Eve party we were having for a bunch of close friends, she basically told me she didn't wanted to be married anymore. Threw me for a loop. I convinced her to see a counselor -- both on her own, and as a couple -- we did, but it didn't help. At her insistence, we separated, which she led me to believe was so we could get some space and work things out. Which maybe she meant, but she never did one thing remotely resembling an attempt to reconcile. After the separation she confessed to having an affair. And that was really it. She cheated, and I couldn't get past it. I was miserable for about 6 months, then got sick of feeling miserable, and started to recover. I do have a low tolerance for misery, in the end. But I can put up with a high level of it, so it's been a bit of a catch-22 in my romantic life. Pretty sure I've gotten that under control. *crosses fingers*

Fought for custody of our son. She fought back. Being only the biological father, I didn't have a chance. So I dropped it. We switched custody weeks until my son started pre-school -- though I always had him well over 50% of the time -- then he lived with her, and I saw him weekends. Was very hard for me. Both to accept the "injustice" of the whole situation -- here, she was the one who was "wrong," but I was the one who had to suffer. And the system clearly favored her, as the mother. America hasn't evolved much at all, I learned up close and personal, with regard to its beliefs about M/F roles. Anyway, eventually I did get custody, but only after she agreed to it for reasons I still don't understand, but really don't care to -- my son's been with me since he was 7, he lives with me now, his mom's still in PA and rarely if ever spends any time with her son. I've never interfered. She has quite possibly damaged that r-ship beyond any hope of repair.

So, no -- we're not on good terms, if by that you mean do I care and respect her. But we don't have any ongoing "issues" b/c we've both moved on, and she lives far enough away to not be a menace, and she no longer has the power to disrupt my emotional or financial existence. I've made my peace, and I can only hope that my son will be able to, before it's too late, b/c, while to me she's just a bad r-ship that ended, to him she's his mom.

Turns out it's a lot to write, this life I've been living.