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Valentine's Day post 2025
This all happened years ago when I was younger. The first part.
I once fell for this girl really hard. Thought about her all the time. Like, minute-to-minute. I couldn't eat sometimes, I was so enamored. I used to live my days wondering what she was doing, as if every space she filled were magical. Was she eating? With whom? Was some guy making her laugh? Would it be okay to send her a short message? Sometimes I would then send one on inspiration--a joke, a link to music, something else inane--then ride the buoyant wave of anticipation for a while, until I got no answer and no answer, and eventually my face burned with shame at my own fey sentimentality. Was I not a man? Had I not been raised to be tougher than this weak sniveller? God damn it.
Just being around her, though, was a thrill I had without questioning it, something I felt without having asked for it or willed it. I sometimes saw her from the bus, me riding, her out there walking and my heart skipped--literally I could feel that palpitation. She was a good deal younger than I was--tall, willowy, sure of herself. Beautiful. Her hair was in a popular style at the time, though rare now. When I did see her, time stood still. They say you should plan dates and do fun things--and it is true, you should, you must--but to me, truly just sitting on a bench with her was better than sailing to the Bahamas (which yes, I've done), if she were there on the bench with me. Just staring into air. All very corny. Pathetic even. What I'd warn anyone not to feel. The stuff of saccharine pop.
She left, though, and like a teenage girl I spent my time pining over her. Tried not to show it, did show it when drunk. My closest drinking buddy at the time was sympathetic but couldn't relate and told me just to move on, move on. Cease all communication. I tried. It worked for awhile. Still I'd wonder where she was. I could even stir a perfectly benign moment like waiting for a bus into an existential crisis of jealousy by simply imagining: "What if right now she is with some guy?" I ruined my own day many times by doing this.
I always wondered what it would be like to know her forever, and I actually envied her family--that they might know her for so many years, whereas I would almost surely be forgotten, and soon. It took a lot of alcohol and sinking into shallow self-indulgence to shut her out of my mind.
Then this and that happened and I married her and I left her sleeping this morning with her feet sticking out of the covers.
"Life is a trick. Life is a kitten in a sack." --Anne Sexton
Sweet story.
Probably because I stopped the telling abruptly and skipped the later pointless bickering.
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I still remember being struck with what felt like a thunderbolt the first time I saw my wife. I had even been prepared, slightly. I knew her roommate, and so had seen pictures on Facebook. The only excuse I can muster is that the average resolutions back then were so low they gave you what I think is more of an idea of a person.
I was able to stabilize myself for the rest of that night and act normal, even if every conversation with her started with me being a little short of breath, or having the same palpitations you describe. Over the next year or so, I was struck by how funny and kind a woman with this much beauty could be. It didn't hurt that she was dating someone else, so the stakes were low.
When we both had to stay in our small college town over the summer, I brought her tea and aspirin when she was sick. She helped scrub the old green truck I drove that didn't match my personality at all, and we made trashy cheddar bacon fries with meat from the ag department she was part of. When they broke up, I swooped in.
More than a decade later, I still actively give my male friends opportunities to talk to her 1 on 1 in social situations. It's such a great experience that I think it would be selfish not to share it, even if I know firsthand it hurts a little when it's over.
I think I've been in love, butterflies in the stomach, heart thumping at the sight of them love twice in my life. Mere lust or fondness? I think I've lost count.
The first instance was painful. A pining adolescent romance for someone who was emotionally unavailable, and just not that into me. I thought the fact we were going out on dates and that she was coming over was enough, while doing my best to ignore the fact that while we were in college and her friends were around, she'd treat me as if I was just one of them.
The second... It didn't pan out. At this point I'm well over the bitterness, and I wish I had understood we weren't compatible, but as the bitter and wise say, when you're in love and have rose-tinted goggles on, red flags look just like flags.
The two of them could have passed for sisters (if absolutely nothing alike personality-wise, barring a love for dogs). I guess twice bitten forever shy? I'm sure it'll happen again, if experience is any hint, I never have a choice in the matter. I thought both of them were the One (or two, in rapid succession), and was at the "We'll get married eventually" stages with the latter, but alas.
I tell myself I don't miss them. And it's mostly true.
I've had that feeling a few times. It... never went well. Got summarily shot down every single time, and eventually learned to dread those feelings of attraction. The last time it happened to me, I remember saying "oh crap" out loud once I realized what was going on.
Oddly enough, though I'm happily married now I never felt that way about my wife really. I liked her, certainly, but I didn't spend time mooning over her or get a jolt in my stomach when I saw her. Probably has something to do with the fact I was 30 when we met, I imagine. Mainly the process of dating my wife was one of existential terror, as literally every step (first date, first kiss, and so on) was the furthest I had ever made it with a woman. So I was terrified of doing something to fuck it up. Then on top of that, I had to try to figure out if I really liked her, or if I just liked that she was the first woman to show any interest in me. That was a tough bit of introspection. But it all worked out in the end, so I guess I can't complain too much. I wouldn't go back to those days for any amount of money, though. Way too complicated.
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From time to time I have had sudden bouts of insecurity because I never had an experience like that when I met my wife, or when we were dating. So when people talk about “love at first sight” I get uncomfortable. I’m a romantic at heart, and I like the idea of falling desperately in love with someone like that, but that’s not what happened to me. I was not especially attracted to her when I met her, no more than any other young woman. I grew to love her slowly, as I got to know her. I love her deeply today: I would die for her if I had to. But I never “fell for her”, so to speak.
Of course I never fell for anyone else either. There have been three times in my life that I saw a woman and was struck by her beauty. I felt strongly physically attracted to her: infatuated might be a good word. But I wanted to bed those women, not love them. Two of them were complete strangers whose character was unknown to me. The third I had a conversation with, and discovered she was not the kind of person I wanted to have a discussion with, much less live with. It was lust only.
You're not alone. I've never fallen head over heels for anyone this way. I've pined for and creeped over many girls in my youth, but it has always been a gradual and groundless infatuation.
My wife doesn't like to be reminded of it, but I asked her out because I didn't feel this crippling anxiety around her that came with my usual feelings towards a girl.
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While that moment is an incredible memory, it's long ago been dwarfed by the rest of our relationship. I've been a hopeless romantic since I was very young. 99/100 times, it was just a way to get my feelings hurt, but eventually, it stuck.
Many such cases.
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Reminds me of the Snoop Pierson interview where she recalls walking down the street, seeing some people arguing across the road, "and then one thing led to another and I got sentenced to seven years for attempted murder".
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Interesting. I've also had a moment with a girl I thought was a lesbian--she had had a girlfriend for about four years but had broken up with her. I think. If she hadn't then, she did later. She made very clear advances toward me. That sentence no doubt sounds like a boast, but there is no chance that I am mistaken in her intentions. There we were, lying on a futon in the guest room of my mutual friend, she and I beside each other, I assumed for sleep. And then she was slipping off her clothing until she was just in her panties. She arc'd around one long leg over my midsection until she was on top of me, and looking at me in the dim light told me that she would show me things I had never dreamed of.
It is difficult to explain my reaction. It's not that I doubted her; I didn't, and not because my dreams were pedestrian and asexual, as they certainly weren't at the time. But I had only known her as a lesbian for about two years.
I was struck with the sudden fear that is hard to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it--the knowledge that I was with a woman who knew extremely well not only the fairly easy methods of pleasuring a man, but also knew those of pleasuring another woman. And who had been a lover of and loved by a woman who also knew these skills. I was less practically educated in such matters then than I am now, but I don't think I was a slouch. Nevertheless something about the proposition made me go cold, and as I lay there, her poised above me bare-breasted, I mumbled something about friendship and awkwardness.
If you are doubting my sanity let me say that it is possible that I might have been obsessed with someone else at the time. It wouldn't have been unusual, as I often fixated on certain women. (Aside: I once asked a French professor, at a party of drunk people in Palolo Valley in Oahu, none of whom I knew but the host, if he didn't sometimes see a singular woman as so beautiful, so perfect, that every other woman was only beautiful in as much as she looked like the one you had in mind. He swirled around his red wine with ice in it in his glass ["You Americans are such snobs about ice in wine," he had said earlier. "Sometimes it needs it," and plopped in two ice cubes.] He looked at me and shrugged. "Of course," he said. "But that only lasts a couple of days.")
Anyway I shut her down. The almost naked athletic girl on top of me, I mean. And I learned something at that moment--well, I was to learn it, even if I did not realize it at the time. I learned that while men can come back from such a rebuff--some of us even grew up accustomed to at least one such hurdle in the pursuit of our goal--women, it became clear to me, do not take well to rejection of this sort. I'm sorry, Phoebe, if you're reading this. I was, as they say, a lot older then.
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Did you at least tickle them as you were leaving the bedroom?
It was early. I let her sleep.
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Hell yeah, dude. Great story, and I'm glad that it has a happy ending.
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Well done.
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