He is the type of man that I have been hoping to find for the past few years: attentive, devoted, caring, sensitive, gentle, thoughtful; someone who knows me and likes me anyway, someone who accepts me for who I am; someone around whom I can be my most relaxed, uncensored self, without fear of judgement or of putting him off. How funny, isn't it, that, for the past year and a half or so, this person was right in front of me but I simply couldn't see it?
How fortunate, then, that I have finally seen it.
Two nights ago, after a particularly intense and wholly present session of love-making, I felt a rush of feelings crashing against my defences, first brought about by the way he'd looked at me as our bodies formed a single whole, and how feeling him become a part of me had made me want to pull him closer, and closer still, never letting go; then the aftermath of that intensity, feeling his hands on my skin, remembering the way I had felt just minutes ago and simmering in its after-wavers...
Well, I cried. This puts me in a bit of a panic; this possibility, more real than generic, of a finality with him, the very idea of having, finally, something that you've wanted for so long. It is scary. Frankly, it freaks me out. It is a sign that I care more than I'd set out to when I start thinking about what he'd told me about the girl that he dated when we were just friends, and feel a sense of insecurity, thereby needing assurances from him that, yes, he likes me more, he feels more connected with me, even the sex is better with me. This vulnerability puts me in a bit of a panic because it is opening myself up to hurt; but at the same time, it is sheer joy to relinquish control over my heart and start to trust, tentatively but surely, that, yes, he is worthy of it.
Still, it's early days. I am still worried that I might get bored like I have done in the past. Actually, any kind of commitment induces in me the urge to run in the opposite direction as fast as I can. At some level, I dislike just the mere suggestion of fetters, however light, upon my absolute freedom (in the non-philosophical sense) to do as I please.
But anyway. We will see how it goes. It's just nice that I think I have mostly caught up with him in terms of how I feel about him, and this 'relationship' (if I can sort of call it that). Like I told him, even when I was having doubts, the thought of ending it didn't cross my mind; and I know that my feelings have deepened and grown since the night, a couple of weeks ago, I told him how I was worried that I didn't have very strong feelings and that I might never have strong feelings for him.
But it was almost inevitable for that to change. For starters, he is so sweet. He brought me flowers again last weekend, and he got up early last Saturday to make me pancakes despite needing to be in Southbank at 10am--and he didn't even have any of it. It was just because I'd said, flippantly and casually, the evening before when I was hungry after running and tennis and impatient for the pasta bake thing that I was making for us to bake, that I wanted some pancakes. He'd made us some the weekend before and they were delicious, so of course I was craving pancakes at the peak of my hunger, but I hadn't really meant it. He took it to heart nevertheless, asked if I would like some the next morning, said he'd try and make them for me before leaving for his photography class...and the next morning, when I was still in bed, mostly asleep, I heard some clanging from the kitchen and I knew that he'd kept his word. When he'd left, I'd wanted to get up and cover the plate with some aluminium foil to prevent the pancakes from going cold...but of course he'd already done that.
He made me dinner at his on Wednesday evening when I went to Cambridge, and didn't let me do the dishes because the pan was oily and a pain to wash. Granted, I do the dishes too when he's over at mine even after I'd cooked, but I kind of like doing the dishes anyway and it's just easier for me to do it. More importantly, he'd insisted on washing up last Sunday after my semi-failed attempt at making a fajita pasta bake.
Speaking of cooking: everything he's cooked for me so far has been delicious. Because he likes cooking, he makes the effort to find a new recipe everytime I stay over at his. He's not even vegetarian and he makes better, and more inventive, vegetarian dishes than I do.
Apart from that...he has the sexiest arms. I really like strong, muscular arms on a man, and those are exactly what he has. I'd already noticed his arms when he helped me with my move to London; and these days, I love feelings the hardness of his muscles.
Okay, on that gross note, a couple of more things...or rather, just the one. My half-marathon training has been exhausting. It probably doesn't help that I sometimes run before tennis; and today, I ran in the evening after tennis with E in the morning.
I am absolutely knackered. I finally bought some protein powder (soy protein, not the whey thing) after E brought it up again when I complained about some tightness and pain in my left leg. I hope it will help with my recovery. I ran 11km in the rain on Wednesday. The pace was just average, but importantly, I felt like I could run significantly more when I had to stop, save for the aforementioned tightness in my left leg.
Okay I don't have the energy for this entry anymore. I need to sleep.