The Tempest
(shortly after midnight, July 4, 2013) Author's note: I apparently wrote this some time last year, post August 25 (because I'm still 34), but never finished the post and promptly forgot ENTIRELY that I was even keeping a blog. It is, for reasons not only tragic, but even more tragic, less tragic, and then wonderful enough to reaffirm my faith in humanity in a way dually child-like and in a wisdom I sense to be well beyond my grasp (yet...), woefully outdated. Read on anyway, because simple vanity will not allow me to delete such a piece of prosaic... prose. Enjoy!:
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According to the dashboard, this is my 1600th post. Woohoo! Who'd'a thunk that a humble midwesterner would have so much to say? Certainly not me. It's a nice thing to be able to surprise oneself. Who knows what other treats I've laid in waiting for my future self, like rainbow and confetti bouncing betties?* Thus is the beauty of the process of late-life maturation, and even the "big L" Life itself, to the garden-variety simpleton such as moi. I embrace such unexpected startles.
So PoF girl and I have become a bona-fide, chiseled-in-stone item. I've always embraced the cliche that opposites atrract, and there's no denying that there's a heavy flavor of that principle in play within the delightfully weird bond between us. Strangely enough, we're almost totally the same, and yet somehow perfectly yin to the other's yang. And the absolute truthful beauty of the situation is that the side of me that she has coaxed out has also created this paradoxical dynamic.
Capricorn chick and Virgo dude. Look it up. Totally us. :-)
The dominant part of me (which I hadn't really identified as such until recently) realizes that she basically embodies everything that I was prior to my recent soul awakening. She is painfully shy. She is self-conscience. She is secretly and internally confident in her power as a woman, yet only wishes to be nude in the darkness even before me, the man who, depsite her protests of me seeing her through rose-colored lenses, consistently reminds her of her astonishing physical beauty.
She's everything I used to be, and I am overwhelmed by a sense of complete empathy. Not sympathy, but 100% I-know-exactly-how-you-feel empathetic love. Like one who has myself been rescued from the ice cold waters of self doubt (and to a certain degree, self loathing), I want to wrap her in a warm thermal blanket and give her a cup of hot cocoa, holding her in a strong embrace until she reaches the place that I myself have risen to.
The irony is that it was she who lifted me out of my own personal spiritual frigid mire. I simply want to return the favor so that I make her feel even two decimal points (that's a hundredth, for those of you who, like me, are total mathematical idiots who still use their fingers when adding) as awesome as the whole person that she has encouraged me to become. Up until her, I doubted myself in nearly every way as a man, lover, and relationship partner. But *through* her I, quite suddenly, have embraced my testosterone in base, animal, and deliciously unruly ways. I've learned to be the "enlightened male" who respects women as equals in all human aspects, but who can still rear his hand back and strike her ass in a sharply stinging (and authoritarian, [nigh domineering!]) spank, separating the idea of such from the deplorable notion of hitting a woman for aggression's sake, and an act of submissively dominant love, resulting in her emitting a wholly new and wickedly, delightfully pleasing squeal that I in my 34th year of life had yet to fully appreciate until now.
---
So last year I learned how to spank a woman and enjoy it. :-) It is equally both fortunate and unfortunate that PoF girl and I relapsed into the same emotional doldrums which tore us apart the first damned time around. While remaining on good terms, and I even having taken photos at a family function of hers earlier this year, our incompatibilities inevitably grew from easily-ignored differences into the 800-lb gorilla which ravaged any chances of us having a functional relationship.
I had such high hopes. So it goes.
They never tell you that "Opposites attract!" is only one side of the coin. One half of the equation. It's the first of a two-act play. What you're never told is that the truth, in its entirety, reads as such: "Opposites attract... at first." Beyond the at-first, you're pretty much fucked. Opposites generate curiosity which leads to the amusement of novelty which, while at first quite potent, folds over upon itself to reveal the exact opposite of amusement... utter fucking irritation. Opposites do indeed attract, however fleetingly.
Birds of a feather do, however, not only flock together, but beget the kind of staying power which leads one to first lay eyes upon the other from across a parking lot and sparks the kind of reaction which exists in the preconscious realm of reflex. The moment which, at a single glance, even your brutally honest gut reacts in concert and harmony with every other romantic, logical, and base fiber which constitutes who you are, and causes you to realize in that glorious instant the petty folly of every previous romantic notion you'd ever fooled yourself into thinking in your life up until then. That moment you see her, and your first reflexive thought before the structure and rubric of your personality can even respond, is your one true inner voice whispering through your ears,
Enter HailStorm, the woman of my dreams personified. Only in my wildest musings, trying to concoct the most improbably impossibly perfect person, have I dared to imagine someone such as her. And she not only exists, but feels the same about me.
I have never in my 34 years been in such delicious trouble. :-)
---
According to the dashboard, this is my 1600th post. Woohoo! Who'd'a thunk that a humble midwesterner would have so much to say? Certainly not me. It's a nice thing to be able to surprise oneself. Who knows what other treats I've laid in waiting for my future self, like rainbow and confetti bouncing betties?* Thus is the beauty of the process of late-life maturation, and even the "big L" Life itself, to the garden-variety simpleton such as moi. I embrace such unexpected startles.
So PoF girl and I have become a bona-fide, chiseled-in-stone item. I've always embraced the cliche that opposites atrract, and there's no denying that there's a heavy flavor of that principle in play within the delightfully weird bond between us. Strangely enough, we're almost totally the same, and yet somehow perfectly yin to the other's yang. And the absolute truthful beauty of the situation is that the side of me that she has coaxed out has also created this paradoxical dynamic.
Capricorn chick and Virgo dude. Look it up. Totally us. :-)
The dominant part of me (which I hadn't really identified as such until recently) realizes that she basically embodies everything that I was prior to my recent soul awakening. She is painfully shy. She is self-conscience. She is secretly and internally confident in her power as a woman, yet only wishes to be nude in the darkness even before me, the man who, depsite her protests of me seeing her through rose-colored lenses, consistently reminds her of her astonishing physical beauty.
She's everything I used to be, and I am overwhelmed by a sense of complete empathy. Not sympathy, but 100% I-know-exactly-how-you-feel empathetic love. Like one who has myself been rescued from the ice cold waters of self doubt (and to a certain degree, self loathing), I want to wrap her in a warm thermal blanket and give her a cup of hot cocoa, holding her in a strong embrace until she reaches the place that I myself have risen to.
The irony is that it was she who lifted me out of my own personal spiritual frigid mire. I simply want to return the favor so that I make her feel even two decimal points (that's a hundredth, for those of you who, like me, are total mathematical idiots who still use their fingers when adding) as awesome as the whole person that she has encouraged me to become. Up until her, I doubted myself in nearly every way as a man, lover, and relationship partner. But *through* her I, quite suddenly, have embraced my testosterone in base, animal, and deliciously unruly ways. I've learned to be the "enlightened male" who respects women as equals in all human aspects, but who can still rear his hand back and strike her ass in a sharply stinging (and authoritarian, [nigh domineering!]) spank, separating the idea of such from the deplorable notion of hitting a woman for aggression's sake, and an act of submissively dominant love, resulting in her emitting a wholly new and wickedly, delightfully pleasing squeal that I in my 34th year of life had yet to fully appreciate until now.
---
So last year I learned how to spank a woman and enjoy it. :-) It is equally both fortunate and unfortunate that PoF girl and I relapsed into the same emotional doldrums which tore us apart the first damned time around. While remaining on good terms, and I even having taken photos at a family function of hers earlier this year, our incompatibilities inevitably grew from easily-ignored differences into the 800-lb gorilla which ravaged any chances of us having a functional relationship.
I had such high hopes. So it goes.
They never tell you that "Opposites attract!" is only one side of the coin. One half of the equation. It's the first of a two-act play. What you're never told is that the truth, in its entirety, reads as such: "Opposites attract... at first." Beyond the at-first, you're pretty much fucked. Opposites generate curiosity which leads to the amusement of novelty which, while at first quite potent, folds over upon itself to reveal the exact opposite of amusement... utter fucking irritation. Opposites do indeed attract, however fleetingly.
Birds of a feather do, however, not only flock together, but beget the kind of staying power which leads one to first lay eyes upon the other from across a parking lot and sparks the kind of reaction which exists in the preconscious realm of reflex. The moment which, at a single glance, even your brutally honest gut reacts in concert and harmony with every other romantic, logical, and base fiber which constitutes who you are, and causes you to realize in that glorious instant the petty folly of every previous romantic notion you'd ever fooled yourself into thinking in your life up until then. That moment you see her, and your first reflexive thought before the structure and rubric of your personality can even respond, is your one true inner voice whispering through your ears,
"There she is... the One you're gonna marry."
Enter HailStorm, the woman of my dreams personified. Only in my wildest musings, trying to concoct the most improbably impossibly perfect person, have I dared to imagine someone such as her. And she not only exists, but feels the same about me.
I have never in my 34 years been in such delicious trouble. :-)
posted by Grover at 7/04/2013 01:15:00 AM
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