It’s going on two years since I met Beau.
The first evening he came to game night, I already started feeling the beginnings of being enchanted by him. Every time I was in his company, he charmed me more. Every conversation we had, I learned something new and my affection and admiration for him grew.
I was all the more impressed by his character and maturity, given that he was 24 years of age to my 61. As my affection expanded over many months into love, that was just one of the reasons that I knew that my dreams of marriage and sharing our lives would never be realized.
Later (after some time had passed since he moved to the state) when he started dating guys, looking for a good boyfriend, I was happy for him, and I remain so. Until recently, I had only met one of them, but I was happy he was enjoying that relationship. I didn’t know if they were having sex, but the possibility didn’t faze me.
Even though for the last year my masturbation fantasies have been nearly exclusively centered around him, I still had no problem with knowing that he was “sleeping with” others. And while naturally much of my fantasizing involved us sharing loving sex together, a very significant minority of it could bring me to orgasm by just thinking of holding his hand, or hugging him, or cuddling while reading a book aloud to him. Even activities such as that are unlikely to happen, although I did ask him for a hug once, and that embrace is still vivid in my memory.
I told my therapist recently that I was really okay with him dating, while also admitting that many people might say that and be lying, or at the least shading the truth; she took my word for it. Absolutely truthfully I’m even happy in the fantasy of just lovingly stroking his hair while he has sex with his boyfriend.
It’s a little harder being around him recently. That best part of my life has recently become mixed with some pain that has to be submerged: the day I met his relatively new boyfriend two weeks ago seeing Beau just touch his arm a few times, because I’ve never seen him be touchy-feely with anybody. But then yesterday it was at a much higher level: touching him often as they passed, repeatedly massaging his neck or shoulders, and so on.
The coexistence in my brain of the happiness for him and the pain for me could be enough to drive me crazy. But I realize I’m hardly the only person to have ever been in that situation.
He found himself last week having to say something that really hurt me, though he took no pleasure in it and expressed his sorrow for doing so.
I want to be able to look at you and not be so hurt by you. —The Object of My Affection
We all know of the fundamental drives of the animal mind: finding pleasure in food and sex, while avoiding pain. Is one of them supposed to win out over the other?
Even though there’s now that new element of pain, I still am constantly looking forward to my next opportunity to share time with Beau. I don’t even know if those hours will be harder than what my life has become in the last couple of months, breaking into spontaneous crying jags and screaming at the unfair universe. (It’s a good thing I work from home.)
But I’ll never fail to jump at the chance.
Stupid Brain