My Funny Valentine

Valentine’s Day marked the one month anniversary of my breakup or as I like to call it My Independence Day.

It had all the earmarks of being a miserable mess of a day. First Valentines Day alone in 6 years. One month exactly from the breakup (what are the odds of that?). I’d kept my spirits up and conveniently avoided the manufactured holiday fast approaching. I’d been chatting for a few days with a guy that had hit me up on-line. Cute-ish, 29-ish, intriguing because of his perseverance. Smooth, hot little muscular body and exotic as he hailed from, of all places, Kazakhstan. My own little Borat.

He’d been texting me for a few days and really wanted to hook up. Now to me, “hook up” means we get together and have sex. He clearly had other ideas in mind. When he suggested we meet this Saturday night at a bar, I wasn’t having any of it. There is nothing worse than meeting a “date” out at bar where his friends or yours may be hovering and ready to rescue you from an unattractive situation. And the very fact of meeting him at a bar was moving this away from “hookup” into dateland. A territory I had no interest in journeying through anytime soon.

I explained my hesitation around meeting in a bar and we rescheduled for Thursday night, which just happened to be Valentine’s Day. This fact escaped me at first but once I realized it, I used it to my advantage. As in, when I had lunch with Dear and he said, he’d just be working late and not doing anything special with Twitch for V-D, I said, that was too bad as I would be doing a 29 year old from Kazakhstan. When he nearly spit his salad nicoise on the table, my heart grew a little warmer. Perhaps it wasn’t quite my heart.

So I showed up at Borat’s place, a rag-tag artist’s pad if ever there was on, and instantly liked his energy. Funny, sassy, with a weird sing-songy accent that was charming. He was much cuter than his photos with a very, very hot little body. He asked me if I’d like a beer, I said sure (while my brain quickly calculated how many empty carbs were in a glass of beer). The beer turned out to be imported ale and was fabulous.

 So after loosening us up a little, we started getting a little more comfortable which pretty much involved kissing and getting naked. Now we we both had rock hard erections but the focus of the evening turned out to be not so much sex as it was sensuality and intimacy. It was the opposite of my fifteen minutes from earlier in the week and in many way’s exactly what was missing from my own relationship. We caressed, kneaded, licked and mostly just held each other, exploring each other’s bodies and marveling how nicely we fit together. This went on for about three hours and to be honest, I did begin to wonder when we’d Make Sexy Time. But we never did. And that was okay. Sure there were moments that were very sexual and it was all erotic but more than that it was extremely intimate. The intimacy born of really being present in the moment with another person and not looking forward to some preconceived outcome.

My contacts began to dry out at One am so I got ready to head home. We’d lost the sex in our relationship but more than the sex, Dear and I had forgotten how to be intimate with each other. I left feeling perfectly satisfied. A satisfaction not born of a self-gratified release but from a evening of living truly in the moment. It was the perfect Valentine’s Day.