John of the North (John #2)

Some of my stories are funny, some are not. This one is not. This one stung more than just a little. So much so that it has taken me 6 months to be able to write about it. But since he’s a John, he must be included in my tales of the John’s.

About the same time I met Johnny (the pasty, picky, unemployed recycler) I started corresponding with John. Not sure how it started, I think I saw that he was looking at my profile and he was so attractive, I looked at his. His profile was witty and snarky and full of funny little wise observations about life and dating. I think I wrote him first, just to make a comment on it. I didn’t expect him to write back, but he did. He was really quite attractive and I knew the second I saw his picture, that he was trouble. Not the kind of trouble that would land one in jail, the heart-breaking kind. Something in the eyes… Well, we seemed to ignore the physical distance (he lived near Sacramento, I live in L.A.) and exchanged daily, funny emails. We had been writing for about 2 weeks when, like I mentioned in the Recycler Johnny post, I had a vacation planned to Mexico. (My Johns overlap, naturally) He wanted to speak on the phone before I left so, we chatted nicely (for almost 2 hours!) the night before I left. As expected, he was funny, charming, smart, witty, confident-cool. In other words: TROUBLE. He texted me early the next morning, knowing I would be at the airport. He said to make sure I called him when I got back.

A sweet text awaited me the day before I returned. I called him the night I got back and from then on, it was “on like Donkey Kong”: texting throughout the day, exchanging funny pictures and stories, IM’ing at night – every day. We talked about meeting and I offered to drive half way (which would be the charming town of Bakersfield). Instead, he suggested Pismo Beach (slightly closer to me and infinitely more romantic than Bakersfield). I think he misinterpreted my comment that I would make a weekend trip of it and camp there at the campground. (I was trying to alleviate the concern that I would drive “all that way” for a date.) Somehow it got misconstrued by him thinking that I was suggesting that he and I camp together. I can only assume this because he then mentioned that his friends had a place and we could stay there. Oops. Now, for our first date – we’re spending the weekend together. Double oops. Erring on the wrong side of prudence, I didn’t disagree. I was operating under the influence of being smitten. I was smited. I was smote. Frankly, it’s fair to say that he was too. We met exactly 2 weeks after I returned from vacation. In the meantime, we texted, talked, IM’d and emailed frantically, sweetly.

So came the big day. I set out – estimating that it would take me about 2 ½ - 3 hours (the longest I’ve ever travelled for a first date). My stomach was full of butterflies. I followed his directions and pulled in behind his parked motorcycle. I wasn’t all the way out of my car yet when he appeared at the door. There’s a strange feeling when you see someone (that you’ve been getting to know remotely) for the first time. You’ve seen each other’s pictures and approve. You like each other’s personalities. You know each other’s voices. The final missing piece of the puzzle is meeting face to face. His eyes are alarmingly green and the first time he cast his gaze on me I was shaken (and stirred – deeply). We locked eyes and smiled and then hugged and laughed. We exchanged unexpected gifts (talk about being on the same wave-length): I got him a second-hand copy of a book I thought he’d like: Jupiter’s Travels. He brought me a little Matchbox car of an MGB (he remembered I told him how much I liked them). We decided to go walk into town and have lunch. I relaxed a bit as we talked and I was now able to complete the person that only existed in fragments before. We ate, laughed, walked, talked. Previously, I had told him on the phone that I love napping on weekends so, seeing an opportunity I suppose, he suggested we go back to “our place” (yes, he said that) and relax. Oh Lord, I knew where this was going…and I didn’t mind at all. We were getting along swimmingly. We cleared the bed and lay down – fully clothed. We talked for a bit and then closed our eyes. He actually dozed off for a bit. Not me. No fucking way. He woke up again and we shifted around. Then I laid with my back to him and he moved in for the “spoon”. Oh yeah. I was so excited I damned near passed out. You can imagine that not too soon after it turned into kissing. Then it turned into kissing and fondling. Then it turned into some of the most intense lovemaking I’ve ever experienced. He was very “giving” and treated my body like it was a buffet and he was a starving man. He was slow and deliberate. He stared deep into my eyes. Those damned green eyes burned right through my skull. He was skilled and caring and was able to go on and on. After, we showered and then lay down for a real nap this time. Of course, I couldn’t sleep a wink. In a while, we dressed and went for a walk on the beach, and dinner. He was determined to find me a Sand Dollar (Pismo is famous for them). We walked hand in hand, the entire length of the beach. I was swooning. He never let go of my hand for too long and would kiss my forehead and hair. It was getting late, and we had walked far so, we went to eat. Waiting to be seated he had his arm around me. I put my head on his chest (I was so tired). Lazily we ate and then sauntered back to “our place”. Of course, we made love again and it was oh-so-lovely. After a sleepless night (for me), we made love in the morning. We spent more of the weekend horizontal than vertical. I knew he had to leave early (he told me a few days before) so, we quickly dressed, cleaned up the place and went for breakfast. After, we went back to say “good bye”. We hugged and kissed. He watched me (longingly?) as I pulled out and until I was out of sight. Throughout the previous day, he peppered our conversations with references to returning to “our place” again (i.e. “…next time we’re here we’ll…”, “there’s the pool for next time”). There wasn’t a reason for me to believe that I wouldn’t see him again but, I just knew.

I was completely overwhelmed driving home. I wanted to stop into my favorite town, Los Olivos on the way home but, I was simply too jacked up. I was exhausted (no sleep, lots of sex) and my emotional blender was set on “frappe”. I just drove straight through and collapsed at home.
The next morning I was elated when he texted me. I had made it through the one-(morning/noon/night)-stand curse! He wanted to make sure I made it home all right. The next days he sent me a couple of pictures he took that weekend on the beach (me with a sandcastle) but the tone of his contact had changed. His emails we short and…detached. Perhaps the curse was real. I tried not to appear needy and I let him initiate contact. I mirrored his tone and sentiment, being careful not to appear like I was now expecting marriage. Over the course of the next 2 weeks, the contact dwindled to every 3 days or so. I let it be for a few days of torment. Then I broke down and emailed him a simple, pleasant “thinking of you” email. He responded politely, right away. The next day, he texted me that he would be in my area with his niece the next day for her water polo tournament. He said that maybe we could meet for lunch. My heart jumped. We arranged a time and place. On the way into work, he texted me again with an ominous “uh oh”. It seems the coach was having his niece play an extra game and he couldn’t get away. That was it. No customary, “sorry”. No, “let’s make a plan”. Nada. I went from the top of the roller coaster to crashing at the bottom. I was looking forward to seeing him so much I could hardly breathe. The thought of just holding him again made me tremble.

The next weeks after that I decided to let him orchestrate ALL contact. I chase after no man. He IM’d me a couple of times. The conversations were even more distant and strained. Yet he continued to contact me, maybe twice a week this way – perhaps motivated by a combination of obligation and boredom.

I was sleeping poorly, crying often. I wrote and wrote in my journal. I composed email after email – never to be sent. One day, I took the day off and went to the beach on a particularly glorious Southern California day. As I lay there on the beach, I felt completely miserable. I had a sense of unfinished business. Now, some women would just scoop up what was left of their pride and walk away. But I have always been of the “need for closure” school. I simply need a chapter to have a tidy ending in order to move to the next one. I don’t do dangling ends. I mustered the courage to send him an email for real this time. I wrote:
John,
Such a beautiful day today. So beautiful that I took the day off to go to the beach. And I've done some thinking. It seems that our weekend meant more to me than it did to you. As much as I'd like to play the "cool girl" that can settle for just being friends/penpals after being intimate, I just can't. It hurts me too much. I don't throw my affections around so easily. If you don't want to see me again, please let me be.

He responded a couple of hours later:
Understood. Take care.

In the words of Forrest Gump, “that’s all I’ve got to say about that”.