Note: This story is not in my show. It gives more depth to my “after Tony” experience. Part 1 is below.
I suggested an Italian place that was walking distance from my apartment. No words were said about this arrangement. When he knocked on my door, my heart stabbed with adrenaline. On our walk to the restaurant, I learned that he was fifty years old. Fifteen more than me. I found out he quit college to live in an Ashram. He used to wear one of those towel wraps on his head back in the day. He told me that now he wants to have a family, a kid. He told me, “even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t go back with my ex-girlfriend because she’s post- menopausal.”
I said, “I feel like a womb sitting here.” And he said, “Well you are a candidate.” My silent response was “You can think what you want because I am in no mood to be a mother. I have career fish to fry.” We chatted easily over sautéed halibut and polenta. He took care of the bill, we stood, and he said, “Come on, womb.”
I was prattling with nervous anxiety as we neared my apartment. “Do you want to walk some more or would you like to call it a night or do you want to find a coffee shop?” Hans had no interest in pretence. When we reached my apartment mailboxes, he stopped, put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me. He let it linger as if holding a flame patiently to some tinder. My mind got quiet; I observed my reactions like Mr. Spock on Star Trek. “It appears I am being kissed. This is a new person. His lips feel a little dry, his beard feels kind of funny; that is a new sensation.” Then Wham! I was flooded with delirious need. Our kisses became deeper. He was feeling my body through my clothes. I fumbled with my keys to get into my apartment and…we got along quite well for the next few hours.
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| Repressed Sexual Need + Release = Wow |
Hans was a skilled lover. Yet there were moments between the great ones that struck me as odd. “Beautiful Jean”, he said looking into my eyes. And I could hear an echo of “Beautiful Kimberly” and “Beautiful Lisa”. Whomever. It sounded canned. When it was time to say goodbye, it started again. “I’m not going to sleep over tonight, but another time I could. And maybe you can sleep over at my place, too.” “Dude,” I thought to myself, “of course you’re not going to sleep over, we don’t know each other that well, and I’ve got things to do in the morning.”
When he was gone, I laid in bed, eyes open, lights on and enjoyed the calm pleasure of my own sexuality. This was the calm before my oxytosin storm. You know about oxytosin, right? The love drug? According to Wikipedia, it is the hormonebest known for its role in female reproduction. Studies link it to both orgasms and what’s called pair bonding. In other words, biologically, women tend to start to love whomever they’re fucking. Even if they really just want to be friends.
After a few times with Hans, I became so saturated with oxytosin, I found myself trying to get closer him – even though he was at best casual friend material. He was very private and soon enough I felt left out from any other part of his life. I suggested we stop seeing each other. Hans had a hard time understanding why. This explains why he needed to work from his antiquated playbook. He was clueless when it came to understanding women beyond the physical. The best explanation I could give him for the break up was, “intuition.” It hurt at the time. I did my best not to take it personally. To just forgive him for whatever it was that made him unavailable. A month later, he sent me a package returning a DVD I lent him. I called to thank him. The conversation felt okay, friendly. It made me feel like it was a successful break-up. I had a sense of completion with Hans.
A few weeks later, a friend called to tell me the unthinkable news – I know you will not be able to guess this. Hans was dead. He had been battling with a brain tumor for many months. And right around our first date, the surgery I didn’t know he had to remove it was proving to be not enough. He died the day before he was scheduled to have his second surgery. His friends put up a website to honor him; that’s where I learned these details. I believe I may have been Hans’s last lover.
That first time with him in my apartment, neither of us climaxed – we were amicable and just glad for the experience. His beautiful yoga toned body was sweating so he asked me for a washcloth. We were both standing there naked in the bathroom when all of a sudden he wanted to enter me again. “Wow,” I thought, “right here in my bathroom, this is so cool.” I lifted a foot to the bathtub and he searched and then found the right angle; I felt his cock growing and growing. As I got excited with his excitement, he moved away, sat on the toilet seat and invited me on. I mounted and the pleasure was fantastic. All of a sudden he picked me up. Where are we going? Down, down, his knees clunk to the bathroom floor as he put me on my back so can fuck me with leverage. He’s breathing these beautiful pleasure sounds quietly into my mouth and then he went over the edge. He laughed and shouted, “Woo hoo!” as if he just jumped from a cliff into icy chill water and was invigorated.
Hans didn’t want to include me in his life beyond the erotic. I think I understand that now. Maybe during his time of crisis, he wanted a part of his life to reflect how he saw himself – a talented entrepreneur, a skilled lover, a healthy man.