Your version of single is very different than mine. When you look back, you look back with knowing and understanding. You look back and you get to remember those past relationships that you had, even though they failed.
Me? I get to look back and remember my fuck ups. I look back and hear “oh man! Do you remember her? That was one of the ones you fell in love with! But do you remember what she thought it was? She just thought you two were really good friends. She said you were like her brother, you dumb sack of shit! Her brother! Ha! How could you not see she didn’t feel the same way? Idiot!”
There are no truly happy memories for me. All of my relationships weren’t, even when I thought they were. No matter what I thought, it was always wrong. They never called me boyfriend or thought of me as anything other than friend. For whatever reason, I wasn’t good enough to be that for them, not even when they told me things they didn’t tell their boyfriends. I was always on the outside looking in.
Your version of single is a separation. You are in between relationships. Maybe you’re actually looking forward to it because you haven’t been “just you” in a while. You’ve been here before and you’re pretty sure it will change soon enough.
For me, it’s a void. It is a complete and utter lack of anything. I don’t know if it will ever end. I never even wanted this, I just have to survive it.
You wonder who the next one will be. I wonder if I’m going to die alone eating lead.
Much of my life has been used fulfilling my senses. I have watched thousands of movies, listened to hundreds of thousands of songs, tasted and smelled hundreds of amazing foods, but in all that, I have rarely ever touched or felt anything. Touch is the sense I have used the least. It is also the sense I want to use the most.
Each sense has one thing that I associate with it, in that, there is one thing I think of most when I think of that sense. Sound is music; sight is art, whether is be drawings, paintings, movies, pictures, or whatever; taste and smell are food; touch is women. I realize that there are other things that go with each one, but if I look at my own life and how I fulfill and appease each of the senses, those are the things I use.
In the end, everything boils down to a sensory experience. I have many memories dedicated to 4 of the 5, but very, very few dedicated to tactile experience. It is a void in my life, and one that I mourn and regret. I crave it far more than any other. I feel its powerful pull all too often.
I miss physical contact more than anything. It’s what I see in my head when I think of being with someone. The feel of a woman is… amazing. All soft and smooth. Even as I type this, I can feel my hands burn at the memory. I miss it and I yearn for it. The void is painful.
I’ve mentioned before that I really want to be held. I’ve never been held before. It’s an awkward proposition considering my size, but I want to know what it is like. I’ve also only been touched a few times. I have touched, but I can only recall a very few times where a woman reached out and initiated contact or did anything more than return a hug.
I cherish the memories I have that are related to my sense of touch. They are some of the most powerful I have. Lying next to a woman, feeling her pressed against me, warm and soft. Running my hands over her hips, her stomach, her pubic hair. Pressing my lips to her shoulder as her hair brushes across my face. Her head resting on my arm as it passes beneath her. Running my hand deeper, feeling her thighs press against the sides of my hand as her pubic hair scratches my hand; my fingers seeking her out. Her legs opening and draping across me as I brush over her hood and part her lips. Her warm stickiness on my fingers as I slide my fingers inside of her. The way her breath feels on my head as she sighs, rolling towards me to allow me to take her breast in my mouth. How hot she is beneath my palm and around my fingers as they coax her further. Everything about her is softer and wetter than I could have ever imagined possible. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt…
And I will never know it again. At least, not from her. I don’t even know if I will feel it from another. As beautiful as it was, it is also painful knowing that I have never felt better than I did at that moment and I can never have it again. The memory is haunting. The thought that I can never feel her again is almost enough to drive me to tears. The thought that I may never feel anyone that way again is enough to drive me to tears.
It isn’t really her that I miss though. I knew I would never have her. It is the tactile experience. I have always craved it and that brief shining moment with it makes me want it all the more. It wasn’t enough to have it for a weekend. I want to know it for the rest of my life.
And, though I have described the sexual experience here, that is just an aspect of it. I want all that goes along with it, which I could not have on my trip. As beautiful as the experience I had was, it was very much lacking. I never got to feel her lips on mine; never got to just sit beside her and hold her while watching nothing at all on TV; never got to really hold her and have her hold me back. The sexual component was amazing, but what I want most of all is the quiet, intimate part of it.