Jan 24 2009
Sandalwood
I return. Not completely back at full health, but better enough that I feel the need to post. This is one I’ve agonized over, too, because she’s so important to me. I’m only using my memory in all this, so any discrepancies I apologize for. As I’ve said earlier in the blog, this is all my point of view and not meant to cast anyone in any sort of unfavorable light. This will also be the only time I’ll change the real name of the person I’m talking about, even though anyone who knows me will know who this is. I gave her the option out of my total adoration, and not out of the fear I once had of her. (Hahaha, you’re scary!)
Freshman year at a great big school full of strangers. I was as eager as I was frightened. This was a much bigger city. I was full of hope that it would be better suited to my eccentric nature. I was sure I could find people like me.
Natasha. She was gorgeous. Black hair, green eyes, tan skin. Later I’d find out she wore colored contacts and dyed her hair. It never bothered me. Her smile was gigantic. She saved it for those who truly deserved. She was fierce, opinionated, passionate, interesting, and unlike anyone I’d ever met before. Even her handwriting was complex and beautiful. Natasha took me home with her and taught me about Tool. We shared our love of Lisa Loeb. Sandalwood became our song. She wrote stories and poetry. She sculpted an adorable character out of a Neil Gaiman story. She had a single bed, so often I chose to sleep in her large closet when I stayed over. It was cozy. It smelled like her. She was ballsy, too. Once while in the school bathroom stalls I mentioned I’d been experimenting with different ways to shave my pubic hair. Suddenly I hear her voice from above me asking to see. She was standing on the neighboring toilet and peeking over the walls. My furry clover really had brought me luck!
If I remember correctly, our first kiss was while talking to a boy on the phone. I made the pretense of leaning over her to get something and let our mouths brush. Her lips were fantastically soft. She was receptive, and allowed it to happen again. She became my first girlfriend. I was secure in my feelings for her, but she was still getting used to the reality of being with a girl, I think. In her mind she didn’t have any problems with it. She had no prejudice against anything but ignorance. Well, she also hated pretentious and fake people. Whatever the cause, we were rocky. I was an an unabashed flirt, which bothered her. She would pick on my weaknesses, which bothered me. I was very sensitive and susceptible to criticism at that point in my life. While together we never went very far sexually. She wasn’t ready, or wasn’t sure how, I don’t know. But I always desired her. She, on the other hand, had a few sexual toys she was fond of. It was her that gave me the push I needed to finally seek one out. Once while discussing toys she made a comment in passing that she felt she could never have a real long-term relationship with someone who didn’t have a penis.
That’s what sticks in my mind from our time together. Coupled with the nights of eating ice cream from her skin and making her shiver is this phrase looming over me that I would never be good enough. Our time spooning in her small bed and watching the pond through the window was simply killing time. It hurt. I didn’t know quite how to tell her that as much as I adored her I was tired of being bullied and unhappy to realize I was only second best. I put some of it in a letter and left it in her backpack like a coward. I don’t know how long it took for her to find it, but she was furious. We continued our friendship with it’s hot and cold moments, sometimes not speaking for months, but we couldn’t really stay apart. She dated a boy I turned away out of spite. In retaliation I failed to mention that the mutual friend whom she fancied had a crush on her as well. Even years later when one of her male things chose to begin fondling her while I was in the room, it sent me into a crazy pout and left me stubbornly locked in a closet for more than an hour.
It took a long time for us to finally work out what happened. We came to a peaceful state of truce. I was less sensitive to stuff that didn’t matter, and stopped doing some of the things that irritated her so badly. She became less harsh and more constructive with her criticisms. Apparently, she always had more faith in me than I did. We admitted we were still in love. We realized it would probably be a bad idea to get back together. We have become instead very close friends. She remains to this day my measurement of female perfection. Darn near, anyway. Many people, including me, say that Rosario Dawson looks and acts like our Natasha. Natasha, of course, hates this.
Our story has gone on for over a decade now, so it has been impossible trying to pick and choose which bits to put in and which to leave out. Trying to get across just how huge an effect on me this one woman has had. How much I admire her. Long for her. How pleased I am with the way we finally ended up.
One of my favorite memories is from just a few years ago. We finally got to see Lisa Loeb live in a tiny venue, close enough to touch her. We requested Sandalwood, and stood hand in hand listening and remembering. Natasha had brought along her boyfriend of the time who was good enough to understand and respect our complicated situation. A part of me feels a possessiveness that she is mine most of all, and anyone else she deems good enough to be with her had better not let her down. I think a part of me hopes she feels the same.
She currentlylives in Seattle with hippy scum she can relate to. She’s learned how to be with women, and has been. She even bought a fantastic velvet strap-on. To say I’m envious is selling my jealousy short. She’s still my top standard for beauty in women. I constantly tell stories about our adventures together, and try to get across to people how lovely she is. She’s dating a really cool guy I totally approve of and agrees that Natasha can be pretty scary at times.
While we never got too far sexually together, she was definitely the point from which I could not return. Females were able to turn all the same knobs and levers inside of me that males could. My heart and loins stood united in their desires. I was a bisexual. Not one of those high-school fakes who make out with girls to attract boys, either. Unfortunately I had learned that not everyone was as open to it as I was. Unfortunately this was not to be the only time not having a penis would end an otherwise promising relationship. More on that much later.
Ever had a cowardly break-up? Ever been dumped or criticized for something you had no control over? Forgive me for my long break?
Let me hear it!
