Can't buy me love...

Something is unsettling me from this weekend, yet I can't seem to put my finger on the exact source.

Or maybe I can, and I just do not wish to admit it to myself.

The seasons are starting to shift, the winds from the beach picking up and knocking into me, into us. It starts smelling clean as smog is moved from one corner to the next, and each time my eyes catch a plane sailing above me, I track it.

It's a need for travel, a need for roaming, and I know that in a few weeks I'll be setting my sights eastward.

Mirror my Manifest Destiny.

GV8 and I laid in bed Sunday morning, a brief break from the calm but rushed events of the weekend. Blinds creating bars of sun across my skin, across the sheets, GV8's tongue traveling in the way that you'll only find in boldly experienced men.

He is bold.

Is he what I want?

Worries form, condensation on my mind. Is this for me? How much pain will this cause when it ends? The recovery process, how intense will it be, how long will it affect me, and will the need for rebound sex, that need for validation and demonstration of desirability, will I be able to control it, draw my wings in so I can hit the ground at just the right angle, maybe skip along its surface?

I do not know.

He is... the only man who has made me feel safe since I was a child, since my father began his aggressive outbursts, since the fears of confrontation, that hatred of my flight-or-fight response, began to dictate my movements, began to dictate the partners I would accept.

Only those with control.

Only those who can detach.

Everyone else is simply an enjoyment not to be taken seriously.

Because unbridled passion unnerves me.

Because anger without the restraint of logic terrifies me, sends me scampering never to return to that friendship, because nothing will make me comfortable in their presence again. Because my belief that humans are neither innately good or innately evil, just entirely self-interested, and when their anger overcomes their need to put on a good front, to not hurt those around them, I know they are lost in a way that I cannot respect and that I fear.

GV8, thus far, offers more control and strength than I have ever found in a man, though it is not perfect, I am sure.

And we connect.

No, not that resonance that will crawl up your spine and whisper into you that without a doubt you know this person like you know yourself.

But that ability to work together, to read each other's fine vibrations. We work in harmony, in faith that the other person will have a hand outstretched for whatever needs to be done, one head, four hands.

Something is off, though. We're missing something and it leaves me waiting, leaves me watching, waiting for it to surface.

I realized today that as many stories and experiences he shares with me, I do not know who he is. He does not open to me on an emotional level, he does not share, does not truly disclose because I know that the stories he tells me are stories he has told others and sometimes I know by his word choice and the things he repeats that those stories are not told to share, but to cause certain impressions.

I have not been able to get into his head, like I have with so many others.

Everything he gives me is surface or design. I do not catch him at moments of vunerability or emotional honesty.

...because he is so controlled.

Because he's a beast, and it feels like everything is does is monitored and weighed and he will go from acting the role of little friendly beta male to I-will-own-you-and-your-family-for-the-rest-of-your-lives in the time it takes you to gasp.

What else could a girl like me need?

I'm not with him to save him- I don't think he needs saving. Nor am I looking to tame a bad boy, because I certainly don't want him tame or changed.

But there is that wall.

And it feels like, maybe, he's looking at me as something to protect. Like I'm his little prize, his cherished treasure to go back to the dragon reference of a few days ago.

We did not expect this going into things, as I have said. Now it has been over five months and we're still circling each other, unsure as to where time will lead us.

I worry that I'm too superficial. That his age and his appearance will eventually get to me. The eighteen year gap between us isn't that large, but it is there. And he's not in the best of shape. He used to be, that's fairly obvious, but he isn't anymore, and he says that he will be, once things settle down and he's able to start working out again, but so many people say that and I've been so very spoiled of late.

I'm sure people play that game when they see us, the one where you attempt to guess if it is a father and daughter you see, or if it's a couple, and then everyone assumes that the girl is with him for the money, as there could be no other reason for her to be settling for a man old enough to be her father (or grandfather).

When we're alone, I'm happy.

When we go out together, I worry.

I hate that I do this. I hate that I'm aware of it. I hate that I'm judging him on his appearance, and that I'm actually worried about what others think when we walk down the street. I hate that some of his guy friends are so damn attractive and I look at them with such lust that I do my best to hide, but when you appreciate something... it's hard to conceal.

I wince when he does his beta-boy rountine.

I wonder if he's socially safe to bring around my more conservative friends because he's so outgoing and open about his lifestyle.

But then I know that is an act as well.

It's all so tangled.

I've never been so incredibly torn between knowing if I want someone and knowing that I don't. He's this giant shade of gray that I cannot get a handle on, that I cannot choose between being just lovers or wanting that relationship. When he's distant and reserved, I worry and fret. When he's caring and concerned, I panic because maybe he's not what I want and I do not want to get emotionally trapped with someone unsuitable again.

And since I can't bridge that wall he has up, I can't tell what I want from him.

Want with him.

Previously, I handled men like this with a quiet, gentle touch. You ask what you want to know and if they don't answer, you do not bring the topic up again but you continue to disclose parts of yourself. Eventually it burrows into their brain and they do it themselves, slowly unfolding to you.

This does not work with him.

I know as much about him on an emotional/internal level as I did the night I met him.

Maybe this is a lesson to me, to open up before I become more of a social island than I already am.

Maybe I need to pull back, let him chase more, let him open.

I do not know. I do not think that would work.

Oh, Blogger, what would I do without you to help me sort my brainstuffs out?

I wanted a man with perfect control, with some sort of history behind him that would allow me to feel safe, with a high partner count and loads of sexual technique, plus a lack of fear and a sort of crazy ability to take reality and harness it to his desires, and an ability to survive, to survive well. Understanding of honesty, of communication, of respect. Ability to communicate and to charm.

I got everything I wanted.

What is unsettling me?