Unexpected day.

Drove my sister to work. As I was getting onto the freeway, GV8 texted me.

Don't get all excited by the combination of my starting sentence and GV8 texting me. He has been my major pillar of strength in the last couple weeks, dealing with everything, pushing me forward when no one else would because they were too afraid I would break.

Honestly, though, GV8 is the only person who would have been able to get as much forward action out of me as he did. Everyone else would have just bounced off, due to my (massive) trust issues that even he hasn't been entirely able to breach.

My car has that little bluetooth modifier so I can squeal about technology and have GV8 talk to me through the stereo, which means surround sound GV8. And I finally have my hands free. Win.

So I called him on the way back from dropping my sister, talked about my anxiety, the events of the morning (which progressed past my earlier post), and how near panic I was over everything. I also mentioned my lack of moving boxes.

Fortunately, he had a set of twenty-five moving boxes at one of his stores, so I drove over to the loft, talked, hugged, cuddled, let him shower quickly (he was deconstructing part of the loft for a remodel and was very sweaty), and he took me over to BoHo for lunch.

See, I've had this problem lately.

I have to be distracted while I eat, thoroughly distracted, or I get sick and can't eat. I'm too stressed for food to stay down, too stressed to even feel hungry most of the time, so... I'm just not eating. It's too much of a physical hassle. Yes, I'll take a bite or two, but then my stomach rebels and I have to stop.

So I had GV8 take me out to lunch and distract me and calm me down.

Of course, then he said something about how, one day, eventually, maybe, probably, perhaps, sometime, in the far-reaching future, I'd find someone to bond with that I could actually experience the act of making love with again.

Which, oddly enough, hit me so physically hard, I had to bolt to the bathroom and stay by the toilet because I thought I was going to heave.

It's hard.

And it's weird. Sitting next to, sitting with, touching, holding hands, walking in perfect synch because it's what we do... the man that I thought was it for me.

My sex drive continues to be non-existent. I shot down Pseudonym Pending yet again last night because I just couldn't bring myself to go sleep with anyone, even for the likely DP he was setting up for New Year's Eve. I can't remember the last time I masturbated.

It's not even depression. It's as though I'm now missing an integral part of my sexual being.

GV8 says I need to get healthy, then learn (re-learn?) how to fuck just for the sake of fucking. I looked at him when he said that, head cocked. Why would I want to do that? I've years of fucking for the simple sake of fucking. When I was packing today, I ran across an old diary that had the first... twelve? Thirteen? men I had ever slept with. In order. And I couldn't even remember some of them. I stared at the names and drew blank after blank. They aren't even on the list I compiled a few months ago.

Ah, youth.

He mellows me. He centers me. Simply being around him gives me strength that lasts for hours after we separate.

After lunch, we ran by the store with the boxes. That store was the place we met at for our first official date. We held each other near the place where the white leather couch used to be, the one he made me squirt on, and remembered.

Per my request, we went back to his apartment and cuddled to calm me. Massaged my shoulders. Spooned. But my way of getting closer to someone's skin while spooning involves a sort of full body writhe that I don't even think about. The problem with this, of which there are many, means I'm pressing my ass against his crotch and writhing without thinking, just trying to get closer.

So the spooning didn't last long.

We cuddled, we wrestled, we laughed and massaged.

When we first started, when he pulled me against his chest and held on, his nose in the curve of my neck, inhaling... I almost panicked. It's hard to adjust. That apartment, that bed, we spent so much time in it. We have so many amazing memories of shared experiences. He got that bed, built that bed, for me. He hung the flatscreen at the foot of it for me. Surround sound speakers encircling the bed... for me.

Mind and body had to adjust.

And when I left, licking my dry lips as I drove the 101, I could taste him. We've reached this point where our bodies keep diving for each other, making awkward moments of physical collison. So now we peck on the lips and shift from there. No tongue. That's the rule.

Who knew?

Who knew that I would end up being this stereotypical tragic figure? This woman parted from her lover by reality, losing her interest in other men, in sex, in dating. Spending time together, still in love with each other, but both of us having the self-control needed to remain apart... to a degree. So it doesn't get worse.

I can tell he misses me. I can tell he loves me. I can tell his body follows mine like I've got a homing beacon in my chest. When he hugs me, he holds me. He wraps himself around me and runs his hands over my curves as if he hasn't explored them so many times over. I feel the air move as he inhales at the curve of my neck, his nose in my hair, his hands constantly looking to rest on the skin of my hip, the final "S" of my tattoo under his fingers.

So I left.

Drove home.

Plopped in front of the TV, trying to continue to clear my system. Enjoying the empty house.

And then I started packing.

Tomorrow I'm going to call the property management company and have my mother add herself to my application as a co-signer, just so nothing is left to chance. I want that place so much.

Tomorrow, I'm going to finish packing my room.

And next weekend, I'm going to be moving. GV8 is bringing his hauling truck and renting a trailer. Because he loves me. Because he's wonderful.

Because I couldn't wish for a better man.