The Concert
We take the subway to the Wachovia Center and climb the stairs to the street. As we walk across the parking lot, David stops dead in his tracks and grabs both my hands, pulling me to his chest. He's going to kiss me now.
But instead he hugs me. “Thank you so much for asking me to come to this concert with you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I relax and squeeze him back. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad you’re here with me. I couldn’t imagine coming to this concert with anyone else.”
We resume our walk to the Wachovia Center, and it strikes me how easily we have both fallen into our old roles. I am so comfortable with him. I feel safe with him--always have--and I love that feeling. He makes me feel like a woman, like I am something to be guarded and protected and cared for. I never feel this way with my husband. With my husband, I have to be the leader all the time. I have to make all the decisions. I am always the strong one. With David, I become docile and compliant, happy to let him take the reins. It feels good to relinquish control to him.
Anyone casually observing David and me tonight would assume that we are a couple. Hell, even I am beginning to play mind games with myself, trying to imagine all the ways that we could be a couple again.
We enter the arena. He buys me a soda and gets himself another beer at the concession stand. Then he leads me off the concourse into the seating area. We find our seats and sit down, waiting for the show to begin. The chairs are crammed together, and David's hip and the length of his thigh are pressed firmly against mine. I make no attempt to move my leg. I want him to feel the heat radiating from me, hoping he will somehow understand that he is the sole cause of it. He keeps looking down at me and smiling. I ache to kiss him, but I restrain myself. We’re just friends now.
The concert is fabulous. At one point, David puts his arms around me and we begin jumping up and down together, dancing and singing along with the band. I feel like a giddy teenager again.
But instead he hugs me. “Thank you so much for asking me to come to this concert with you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I relax and squeeze him back. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad you’re here with me. I couldn’t imagine coming to this concert with anyone else.”
We resume our walk to the Wachovia Center, and it strikes me how easily we have both fallen into our old roles. I am so comfortable with him. I feel safe with him--always have--and I love that feeling. He makes me feel like a woman, like I am something to be guarded and protected and cared for. I never feel this way with my husband. With my husband, I have to be the leader all the time. I have to make all the decisions. I am always the strong one. With David, I become docile and compliant, happy to let him take the reins. It feels good to relinquish control to him.
Anyone casually observing David and me tonight would assume that we are a couple. Hell, even I am beginning to play mind games with myself, trying to imagine all the ways that we could be a couple again.
We enter the arena. He buys me a soda and gets himself another beer at the concession stand. Then he leads me off the concourse into the seating area. We find our seats and sit down, waiting for the show to begin. The chairs are crammed together, and David's hip and the length of his thigh are pressed firmly against mine. I make no attempt to move my leg. I want him to feel the heat radiating from me, hoping he will somehow understand that he is the sole cause of it. He keeps looking down at me and smiling. I ache to kiss him, but I restrain myself. We’re just friends now.
The concert is fabulous. At one point, David puts his arms around me and we begin jumping up and down together, dancing and singing along with the band. I feel like a giddy teenager again.
posted by Anonymous at 11/05/2006 07:04:00 PM
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