Last weekend I went to Kansas. I know, it’s not really a “vacation hub” by any stretch of the imagination… but I was invited by (and the trip was funded by) a friend that I hadn’t seen in eighteen years (The Professor to you). I was nervous about flying (it’s really not that bad, but definitely something you still want to be careful with), and nervous that things would be awkward after so many years, but I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I went.
Only a few people knew I was going – or even where I was going. Ormsby knew I was traveling, but he didn’t know where – and flipped out on the day I was leaving because he decided I was going to have a hot, steamy love affair with a musician/massage therapist that I knew in Kentucky (who has a girlfriend, and who I don’t even talk to anymore because of one of Ormsby’s freakouts). Ormsby and I are not talking now… it’s probably for the best, though it was was a bummer for him to get all shitty like that while I was sitting at the airport, preparing to get on a plane. It took the better part of the 2.5 hour flight to de-anger myself, because I sure as fuck did not want HIS freakout to mess up my trip. He’s spent the last six years dragging me (not always, but a lot of the time) into his darkness and holding there. Not anymore.
Anyway, when I landed, The Professor was waiting for me. And it’s not like the TPA airport, where you have a good 5-10 minutes from the time you land to figure out how you want to greet the person that’s meeting you, as you make your way through the terminal. In Kansas, you have literally seconds… because their terminals and their doors are all right there together still. So I got off the plane, walked through a door, and there he was. I gave an awkward wave, then walked toward him, and we engulfed each other in a hug and then… well… it was like no time had passed at all. Suddenly I was 19 again; we were in each other’s arms, and it was 2002 instead of 2020, and the airport and all the people in it melted away and just didn’t matter. Time, for a few minutes anyway, just… stopped… reversed… stopped again. I don’t know if I can really explain how rare of a feeling that is, and if you’ve never experienced it yourself, it would be hard to bring you to that point of understanding it or feeling it… hovering between two eras, knowing you’re in your own time but your brain is sure that you’re in the past too… just.. suffice it to say, it was one of the most surreal moments of my life. And we remained basically inseparable for the next four days.
I am not going to write down a play-by-play here. It would take too long and you don’t want to read all that anyway. But I will say that I have never, ever, in my entire 37 years, been as spoiled or as well treated as I was that weekend. No one has ever gone out of their way for me the way that he did. I didn’t want to leave.
Not wanting a repeat of the Buttface era, though, I made sure to clarify some things before I left – because in that era, neither of us ever told the other what we wanted, and things went to shit because we were operating on different frequencies. Time was wasted, people got hurt, and there’s just no reason for that now – not that there was then either… but certainly not now. And especially not in COVID times.
Anyway, to summarize, it was decided:
Though nothing is “official” we will see each other again as we can. No one is making any hasty plans to relocate or anything. That would be extreme. And too fast. As he said, “Whatever happens, happens.”
Neither of us are seeing anyone else at the moment. Neither of us are crazy about the other person looking for/seeing someone else either, because we don’t like to share. If that changes, then we’ll communicate it.
I am putting all lingerie shoots on hold – I don’t need the money, he’s not really comfortable with it, and I am adamant that I’m not going to do anything to hurt him or to make him not trust me.
He asked me what I wanted… I said I did not know. But upon consideration, I told him I wanted to rent, as it were, with a later option to purchase if I liked the rental enough. He laughed at that (I can get businesslike sometimes when I’m negotiating this stuff), and agreed. I also told him that while last weekend had been heaven (and it really was heaven… absolutely magical), I need to see what “normal” looks like – to which he also concurred.
Ultimately? I don’t know how this will turn out. I want to see him again, I think he wants to see me again (at any rate, he says he does), but I have been burned like this so, so many times that I’m keeping the walls up. And it’s still so soon after the Ormsby debacle that I have to take it slow. The distance… well… the distance kind of forces us to anyway. Still, this is different… in some ways… than all those other times. It’s been eighteen years. We’ve moved on, danced with other people, been married… divorced… (to other people, obviously) and we still keep coming back here. Albeit this is the first time we’ve danced in person since 2002… but the point remains – after all this time, we’re not going to just disappear from each other’s lives. And “forgetting” each other isn’t likely either. Not for lack of trying, mind you.
So yeah… I don’t know what’s going to happen. I mean is it ever really possible to predict these things? After all, a month ago, I wouldn’t have predicted that I’d be “here.” But I’m watching and waiting… for now. Not hanging my hat on it at all, because I have done this tango often enough to know that it is more likely that I will twist my ankle than come away uninjured. But still hoping that he’s being real with me and that we really WILL see each other again, because now that that seal has been broken, I really don’t want to put a lid back on it.
P.S. – COVID-wise, the airport (at least these two) is very clean… people are distanced. Southwest does the best they can to keep everyone safe. I’d be ok with flying again (obviously). I do have a bit of a sore throat today, but that just as easily could be (and probably is) due to the temperature and weather change as much as it could be the virus.