If you want to know the beginning of this story CLICK HERE
My surrograte sister and I went into the restaurant where my Dream Man worked and as we ate I managed to spill bubbly all over the table.
Nervous didn’t even describe the feelings brewing inside of me.
I had never been close to him before, never made eye contact like this, and there we were sitting across from him in a fairly small space.
In life I am a confident woman, but around this man I don’t know what the hell happened to me.
I became a bumbling fool.
I vacillated between lunacy and fantasy, having ZERO clue if everything I felt was about to collapse or rise.
After our dinner I got the courage to walk over and speak to him for the first time.
Do you know how awkward it is to be a woman and pick up on a guy at his place of employment?
It’s fucking AWKWARD.
Whatever confidence I had in life shone forth and I approached him with a smile and edge, and said some things I cannot remember.
Luckily, I didn’t make a fool out of myself like I had with the bubbly on the table.
It was closing time and somehow the people who worked there gave us some space.
At the end of the convo I said something like, “So, does that mean you want my phone number?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah,” he smiled.
I liked that. It’s always refreshing when a HOT guy wants you back. There’s nothing worse than having the hots for a guy who’s like, “Yeah, you’re alright…” OUCH.
In addition to all the things beautiful about him, he had gorgeous teeth and a smile that made me want to lick his lips with my tongue.
As I stood across the bar from him feeling like I had just defied every law in the book, given that I was the one pursuing him, I couldn’t help but stare into his unusally enigmatic eyes.
When it comes to men there are few things that bewitch my senses: eyes, calves, teeth, lips and lats make my mind think crazy thoughts. A man with a good back carved by beautiful lats that spread out from the ribs…is something most women go wild for.
Even though we are human we are such animals at our core.
In addition to my glorious fascination with men’s parts, I have another serious affliction. I PREFER MY MEN WITH A LOT ASIAN IN THEM.
I mean, can you blame me…. and no, none of these are Dream Man. You will have to imagine him yourself as I will never reveal his identity.
My first love was full blooded Chinese Cantonese and my Dream Man is of mixed blood. Half Japanese, Half White.
Not every mix is hot and not every Asian guy makes me come undone.
There’s a certain look I am drawn to and I know it when I see it.
I like dark hair, dark eyes, or unsual eyes. There is something about Asian Men, whether they are half or full that rouses the deepest part of my soul.
The curve and mystique of the Asian eye is riveting.
When I was in High School my girlfriends used to look at me like I was insane. Why would you ever go for an Asian guy when you can date hot white guys or black guys? This was their mentality.
Most Asian Men are wicked smart and a man without a mind is like a man without an erection, FLACCID.
Let’s get back to the story…. shall we….
So there I am, standing before this man who would make any of you ladies take off your top, let me tell you. I have waited for this opportunity since before he and I met, and I cannot believe that I finally have him within my grasp.
The night before we are supposed to go out he called me on the phone and asked me a few questions. I am getting ready for work and as I am ironing my clothes he said, “I don’t know what it is about you, but I have to be honest with you about something.”
My heart stopped. I instantly know this isn’t going to be good, that whatever he’s gonna say is not in my favor.
He continued. “I move around so much I normally don’t let people in to my life, but you deserve the truth.”
My whole body filled with dread.
He couldnt’ have said the words fast enough.
“My dad just died a couple months ago, and my mom died when I was nineteen. I’m figuring a lot of stuff out right now and I don’t know how long I will be here for, maybe six months. I don’t know.”
I fell up against the wall clutching my phone.
THERE’S NO CHANCE.
After everything, after the years of waiting, never knowing, and feeling insane, there was no way he was going to be emotionally open to me. I just KNEW IT.
We talked for a bit and he gave me every chance to back out.
I asked him if we could just go for a walk later that night and talk, so we did.
It was still winter and there was snow on the ground.
We both have on puffy coats and hats.
As we walked and talked I tell him what I have been grappling with. I don’t tell him everything, I am not dumb, but I tell him what I feel he needs to know.
What I have experience thus far, up until this point, is so surreal I have to know if any of it resonates.
Maybe part of me wanted him to tell me I was nuts.
He doesn’t shy away from what I am telling him the way some guys might. He listened and took it all in.
Apparently this whole time he’s been living in Breckenridge. I cannot believe he’s been that close this whole time. He expressed how random it was that he was even back here and we begin to connect some dots.
It’s obvious that something is at play but the timing fucking blows.
At the end of our walk we both sit with the heaviness of the situation. He’s dealing with things that I cannot begin to fathom. He’s in his early thirties and both his parents are gone, wiped from the face of the earth. For some reason the gravity of his loss resonated with me. I could see the pain in his face, it’s etched into every line. The grief he carried is ever present behind his eyes. He loved his mother and his father’s death isn’t just about his father, it’s about everything. His fate. His karma. His lessons. His suffering.
We didn’t kiss that night. I couldn’t.
I was caught between what I know, that he has such deep emotional wounds he needs to process on his own independent of someone, and what I want.
Every part of me wanted him, but I was too Consciously Awake to make this about me.
There is a time to be selfish and there is a time to step the fuck back.
For the first time he’s finally in my life and everything was still so UNCERTAIN.
I cannot begin to tell you the maginitude of what it took for me to push aside the wellspring of feeling rising inside of me for this man to hold space for his reality.
It was a great sacrifice on my part, one I welcomed all too easily.
I cannot explain why. I cannot sit here and tell you that I did it for love or honor or some amazing reason.
I was there during that period of his life for a reason and even though what I wanted to explore our connection it wasn’t the right time. I was there to hold space for his journey and to unravel my own relationship to him. We both had a lot to teach one another and neither of us knew how the story would unfurl.
When something doesn’t happen the way you hoped it’s hard to hold on to the feeling that it could ever be different.
All the signs pointed to something monumental, but the reality was bleak.
I wish I could sit here and tell you that it was a DREAM COME TRUE, but it started off the way a lot of fiction novels do, with the two main characters stuck in a knot.
Nothing in my life has ever come easily to me.
There’s two things I have learned about life:
1). NOTHING IN LIFE WORTH ANYTHING EVER COMES EASY.
Meaning, no one said this shit was going to be easy and even if it’s not rainbows and unicorns right up front there is TRUTH in pursuing what you want.
2). IF YOU WANT SOMETHING YOU HAVE TO TURN YOUR WHOLE BEING TOWARD IT. YOU CANNOT HALF ASS SOMETHING OR IT WILL NEVER BE YOURS.
Meaning, you might think you want something, but if you are only looking for the fruits of your actions, you are in things for all the wrong reasons.
I wanted this man more than I had ever wanted any man in my life, but being with him felt like looking at the Empire State building and someone telling me that if I wanted to get to the top I had to climb it without ropes.
The first time he invited me over he let me into his life, a tiny little studio with the funniest make shift kitchen I had ever seen. The kitchen was in a closet. The shit that landlords get away with in Boulder astounds me. He may as well lived in a one room trailer.
He opened up to me as a person about his life, his mother, her art, and let me get close to him like a confidant.
It was amazing to listen to him speak, to bask in his presence, and discover this man I used to write and dream about.
The Japenese in him was apparent. He didn’t have much furniture, or much of a mattress and we spent a lot of time on the floor listening to music, musing about life.
Let this be noted: he never told there was no chance. I felt it and operated under that pretense.
It’s was an awareness thing.
At the end of the evening, when it came time for me to leave, he looked at me and said, “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
With that we kissed.
NO FIRE. NO PASSION. NO CHEMISTRY. NOTHING.
At this point I can hear you yelling at me, “Kelly, tell me this gets better… tell me this isn’t it. Tell me there is something beyond this sad story!”
Dude. Imagine what I felt.
The man of my dreams was before me and we had zero chemistry.
Most of the time that is a deal breaker for me, but I was attracted to him, and I knew it had to be something else.
You see, when people are emotionally shut off, especially people who are that deeply wounded, there is a barrier so wide you cannot penetrate it.
Whatever was happening between us as people wasn’t evident of our connection, it was evident of his trauma.
I didn’t stop wanting him even though the chemistry didn’t exist.
My feelings didn’t just evaporate.
I wanted to get passed it all, but healing is on it’s own time line.
For weeks we hung out and spent time together and nothing really changed on the phyiscal forefront.
Many of you might of bolted. It’s so indicitive our disposable culture to stop when things don’t align.
I wasn’t ever in this for him to be someone for me. I was in this to understand how a single man could trigger aspects of my being no one ever had.
I was in it because I believed in what I felt. After a decade of numbness this man made me feel and I wasn’t going run from him no matter what he threw at me.
It was hard for me to have this world of feelings inside and have no place to put them, nowhere to prosper, stuck in whatever state he was, whatever weird state I was.
This man would open and close, come near and retract, tell me the good brought up all the bad and keep me at arms length, but he was dealing with depths of emotional pain that he couldn’t control.
Imagine losing both of your parents. Yeah.
I didn’t know how to navigate our dynamic. I had so much compassion for him.
His mother was an insane artist. I am talking worlds within worlds like Salvador Dali. I asked him one night if he had ever painted and he told me, “No, that he wanted to get into it but hadn’t yet.”
That struck me as odd. You would think that his mother would have fostered this in him. I could tell the mintue we met he was an artist. I could see it in the way he moved his fingers when he focused on something. I could see it in his touch. He was a feeler and to be so cut off, isolated, killed me.
It’s like standing on the other side of a pane of glass and even though he could see I was there, he couldn’t feel me.
It crushed me.
I had so much to offer him, so much to give him, and he distanced himself emotionally while inviting me into his world on another level.
After a couple months Dream Man went silent. He just went MIA, and I would lie there in this strange existence wondering what the fuck all this meant.
Some nights I would close my eyes and even though we hadn’t spoken, we hadn’t seen each other, I could feel him, right there.
He may have been doing his own thing, distant from me, but when I closed my eyes he was right there inside my heart.
If I wanted to connect to him I would close my eyes and our souls would communicate on a higher plane than where we both were physically.
The truth of the matter was I wasn’t ready to be with him either. I had so much to learn and discover about myself as a woman and if he and I got together at that point in our lives we wouldn’t have actualized our potential.
I needed to grow…
Dream Man didn’t have to reassure me or speak to me or make it easy for me.
He didn’t have to help me unravel my feelings, that was my JOB!
His silence taught me so much about myself. About what I knew and what I felt.
You see, in life most of you look outside of ourseleves for the truth. You look to people to reflect who you are, you look for constant reassurance and when you don’t get you spin out and downward spiral into your worst fears. Then you manifest those fears.
I was afraid to lose him. I was afraid that everything I felt was a joke. But when I got quiet our souls would communicate to one another and that wisdom or knowledge people speak of existed. I could hear him… he spoke to me often… as I spoke to him often too.
Dream Man didn’t actually talk to me for a month and I let him have his space. I understood trauma, and the need for space and silence.
Despite our lack of contact, on his birthday I dropped an entire artists set full of canvases and paints on his doorstep.
I didn’t ask to see him, I just wanted him to connect to his inner artist.
Art is so healing.
That time in my life was extraordinarly painful. I had ended a loveless relationship and months later met this man I dreamed about who was so emotionally wounded he couldn’t allow me to stay close to him for long periods of time.
I didn’t know if Dream Man would ever contact me again. We didn’t have a falling out… he just drifted… like a lost vagabond in a ghost-like world.
One night, a friend invited me to her birthday party and I went.
I had made the cake (yes, I am a glorious baker). I set the cake down in the kitchen and glanced up. Standing in the center of the kitchen was a Half Chinese, Half White guy.
This guy was way edgier than Dream Man and smokin hot in a totally different way than Dream Man. Dream Man is beautiful. Truly beautiful. This guy was just fucking fine. When he looked at me the first time I could tell that NOTHING WOULD HOLD HIM BACK and I wanted that.
This Half-Asian Man had tattoo sleeves he designed himself. He loved Neil Gaiman and listened to TOOL. He rode his bike everywhere. A graphic artist, he looked to me as a muse and given everything I was up against with Dream Man, I needed it.
So, I started seeing him.
Yes, with all my feelings for this other man, I allowed my heart to remain open. I had no control over what Dream Man was doing, but I did have a choice in how conducted my life and my needs.
So, I started fucking him…
To be continued…
Sometimes you gotta go through the fire to allow the Phoenix to Rise.
Note to the reader: when I first began writing I wrote this story, seven years ago, I blunlty and boldly put the truth down and posted in on FB, and people latched on to it like it was the new Sex and The City.
Dream Man is the heart and soul of this story… and the story if FAR from over… but the men that follow in his absence… well… let’s just say that the universe conspired in my favor….