- What is my age:
- I'm zambian
- What is my hair:
- My favourite drink:
- Other hobbies:
- Learning foreign languages
In response to the coronavirus pandemic, much of the country has been asked to shelter in place, isolated from peers and potential lovers.
Still, every moment when we would say good bye for the night, he would insist on seeing me again the next day. The goodbye was long and drawn out. He immediately texted me and we made plans to see each other the next day.
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I was thrilled to have more time to spend with him this time. He had to feel the same, I told myself. He would kiss me and hold my hand in public.
Sooner than I was ready to let it go. I was unsure about whether to contact him.
What followed was a whirlwind weekend romance during which Orleans we were nearly inseparable. There's still a part of me, sitting on the ground and freshly stunned from the impact, that thinks there may be another chance at this. Distance then embarked on a wonderful night on the town—wine, cheese, getting caught in the rain, exploring online bar set on a carousel, and I was spinning from his company all night. The less I got, the more I obsessed.
Dating that what they say? Yes, yes, yes. Because I had had a relationship, something that felt so real and so right, for just long enough to have it hurt when it ended…and then it came to an end, oh so soon. I love the city; from the first time I stepped foot on the cobble-stoned streets of the French Quarter, I was immediately swept up by the its online chaos, sophisticated whimsicality, and utter uniqueness. I spent the rest of the afternoon keeping him company during his slow Monday work Orleans, eating lunch, laughing, giggling, occasionally sneaking kisses. I'm not going to lie; a part of me kept wondering what was going through his gorgeous head.
In my case, I had the world at my fingertips. No, a fling carries with it all of the underpinnings that tie together a real relationship but leaves you with distance frayed ends when it's over. He came out, hugged me, told me again how much he wished I could stay. I was on a trip to New Orleans for a weekend to run a race I participate in every year. On our last night there, we ended up bickering, so I left our hotel room and went down the road to a popular bar where I could seek solace in a vodka dating while we cooled off.
And yet, upon my return to LA…nothing. You don't go through such a magical weekend with someone like that only to forget it ever happened. He told me he wished I didn't have to leave back to LA the next day because he wanted to spend more time with me, and asked if I would please come visit him at work before I left the next morning.
The look of surprise that washed over his face when I came in carried across the whole room. Instead, I chose the passive aggressive, modern day social media tactic of posting to Instagram with the location of my hotel in the French Quarter tagged.
In the end, he was able to stay grounded, hold on to the pole of that spinning carousel, and meanwhile I was left flying through emptiness only to land with shock and surprise and hurt just where I had started. This is the author's first blog post. Because why?
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He would hold me and hug me and kiss me and ask if he could see me again and my answer would always be the same: yes, I said. Instead, I ended up meeting the most gorgeous, incredible, sweet boy of my life. Yes, he told me. Here's how it starts: you meet someone. After his shift was over, he asked if I was hungry. At the end of it, we knew it was really time for me to leave him and I asked if he would ever come to California.
You're attracted to them instantly. Surprise gave way to sheepishness gave way to happiness.
At the same time, I wanted him to be my life too. I started dating someone else. When you get knocked off the horse, you get back on. My New Orleans bar boy became a distant, but still quite fond memory…until I returned the following year for the race.
She is currently an attorney practicing in the greater Los Angeles area. I knew I was probably different from the year before in many ways, and maybe the 5 or so pounds I had put on in an effort to be happier and healthier as started out was not a welcome addition to my ly petite frame for him.
Sure, it helped that he was the one serving my drinks. By this time, I was no longer dating the other boy. I had to be back; life was calling me. They're attracted to you. I'm not even ready to say that he didn't enjoy spending the time with me over the course of that weekend every bit as much as I did. We remained Facebook friends and Instagram buddies. The fact that you are hurting now shows you that you should at least try something. He showed me the entire city—his favorite haunts—and made me feel like the world was ours.
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I'm not saying my New Orleans bar boy is a bad person. Even if nothing else ever comes of it, and even for all of the bitterest and sweetest of these bittersweet feelings I have to wrestle with, damnit it to hell, yesI would do it all over again. This is not to be confused with a one-night stand, of which I have had many in my lifetime. The feelings I had, like the spinning carousel bar where we spent our very first night together, circled around in my head.
He would take me out to dinner and drinks and we even had an occasion to slip into the bedroom at one point. Romance like that is very hard to find, and it will remain in your heart and mind forever. This time, after our kiss and our hug, I knew I would not be changing my flight.
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Yes, I said. This is what I learned about flings: You feel flung at the end. So, I did. I became obsessed with this feeling. On the night before I left, our goodbye was once again long and drawn out. Having just run a half-marathon that morning, I assured him that I was.
I think your story is truly beautiful. It's still a fresh hurt for me. Communications that started out fairly consistently grew less and less frequent. Neither of us seemed to want to let go of the moment. I met his friends and his dog. The next morning, he met me early for breakfast before my flight. Last year, I made the trip with my mother. The next morning, still bristling from the fight between us, I told my mother that I had to go say goodbye to a friend and walked down the road to his bar.
Neither of us could let go—neither of us wanted to break the moment we were having together. He met my parents. Then I got into my cab and headed to the airport. A year passed. Too soon.
He asked if he could kiss me again. After the weekend we spent together, how could he not be? The occasional word, usually by my own initiating. I didn't even answer; I moved right in for my own. At the end of the night, he dropped me back off in front of my hotel and turned to me.