Anticipation fuels desire...

Where to begin?

Staring at the blinking cursor on my screen I’ve pondered everything that has brought me to this point.

Where was the TRUE beginning, and am I seriously sitting here at the end?

I suppose the start of all of this came about in 2012 - that's when Jack and I met, after all. Between then and 2015 we'd gone on again off again in a cyber love affair, going so far as to even exchange that highly coveted L-word.  But you know all this, of course you do, you've been with me since the second start. That fateful retelling of a night in September when by dingy-bar light he'd made his first official attempt at "kissing" me.

Access denied.

You've followed me from Making Him Wait to Made Him Wait to Made to Wait My Damn Self.

What I wasn't counting on? That my love story wouldn't have that HEA ending that most romance novels need to come with to even make it to the shelves of Barnes&Noble.

In a way, I feel like I've failed YOU as much as I've failed myself. But I know that's a weird way to think about this. What started out as a bit of creative writing, formatted like the diary entries of a lusting twenty-something have, in fact, evolved into an open pen-to-paper (err, finger-to-keyboard) confession of my real-life heartache.

I can't pretend I'm not hurt. To do so would be disrespectful to the story I've woven thus far - and I'd hope you'd call me on it anyways.

I loved Jack, hell, I love Jack. I think I've made myself known in that fact.

That's why it sucks, like, so bad, to have to report that Jack and Ari just aren't going to be the epic match I - we - wanted them to be.

With that said, all good shows must go on; all great shows must prevail. I'm not sure where MadeHimWait goes from here. I still believe wholeheartedly that a little anticipation will fuel desire but ... maybe I won't hold out quite as long with the next guy.

Speaking of next guy; what does one restless hoe with a myriad of potential suitors do the MOMENT she finds herself castaway by the man she truly pines for? She bumble, tinder, OkCupid, and match.com's her little brain out.

We're currently entertaining bids from an English bloke in San Antonio and a French hottie in Toronto.

Let me ask you this, when did you decide to fall in love with the person who has your heart right now?

What do you mean you didn't "decide," it just... happened?

You're trying to tell me that, as an emotion inherently directed by a systematic reaction of chemicals and biology - you weren't IN CONTROL of falling in love?

Cool.

I'm glad we cleared that up.

Can I ask you just one more thing, then?

Why do we shame people for falling in love?

Why do we try to tell them who to love, or how to love, or how many people they're allowed to love?

If we agree, at its core, that love is not an emotion we can decide to feel (aside from acknowledging it or ignoring it) then how do we even begin to have the audacity to make anyone choose?

Often times, I'm told that I'm too restless. And I am. We've discussed this; I really like attention. I'm just tired of the insinuations that are based exclusively on what society would deem appropriate - newsflash, I'm not exactly politically correct nor do I tend to adhere to the "status-quo" well.

Ari, you can't divide your attention between more than one person fairly.

Bullshit, I'm currently sunning myself on the deck (being sure every nook and cranny gets some UV love - thank god for the country), writing this post, responding to the occasional prompting on a conference call, AND entertaining my best friend Pearce the Dog all at once. Multi-tasking like a fucking boss, you know?

Ari, if you fall in love with someone else then you never really loved the first person, to begin with.

Bullshit, cause you never ever love two people the exact same way because no two people ARE the same and in fact, loving them the same would be the true crime - so, kiss my ass.

Ari, it's not RIGHT to love two people at once.

Bullshit, because love is infinite, it's eternal, it's the most beautiful thing that exists, and if the world were a little less afraid of its magic and a little more receptive to just how not in control we are over said power, then we'd probably be in a better place overall.

The moral of this story? I don't really have one I suppose. When you set out to write honestly about your love life occasionally you get sucked into your own vibe and apparently my vibe today is "free love."

Maybe it's the way this dog who has no reason to trust me from Adam lays by my side every single night as if to assure me no rodent prey will have at me in my sleep. Maybe it's some internal-maternal mushy flip that's been switched as I watch Mother Nature give it everything she's got to birth new life into Spring.

Question, how do you know you’ve had really good sex?

The obvious, I suppose, is the not so subtle violet tone of your upper lip, or the way the muscles in your body ache, just right, a day or two afterward.

But no, even more than this, the tell-tale sign of a “blow your mind between the sheets” session is the way your body reacts, even a week later, to the memory of it. Those filthy flashbacks that run through your mind, leaving the plump flesh of your bottom lip tucked securely between your teeth.

It had been a whole week since my first ever encounter with Jack, a full 156 hours to be exact, and still, I was ravaged by the impact of these moments.

Worse still was the fact that I hadn’t seen him at all in that time - meaning that no matter how hot or bothered the visions might make me, I had no way of releasing them.

I suppose that’s not entirely true. I’d always been a digit-al master; if you catch my drift. Fingers stroking across swelled slickness with the eagerness of a 16-year-old girl trying to coordinate her outfit for homecoming with 12 of her closest girlfriends in a group chat.

Unfortunately, the idea of finger fucking my night away in the guest suite of my best friend’s home left something to be desired. Not that I think Pais spends all that much time thinking about what I do at night, still.

No, the hunger I had could only be satiated by the masterful way in which his strong arms flipped and turned me from front to back, side to side. I longed for the way he, in an instant, could reposition me out from under his incredible weight to thighs wrapped firmly around him while my hips bucked in rapid succession, never once slipping from “home base.”

Staring at the clock, I’m pleased to see time is moving quickly - the last ten or so minutes have passed in what feels like at least half-that.

Post-coital dinner plans had been pre-arranged with the bestie so staying in bed together all day wasn’t going to happen. Shame. One more ride on his “disco-stick” and I probably could’ve secured the ring. Digress.

I think it’s important to preface all of this with an admission. I, Ms. Make / Made Him Wait, am an antsy little attention-hoe. By which I mean, if I’m not getting it from you, I’ll get it from someone else. Point. Blank. Period.

Feeling thoroughly unattended to on Friday (pre-horizontal mambo), I decided I needed to join bumble and tinder - IMMEDIATELY.

It had been far too many hours since a red blooded male had commented on my “nice tits” or asked my ethnicity and I was THIRSTY for that brand of douchebaggery, ya feel me?

My bumble boyfriends and tinder conquests were silenced the moment I received that “we still on tonight?” text because no amount of praise for my ‘thiccness’ could outweigh the literal connection of his P to my V.

I won’t bore you with the details, they’ve already been shared, needless to say - he rocked my world Friday night AND Saturday morning and left me to wobble into Pais’ house all starry-eyed and lip bruised - that’s right, bruised lip, man’s got game y’all.

I was convinced, at 12:03 pm on Saturday, February 24th that it was mission accomplished.

So imagine my surprise when by 9:03 pm that same day I was right back to the land of the lost.

I’d love to be able to give you all the answers you’re looking for, the update you’re waiting on. But the truth is ... I’m waiting right along with you.

Seems the script’s been flipped on us folks. Stay tuned - we’re not giving up that easy.

I stood in front of the oversized mirror that held court in Pais' bathroom and brushed my hands down the front of the black cotton dress I'd put on.

It was Friday night, D-Day. And while Pais and I had decided on a sharp leather trimmed pencil skirt and lace blouse for my date I liked the playful vibe the short summer dress gave off.

At the advice of one, LePetitPainInMyAss, I paired the dress with a suede fringe jacket that screamed: "I'm trying really hard to fit in with the Texas-Vibe so you will marry me up and make this a permanent fixture in my life." At that point, though, it was 7:26 pm and given he'd promised to pick me up at 7:30 I only had about 14-minutes left to try to remember how to breathe.

I was always nervous before seeing him. In a good way. Like the little thrill bubbles, you get as you near the top of a roller-coaster.

Tonight was different, for obvious reasons. One, we were going to be alone, like, a lot alone; away from prying eyes and left to our own devices. Two, our heated text exchange had evolved into a full-blown bonfire status by that point and if he fulfilled even a tenth of the things he'd promised to do to me I was in for a VERY long night.

We drove and chatted, and I scratched my perfectly manicured middle finger gently across the plump, fleshy part of my palm - avoiding running my hands across him at all costs.  

I needed him to make the move. I didn't want to be in charge tonight. I'd spent the better part of the last two months fighting my way back into his life after the grand fuck-up of 2014, and I was tired of not knowing whether these feelings were REALLY reciprocated or if these were merely sweet nothings whispered through the safety net of sexting.

His apartment was everything I anticipated - all bachelor academic, with that subtle longing for a "woman's touch" in the areas of decor and fridge fullness. But it felt so natural to sink into his plush brown couch and let myself be rearranged to intertwine with him snugly.

He made the mistake of putting on a documentary which instantly captured my attention and held it for the entire 90-minutes, so as much as his hands roamed my thigs and across my hips - I was too enthralled in Timothy Treadwell to give up the goods.

"We'll finish this one here, then start up another one in the bedroom?" he asked, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

I was starting to consider tattooing "Jack; this is a sure thing!" across my forehead by that point because he'd asked in several different ways if I still planned on spending the entire night with him.

"Do you have a curfew?"

"Did you need me to bring you home tonight?"

Digress.

The Grizzly Man came to a tragic end, and he suggested I get comfortable for our next docu-fest venture. I slid my dress down my body and surveyed the lingerie I'd selected wondering why sex didn't always happen the way it does in the movies. You know, where the guy slowly undresses the woman to find her dripping in lace - all corset and stockings.

I stepped out of the body suit which had missed it's time to shine twice now and let my tank top fall over bare breasts - at least I was giving major side-boob in this ensemble. The ruffled panties I'd selected to sleep in curved like a heart over my round ass and provided a plumped up effect I couldn't be mad at; this would have to do.

Walking out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, I let his eyes roam over me. "That'll do." His voice was a whisper, but the irony of his sentiment mirroring my own wasn't lost on me.

My eyes were heavy by the time he settled in next to me having spent the better part of the previous two nights on mouse patrol - a story for another time - so I knew I needed to kick things into high-gear if I was going to make it through round one.

Turning to him I trailed my fingers against his chin and let him explain all of the must-know back details for the movie we were never going to get to see until finally, he stopped, mid-sentence, and kissed me.

Being caught off-guard by a kiss is potentially one of the most romantic moments one can experience, and after six years the feeling of his lips on mine was a shot of adrenaline that made me forget how exhausted I'd been only moments earlier.

"So, this is goodnight then?" He whispered against my mouth, and I nodded while a soft moan escaped - the bastard.

In a flash, my hands were pinned to either side of my head, and his frame was pressed over mine, his weight on me the most excruciatingly sinful thing I'd felt in a very long time.

My hips went rogue at that moment and bucked up into him, wanting to feel his need for me, to confirm it was as heated as my own.

Gripping both ankles in one hand, he pulled me across the mattress and wrapped my body around him - instantly answering every what if, how come, and why not I'd ever had about us.

He continued to answer those questions, over and over until the exhaustion I'd felt earlier seemed like child's play in comparison. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed my back to his chest, trailing kisses along my neck and collarbone while I fell into a deep and satisfied slumber.

There were no whispered promises or proclamations of love. We fucked. At moments we fucked like two people who hated each other and at others like two people who couldn't stand the idea of being apart. We repeated this same lusty routine the next morning, and as we lay breathless and fully sated, I couldn't help but reflect.

I'd given up control and submitted to the dominance he naturally exuded, and I knew with no uncertainty that I'd always be this way for him - I'd always be his.

Damn him.

Damn him for the way he can make me melt on the spot. Pais and I had taken an hour out of our “day of beauty” to meet Jack for lunch. We’d arrived a few minutes early and picked out a table that was suitable for our little ‘Ménage à Trois.’

I excused myself to the “little girl’s room” because the butterflies in my stomach had evolved into prehistoric moth-velociraptor hybrids and I felt I might toss the literal cookies I’d sustained myself on all morning.

I could hear Pais’ laugh as I walked back down the hall towards the dining area and knew that meant Jack had arrived. His back to me was enough to make me squeeze my thighs together in quick succession. Standing at over six feet, five inches, this man had me losing all of my senses and better judgment just by existing.

Lunch passed in a blur; I let him order for me and had to admit, he’d done an excellent job. He made several attempts to touch me, his hand finding my ankle to examine my cowgirl boots, stroking his fingers against mine as he spoke of the apparent first-daters seated near us at the bar.

It was hard to focus on his words while my tiny hand rested completed concealed in his large, strong palm.

I wanted to kiss him, so badly. I’d promised myself I would, and when he walked me to the car as we said our goodbyes, the voice inside my head screamed at me to “just do it.”

I didn’t.

A combination of the rain and our proximity to his office - the fact he’d already recognized several faces from his gym in the last half hour alone.

I needed our first official kiss to be something more than a quick and awkward peck in the parking lot of the Bee Caves Galleria.

Though my heart and mind eventually agreed that this had not been my moment to “make a move” it still hurt that with each passing day I was losing my chance to prove to him what he meant and how I felt about him, about US.

:: These hour-long hangouts are a tease, you know… ::

I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him to message me first, but I’d never been a very patient person. Within seconds, though, I had my response, and it brought a knowing smirk to my face.

: Any longer I might get carried away … ::

:: I’m sort of banking on that … let me make you dinner on Friday. ::

:: Deal. ::

So, my next date had officially been set and this time, in the privacy of his apartment, with just the two of us present, I would get my kiss - hell, I’d get a whole lot more if I had my way.

We text on and off for the rest of the evening, shooting innuendos and blatant hungry need back and forth like a couple of high schoolers on a virginity pact.

“I have to make the first move, don’t I?”

“Guys don’t like rejection, Ari. He’s so apprehensive after September.”

Seated on Pais’ bed, I watched her prepare for work. Moving around her expansive closet with ease, pairing a gorgeous floral blouse with sleek black pants and nude heels.

“I’m scared for him. Even if he and I aren’t supposed to be together - he can’t end up with her.”

We’d been discussing a mutual friend who was so lonely and lost in their marriage, and my heart constricted. The way Jack talked about his partner didn’t feel like the passionate, creative, loving man I’d known for six years.

Loving someone means wanting the best for them in every conceivable way. Understanding that, even if you aren’t the answer, you just want them to have everything you believe they deserve. I want so much for him to have what he deserves.

“You might be right...”

Pais has moved from closet to washroom, and she’s effortlessly twirling the hot iron through her hair creating stunning beach waves.

“You don’t say...”

Leaning against the door frame, I shift into my stork pose and chew my lip.

“When he picked me up the other night - before we got into his Jeep, he stopped and showed me the constellations we could see from your driveway ... maybe he was hoping for a sign, like for me to make a move.”

I was rambling - this happened all too frequently when the topic of Jack came up; which was a near constant these days.

I couldn’t help it. I’d always been like this. I toss myself wholeheartedly into the things, projects, people that make me feel like my world has conspired to bring me to them. Jack was one of those people.

“I need to kiss him tomorrow.”

“So do it!”

I would. I’d find a way. I’d make it known - officially - where I stood and how much I ached for him.

"Not many women want a man to tell her what to wear, or even want him to order for them anymore."

"I'm not most women, though I do consider myself a feminist. I just don't believe my feminism needs to be defined in any one way. I can both support gender equality and the safe and fair treatment of women while appreciating a man for wanting to take care of me."

He was silent as he contemplated my words. Some would suggest I was just rattling off the things he wanted to hear in an attempt to get to my end goal - his bedroom. But the truth was, I'd always liked my men to be in charge. After so many relationships with meek personalities, a man who knew what he wanted and how he wanted it was refreshing.

"I'd like you in a dress with a plunging neckline, thigh-high black boots and red lipstick."

I smiled to myself, thoroughly impressed with the mental picture of me he'd painted in his mind. I instantly knew the boots I'd wear and the kind of dress I'd buy - red lipstick was a stretch for me, I often opted for nude. But I wouldn't shy away from this challenge.

If a cherry red hue across my plumped up pout would make it hard for him to keep his lips off of mine then I'd try a million shades of rouge til I found the best one.

Trips to the H-E-B afforded a miniature adventure in and of themselves.

Not only were they Texas' premier stop for prime cuts of meat, but this particular location provided a plethora of home goods, electronics, clothes, and beauty supplies.

After loading the cart with an oversized piece of chocolate cake reserved for the evening's episode of the Kardashians I made my way through the expansive aisles that gave home to brands like Rimmel, Nyx, Maybelline, and L'Oreal in search of my ruby lacquer.

Having opted for a new formula and securing the remaining necessities for the week the day's errands had come to a close which afforded me the luxury to play.

Snapping a picture I sent off a quick note and couldn't help but to grin at my own cheekiness.

“You know I have a ridiculous crush on Cash, and you brought me to this bar, of all places?”

I took in my surroundings, the plush mismatched couches on faded Persian rugs surrounded by high top tables that all opened up onto a huge deck for patio drinking.

The walls were trimmed in all things Man in Black - Johnny Cash albums, photos, concert flyers, and fan art from floor to ceiling complimented by strings of turquoise and red bulbed strand lights.

“I’m well aware, darlin’. That’s why I brought you here.”

He’d picked me up at 8 o’clock, as promised and we’d spent every moment since enthralled in conversation.

The drive into the heart of Austin nightlife had afforded us nearly forty-minutes of alone time in the front seat of his decked-out tan jeep, all Jurassic Park style.

Dinner was sushi, and while the food was delicious, it was him I couldn’t get enough of. He shared stories of his family and reminisced about some of his favorite memories of “us.”

“You want to hear something kind of corny?”

“Mm!” I nodded enthusiastically with a mouth full of spider roll.

“I remember exactly where I was during so many of our conversations over the years.”

“You do not!”

I laughed the admission off because allowing myself to believe I’d met my sentimental match seemed cruel if he was just putting me on.

“No, it’s true. I was in front of the fireplace in my old apartment in Austin while you got ready for the Beyoncé concert.”

I glanced up at him at the mention of this because I remembered, too, having him on speaker phone while I babbled away excitedly about getting to see the OTHER queen bee.

Winking he prompted me to put another piece of sushi in my mouth and continued his little trip down memory lane.

“And I remember when I was living in Dallas. Having a real rough go of things. Hating where I was at. You text me, out of the blue, like you could sense I needed to hear from you - we hadn’t talked for a few months at that point. Anyways, I pulled off into this little strip mall and spent an hour texting with you back and forth... Ari, I could tell you each and every one of the shops and restaurants in that little strip mall.”

I loved him at that moment. Technically, I realized just how IN-love with him a piece of me had always been. I instantly hated myself for ruining every chance I’d ever had with him before this. For any text, I’d ever ignored. Any call I’d ever hit decline on.

How had I allowed this person to come and go from my life so flippant-like when I should have clung to this electricity that existed between us with everything I had.

We sipped our respective drinks surrounded by the other love of my life, and I felt melancholy like I’d never experienced.

He’d admitted, on the ride over, that the girlfriend was still very much a part of the equation. I was in no position to be angry about it; we hadn’t spoken in over a year - of course, he’d moved ahead with his life. How was he supposed to know I’d come to my senses and need him to stay loving me?

The night ended way too soon, and if I could have hit pause and lingered for hours more, I would have in a heartbeat.

I tossed myself on the bed, still clad in the bodysuit I’d worn to entice him into a full evening’s worth of activity and typed up a quick text.

:: Thank you for tonight... I had such a great time being with you. And just so you know, I had every intention of spending even more time with you tonight, but I don't want to be the girl who sleeps with someone else's boyfriend. Didn’t want you to think the desire wasn’t there... ::

My phone chirped quickly in response, and I clicked the unread message with a rush of anxiety.

:: I really want you bad to be clear. And I do need to resolve that part of my personal life and plan to end it very soon. I just don’t know if it will necessarily happen during this particular trip you’ve made. I hope that makes sense. ::