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Mr. Ex. (Short for Mister Executive Big Boss) is a giant spider me and Courtney caught tonight. He's twice as big as Zebra and already ate a cricket! The lighting makes him look orange, but the only orange thing about this hungry boy is his fangs! @provendermalkin @cherry-twilight
What’s this feeling?
Mr. Ex and I have our next trip booked. The itinerary looks like this: Portland, OR, then a wedding in Eugene, and then Crater Lake and a cabin in the woods. When talking to Mr. Ex about it, I mention the wedding in my characteristic style, giving him plenty of options to back out, outright saying that it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d be into doing. And he calls me after getting my self-effacing email to insist he wants to go to the wedding with me.
“Where’s Mr. Ex? Can you put him on the line? I have no idea who I’m speaking to right now.” I joke when he makes it abundantly clear (after a lot of me asking You sure? You sure you’re sure?) that he wants to be my date for the wedding.
“Shaddup,” he replies with a chuckle.
And I don’t know what to do with this feeling. Half of me is in shock that someone is showing up for me, engaging, and also mostly in shock that it’s Mr. Ex acting this way. But the other half of me is slowly, very slowly, letting out this looong, pent-up sigh of relief. I’m finally being treated well by someone I care about.
Fucking finally.
It always seemed like such a simple ask, just be there for me, and it's been impossible for me to get that level of engagement, care, attention, ever before. It shouldn't feel so foreign, but it does, and it tastes delicious. I realize more and more with Mr. Ex, that he has a level of trustworthiness I’m completely unaccustomed to. When he says something, he means it, which is maybe why he doesn’t say much.
But I also don’t quite believe it’s happening, and as we talk on the phone and email each other over the week about travel plans, Mr. Ex might just be able to sense it, so he starts booking our Air BnB’s and hotels and sending me the confirmations. As if to say, see, I’m doing this, I’m going to this with you. Trust it, baby.
I tell him about Japanese Gardens and Pok Pok, Crater Lake and hot springs, and Portland, and my friend JL who lives there who’s already excited about seeing us. When JL asks who Mr. Ex is, I describe him as my traveling bae.
Which seems about right.
But doesn’t quite encompass the way he calls me regularly, asking me about everything, and how I can talk to him for hours about all the little, banal parts of my day and work, and feel him listening to every word I say. How important and cherished it all makes me feel, but how confusing it is because at the end of the day, he still lives in Denver, and I don’t know how exactly we’d make this work with all that distance. Especially lately, as he does all these sweet things:
“Have you ever been to Oregon?” I ask, and he responds, “No, was never really interested before…”
And I want to jump on his lap and stare into his eyes, watching his pupils dilate, hold him close to see if he’s for fucking real, because it’s starting to feel terrifyingly real.
Except for that distance.
I had a dream this weekend. I’m traveling somewhere with my family, and Mr. Ex is going to meet me there too. I have to hide him from my parents, and my sister helps me with this. When I see him, dream me feels this strange intensity of feeling, and I mean to give him a short hug, but neither of us can bear letting go so I bury my face in his throat and he groans. Hilarious antics ensue, as we try to keep him hidden from my parents, I pass him a note in a park where my family is, on a bench far from the familial festivities, CIA-spy-style. But despite my best efforts, at one point, my parents catch us, holding hands, grocery shopping, and I hear them behind me, saying my name, a question in their tone. I turn to Mr. Ex and he looks at me, steadily, “Are you ready?” he asks. And it’s weirdly like the dream I’d had years ago, when we were dating, except instead of panicking, I look at him and feel this enormous bubble welling up in my chest, and I smile, so that we turn around to face my parents, still holding hands.
And I wake up, and I’m just like, what does it all mean?
There are no final answers yet. There is so much I haven’t shared with Mr. Ex, and I still don’t know if we’re right for each other, if being so far apart is part of what makes us appreciate each other so much more. But this not knowing is strangely sweet, not yet tinged with sadness.
And I’m so fucking excited for our trip.
New Orleans, Day 3
Our last day in New Orleans is prittimuch my favorite. There is a St. Patrick’s day parade happening, both in the French Quarter, and right in our neighborhood by the Irish Channel area. Mr. Ex and I walk slowly down to Magazine St. and get brunch. The food at this place is ridiculously delicious, fried oysters with beet remoulade and arepas and a quinoa salad with blackened shrimp (what? don’t judge, I’ve been eating like crap since I got here, I needed a salad). We get cocktails, even though it’s not even noon yet, and we people watch, looking out on the street as people set up lawn chairs to watch the parade.
Soon after, it starts, and we go walking down the street, I get some beads thrown at me and when men dressed as leprechauns walk up and down the street, handing over plastic flowers for a kiss on the cheek, Mr. Ex suddenly grips my hand, stopping one of the men from approaching me, (so he blows me a kiss instead).
We stop by at another bar and get another drink.
Then we get bored with the parade and decide to take the streetcar all around to different parts of the city and walk around. We explore everywhere, taking the streetcar to different neighborhoods, finding weird little parks with historical statues and modern sculptures, and going to more bars, our bellies full of alcohol and little else. All day, Mr. Ex is being clingier than ever. Holding hands, putting his arm around my waist, pulling up extra close on his bar stool, and I bask in it, knowing it’s meaningless, knowing it’ll be over so soon.
We’re also finally really comfortable with each other. Which means, for Mr. Ex that he’s being open about how he doesn’t trust anything, and I mean ANYTHING. For example, we go to a restaurant that says “established in 1902” then Mr. Ex is all, “Yeah, IF that’s true.”
I’m all confused like, “Why wouldn’t that be true? What?!?!?” He does this about EVERY historical fact we learn about. Also, he’s letting himself be a little meaner to me, nothing big, just making fun of me more often.
And for me, it means I start being kind of a bitch to him. My irritability is out in full force. Mostly it would be while I was trying to show him something, he would just be like I don’t see it, and then I would talk slowly and loudly to him like he was dumb. He mostly laughed it off, but I felt all guilty about it later.
We stop by a place to pick up some sandwiches and take them back to our place. We hadn’t eaten since brunch, and it’s starting to get dark out when we finally get home with sandwiches in hand.
We go inside, we snuggle and have sex. He walks away as soon as we’re done and I’m laying in bed, like WHAT THE FUCK, until he calls me over from the living room, wanting to snuggle on the couch and watch 30 Rock on Netflix. We do that for a while, and smoke outside. We start to have sex again, but I realize I haven’t eaten all day, and he’s probably too drunk to be very effective, not for lack of trying. I actually stop him, and quickly put a shirt on and eat half of one of the sandwiches while we snuggle and watch 30 Rock. He keeps refusing to eat, in a hell-bent stubborn way (the more I insist he eat something, the more he resists eating). I keep saying I want to go out to one more place, since it’s our last night. He’s against the idea, but as soon as I mention going without him, he gets ready and we leave.
His clinginess continues, and we go to the restaurant we went to on our first night. He pulls his barstool so close, and we just sit there near each other, looking at each other, not saying much.
We go home and have sex. We’re snuggling, and I fall asleep and wake up to realize he’s not in bed with me and I cry out for him. He comes in from the living room holding the sandwich bag.
“You’re finally eating?” I ask.
“Yeah, you ok?” he asks back.
“Yeah, I want you to come to bed and snuggle me.” I say.
He comes up and kisses my cheek, “I’ll only be a few more minutes, don’t want to get food on their bed.”
I go back to sleep and wake up and call out for him again, he’s standing at the edge of bed undressing, “I’m right here,” he laughs. I get the feeling that he likes when I call out for him, I get the feeling that I like when he responds. He finally gets in bed with me and we snuggle and hold tight all night.
I wake up super early, our flights are only 15 minutes apart, and we plan on splitting a cab to the airport. I finish the load of laundry I started the night before, and get in the shower before waking him.
When I’m done, he gets in the shower, we’re both quiet, getting through the routine, cleaning up after ourselves, hiding the leftover weed since he didn’t feel like bringing it back on the plane.
He calls for the cab, and then I straddle him and kiss his cheek and we lay there curled against each other for a long time, him stroking my face.
In the cab, again, we’re silent, holding hands tightly in the backseat.
At the airport the line for TSA seems pretty long. I tell him I’m going to check my bag just so I have one less thing to worry about. He stays with me, insisting we stick together for this last leg of the journey. I guess I was testing him, to see if he’d just be like, kthxbye.
As we get close to the TSA machine on the line, one of the airport security officers starts laughing and pointing to the pink lip gloss on Mr. Ex’s cheek, leftover from our cuddle session on the couch. I half-heartedly wipe it off, then whisper, Ilana Glazer style, “You better keep that on your face for-fucking-ever” much to the amusement of the TSA security officer.
After we’re checked in, we find out our gates are pretty far from each other, and my flight has already started boarding.
“Uh, do you wanna get breakfast?” he asks.
“No, I should go and get on my plane.” I say, and he nods and just stands there looking at me, his big backpack at his feet. We hug each other and kiss for a long time.
“I gotta go! I’ll talk to you soon.” I say, re-marking his cheek with my pink lipgloss with one last kiss. I rush off to my gate, and just before I walk in, I turn around to see if he’s still standing there, I think he is. It’s too far to tell.
I sit on the plane, I think about all that we just went through, how my feelings for Mr. Ex keep sneaking up on me, when I least expect them.
Our first week back he texts me a picture he had taken of us, sipping coffee at the cafe on our first day.
“I love this picture of us! We look so cute!” I text him back.
“Agree on both counts.” he responds.
2014, new beginnings, another goodbye
January of 2014, Mr. Ex and I have one last date night before he leaves for Colorado. We meet up at the movie theater, and I pass the spot where we broke up months ago. Inside, we sit in the back and I lean my head on his shoulder. I don’t even remember what we watched.
Afterwards, we go to a bar nearby and I get pretty drunk until Mr. Ex decides it’s time to take me home. Once back at my apartment we curl up on the couch, I sit on his lap and we make out, he starts leading us to my bedroom when I stop him.
“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” I say, looking into his blue eyes, all black with pupil. And he blinks for a moment, seems stunned, but then nods.
“Okay,” he answers.
We go to my room and smoke a little and cuddle all night and talk about his impending move and what that could be for him. He’s excited, but at one point talks about how he regrets that ‘we can’t start up again’, and I frown and shake my head a little but then we move on. (Start what up again, exactly?)
It is, perhaps, one of our best times together, we are each the most ourselves, and it’s nice that we didn’t have sex. We had all our post-coital bonding without the distance-inducing coitus that I’m used to from him. We cuddle and kiss and he tells me more about his childhood in the Ukraine. I imagine him as a child, and something inside me completely seizes up. When we say goodbye the next morning, I have a hard time letting him go.
He leaves the next week and tries to see me again, but I am too happy with having been able to spend a night with him that doesn’t include me crying while we’re fucking, so I flaked out a bit. We promised to keep in touch, and have been doing a pretty decent job of it lately.
Baby steps, people.
After this, I’m ready for something real. That’s what I think anyway.
2013, the saga continues
Mr. Ex and I continue to see each other. I meet some of his friends, he continues to hang out with mine, we spend evenings on the rooftop of his building on the Upper East Side drinking wine and watching the sunset. One night we even have sex 7 times (7 TIMES! I’m like some sort of sexpro!) and as per usual I don’t have a single orgasm, but it’s fun! We just keep moving from his bed, to his couch, back to his bed, to the chair in front of his computer, back to the couch, back to the bed. We keep trying to put on a movie, and giggling. We eat crackers and peanut butter during a self-made intermission. He kisses crumbs off my cleavage. We wake up a couple of hours later to the sun rising through the window and have sex again, and again, and again. The last time I give his hardening cock a look, like an are you serious look? And it cracks him up, and gives me a little break, before he’s ready again.
One night, at his apartment, it is the anniversary of my friend dying. A year ago, I had been sloppily hooking up with The Nerd trying to distract myself. When I remember this I am cuddling with Mr. Ex, and I turn away from him and weep to myself as he falls asleep. Maybe that was the beginning of the end? That lonely moment, feeling like he wouldn’t even care if I told him why I was upset.
Or maybe, it started with the dreams. I would keep having dreams about Mr. Ex, us fighting, and then one of us saying Are we gonna do this or what? And my mind being frozen with indecision.
This one particular night, I was laying beside Mr. Ex in my bed. But in my mind, we were walking through art galleries somewhere hot and dusty. We were holding hands, but I was strangely mindful of people looking at us. At one point, in front of a dust-streaked canvas painted with the night sky, Mr. Ex and I get into an argument over going to a wedding together. Frustrated with him not being able to read my mind, frustrated with the fact that I have sex with someone I’m not even allowed to need, frustrated with my own vague feelings I just walk away from him when he turns back to the painting. I walk through a crowd, tears on my cheeks, and don’t look behind me once.
In the dream, I find my parents car back out on the street. I have to go to a family wedding with them, and suddenly they are all glaring out my passenger side window. I look out to see Mr. Ex running towards us, and he stops the car and asks me what I want. I just stare at him uncomprehendingly. He leans in, his hair falling onto his forehead, his eyes suddenly serious, and he says, “Are we gonna do this? Are we really gonna do this?” And all I can think is, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!
And I gasp awake. And I turn my head. And he is laying there beside me, stirring slowly. I know soon he will reach out and pull me back into his chest, that his hands will stroke skin and soothe me. But... I still don’t know.
It’s a couple of weeks of this when one of my coworkers asks me what Mr. Ex and I have planned for the weekend.
“I think we’re going to see a movie,” I answer her “and I think I’m going to break up with him.”
Her eyes widen in shock.
“But, why? The sex is so good right?” she asks.
“The sex is okay, we just do it a lot which is fun. But... yeah... we’ve been dating for months and other than making it exclusive when we started having sex...” I trail off... thinking. “I just don’t think it’s going anywhere.” and my coworker nods, all understanding.
That weekend we go to the movies. Beforehand, when we are drinking at the bar I am staring off into the distance, trying to think of how to do this. Should we have sex one last time just for the fun of it? How will I say this?
Turns out, I don’t need to. Because after the movie is over, Mr. Ex asks to talk to me outside. It is raining very gently. His eyes are sad.
“I feel like we’re in a weird sort of limbo,” he starts, and stops studying me inquisitively, “and I don’t really know what to do about it.”
“I agree,” is pretty much all I can say.
“I think you want a serious relationship, I’m just not sure you want one with me.” he says.
I just stare at him, I want to cry but I can’t.
“And that’s okay, I’m not sure I am ready for a serious relationship myself,” he explains.
I nod.
“I really would like us to be friends, but I think we need to end this.”
Finally, I can speak, I say “Thank you so much for doing this. You did the right thing.”
“Really? You think so?” he asks, and his voice is so uncertain, so I hug him, and he holds me tight, and then we leave each other there. I jump into a cab and go home and listen to Kanye West’s Gone, and I am happy and sad and everything all at once.
The one problem: I had gotten Mr. Ex and I tickets to a cocktails in the biggest, baddest, cemetery event for the next weekend. Who would I go with now?
Well, who else?
Mr. Ex, the start is the best
Mr.Ex and I start seeing each other pretty regularly. He lives in rich-old-lady-mecca Upper East Side, and I live in fun-and-exciting-TOO-MUCH Brooklyn so we start off meeting up in the middle, somewhere around SoHo. Our first few forays, I don’t want to take him home right away, so we end up making out all over the streets. On park benches. Against the bumpy metal of a shop closed down for the night. On the corners of streets and avenues. With people walking by and whistling, one man even told me to watch for my bag, but we didn’t care.
Eventually, on maybe our third date, Mr.Ex ends up meeting all my friends. A pal learned boxing and has his first match somewhere downtown, and Mr.Ex meets us at the bar, and I introduce him to my friends. We can be a rowdy, semi-closed off group, but somehow despite his shyness, he can totally hang. B, who doesn’t like most of the guys we (me and our other lady friends) date, he actually gives me a big THUMBS UP behind Mr.Ex’s back at some point. That night we take a cab back to my place.
We kiss, I straddle him, sitting on his lap and he pushes my hair out of my face and we just look at each other for a long while. Mr.Ex hasn’t done that thing where he mindlessly calls me pretty, or something, yet. But when we kiss, even in well-lit rooms, his pale blue eyes go unnervingly dark. I see myself, made tiny, swimming in his growing pupils. Mr.Ex is a little slight, he’s about my height but he looks like a small guy. But somehow, his thighs and upper arms are incredibly muscular, so as slight as he is, I love sitting on his lap and feeling his thighs bunch up below me when he’s about to move.
When we hear my roommate start unlocking the door, we both run off the couch and into my bedroom. Mr.Ex has this weird callous in the middle of his palms, underneath his middle finger. I love the way he touches me, his hands pressing against my skin. I pick them up and kiss the callouses in them over and over.
We do not have sex. He tells me he doesn’t have a condom, and I say we weren’t going to have sex anyway, to which he shrugs, and then proceeds to go down on me, and boy is he GOOD.
Our conversations deepen after he orgasms and lays beside me. I have not yet had an overnight guest, and Mr.Ex is the first boy that I like who I lay awake next to all night. I keep moving towards the wall, and he keeps following me, his warm calloused hands rubbing my back. We wake up and fool around some more the next morning. I walk around in a dreamy haze all day.
Until later that night, when I go to a comedian friend’s party and see the Joker standing there, watching the door, as if he’s been waiting for me this whole time.
Mr.Ex
After my date with Semi-famous, I feel like I can get back into the swing of dating without any more adverse effects. I don’t expect much from Semi-famous and get little besides some half-hearted attempts to get me to join him at big music festivals in the spring/summer. But the idea of owing some stranger that much, and/or him trying to get me all star struck by his entrepreneurial status was icky so I just kept it friendly. Told him if he was ever in New York to give me a hoot.
A couple of months pass by. I go on a few more dates, nothing that exciting. One day Semi-famous comes back and is texting me again, from a new foreign number. He’s staying at a hotel in the Lower East Side and trying to entice me for drinks or a show, but then will go radio silent when I ask for any details of where to meet. In a fit of pique, I go on Crazy Blind Date and make a date with some random dude at the bar right by my office.
After work, I’m waiting outside the bar when this adorable, slight, boyishly handsome dude comes walking up. He is Mr.Ex.
We go inside and order some drinks. He is strangely shy, but in such a way that it makes me the total extrovert. I talk all about my family, my friends, my beliefs. He interjects now and then, but mostly gives me inscrutable looks. I ordered us whiskey’s and he winces every time he takes a sip which makes me giggle. He can take my fairly light ribbing at his expense. His eyes are a smooth blue, and his pupils dilate the longer we sit at the bar.
Semi-famous texts me at this point, trying to get me to go to his hotel. I am just about drunk enough to agree.
Mr.Ex and I end up going to my favorite bookstore so I can buy a book. We walk around and read each other lines from old novels. At this point, I still can’t really tell if he’s attracted to me. We go outside, and I get a text from Semi-famous giving his hotel address. I make some excuse about going home and Mr.Ex tries to see if we can get some food. I vaguely make more excuses so he says, fine, I’d like to see you again though. And kisses me. His kisses are totally unexpected and sweet. They change everything.
I still go to see Semi-famous though, the kisses didn’t change as much as I might have led you to believe.
At the hotel room, Semi-famous and I drink a little (he’s not a big drinker), and we start hooking up. It is hot, at first, but then I start to get the distinct feeling that it doesn’t matter that I’m there. That any girl would do.
Semi-famous cums on my tits, and I get so cold I can’t even describe it. I feel like I’ve been hollowed out, my marrow replaces with ice water that pumped sluggishly through my veins, chilling me. As he falls asleep beside me, I start to shiver and realize this was a huge mistake. I put my clothes back on, and hurry out. Semi-famous makes some mention of taking me to a concert, but that makes me feel more disgusted with the both of us, so I just wave him off and leave. He still Facebooks me to this day, but no more offers of free concerts, thank goodness. (Because then he makes me think that’s why I hooked up with him, as if it was some transaction agreed to by the both of us. Not just me looking for love in the wrong places. Not just him using me because he could).
I text Mr.Ex later that week. I keep remembering his kisses. There was something so sweet about them.
STREAMING! - Ys Origin
Going to be streaming some Ys Origin in about 10 mins! Come hang out at http://www.twitch.tv/mrexmrex
