My Australian Reunion
Current Mood: Livejournalish
The Long Story: Most people hate cliches, until you find yourself stuck in one.
That's how my reunion with Mr. Aussie Teacher began. It started with a kiss in the hallway, Brokeback Mountain style; a kiss that was passionate and sudden, and that occurred 5 minutes into our initial conversation.
I hadn't seen the man in a year and a half, and I had been nervous about our meeting because I was afraid that the spark wouldn't be there anymore.
As soon as I saw him it was like no time had passed.
We annoyed our mutual friend, the Aussie Flapper Girl, because of how quickly she became the third wheel of that night. There is no doubt in my mind that he is my perfect compliment and the closest thing I've found to a suitable partner.
We fit so well because he is my total opposite. He is nice, sincere, generous, sweet, and soft-spoken. There is not one sarcastic bone in his body, and he is the first to leap up when someone needs help.
He makes me want to be a better person by just being near him.
I'm not afraid to say I'm shockingly in love with him.
We drank and talked, then soon enough, we were together in a cab on the way to my place. We were making out and I noticed that while I was all over him, he was all over me while safely buckled up on his side of the seat...
How prim and proper!
We had breakfast in the morning in a small bodega on an empty Lexington Avenue. We shared the Sunday edition of the New York Times as well.
While we walked and when we sat down with our friend the Aussie Flapper Girl, we were a couple; touching each other, looking at each other from across the couch. He would sit next to me and I'd rub his back.
"You owe me Kevin," Aussie Flapper Girl said, "I found the one for you."
...but he doesn't live here, he's only briefly staying at Cornell for a seminar on Cultural Studies in film, and he's a bit of a closet case...
Well he's a closet case in Australia, where he has dated girls (nobody's perfect), and I'm starting to suspect that New York and I both help him embrace a side of him he tucks away when he's home.
The city and I are his outlet, a window to another life, where he can hold my hand and we can be together.
At least that's what I think, I'm afraid to ask him though, like if I asked him then I'd pop our fantasy bubble, and I think I'm using him to live out my own fantasy version of couple-hood.
When is love real and when is it just fantasy?
I love the fantasy, but I'm 25 years old, and I need real.
The Short Story: I got laid.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My Australian Reunion