The State of Jack, Part 4 of 4

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Conclusion

Wherein I Finally Wrap This Whole Thing Up

2020 was a disaster on a lot of levels. Many of the really awful things about the year weren’t necessarily surprising, especially the continuing corruption and toxicity of the Trump administration. And anyone who knows anything about U.S. Politics knows that the U.S. election cycle is as mean-spirited and corrosive as just about anything else in this country; even though I had high hopes for the presidential election, and in fact the result was the one I’d been hoping for, I wasn’t so naive as to believe my anxiety would ebb until Biden was sworn in. Still, I’d be lying if I said that I foresaw constantly wearing PPE, hunting for toilet paper like I was in some kind of scatalogical doomsday scenario, and not being able to see loved ones face to face. Oh well; hindsight is 2020.

As vaccines become increasingly available (at least in the United States) and my life begins to approach a state closer to normalcy than I’ve experienced in fifteen months, I’m guardedly optimistic. However, I’m not optimistic that things will suddenly be the way they used to be; as the pandemic raged across the world I was witness to the unequivocal, unrepentant selfishness of so many of my fellow Americans, and I question whether I’ll ever feel safe living among people who would probably push an elderly grandmother in front of a bus to avoid minor inconvenience. I don’t feel kinship with people like that. I don’t want to feel kinship with them.

However, I do feel hopeful that when I am once again able to do the things I took for granted and in some cases didn’t even bother doing because I assumed I’d have the chance later, I do them. Whether it’s going to a spontaneous movie on my day off, attending a new meetup, having a leisurely lunch and beers at a favorite brewpub, shaking hands, giving a hug to a consenting person, or even being able to smile with my mouth as opposed to just my eyes, I’m going to try and make sure I never again have cause to regret something I didn’t do.

That goes for dating, too. I don’t know if I’m a casual sex guy anymore; while I’d probably engage in it if the opportunity arose, I don’t really think it’s my style these days. Granted, a large part of the reason is that I can’t in good conscience have sex with someone who thinks Coronavirus is a hoax, has ever used the expression “All lives matter”, or votes Republican. On the other hand, I would really love to sit across a table from someone at a coffee shop or a bar and get to know them over the space of a couple hours as that unique sensation of anticipation and excitement hopefully consumes us. That way, if it doesn’t and the person says some stupid shit like “The Affordable Care Act is slavery”, I can get the fuck out of there. But it doesn’t seem like kind of a date is going to happen anytime soon.

For more than thirty years my validation came primarily from sex, or even the possibility thereof. As I’ve stated elsewhere on this blog, many of the decisions I’ve made throughout my life, from choosing a college course schedule to choosing an outfit to wear, were based on how likely I was to get laid as a result. Generally speaking, making my decisions involved determining how appealing to women I might seem as a result, i.e. “Does this pair of jeans make my ass look good?” However, in some cases my thought process was more along the lines of “How many available women am I likely to encounter during this particular pursuit?” Ultimately, though indirectly, it all came down to “How likely is it that sex will result?”

I realize this sounds problematic, if not actually predatory, but despite the fact that I was a younger, less enlightened man back then, I never really expected women to just give me sex. I knew that wasn’t how it worked. I was handsome, even sexy, and not always as awkward as I probably come off now. I had style. I was good at making conversation. But I wasn’t the kind of guy who walked into a social situation and expected to leave with one or more available women. When it happened, I enjoyed it and it surely boosted my confidence. But it didn’t always happen, I didn’t expect it to, and that probably kept me humble.

So if for three-fourths of my life I got my validation from sex and suddenly I find myself unable to do so – hell, these days I generally go unnoticed even on Twitter – where does that leave me? I am not unlike the rōnin of feudal Japan: masterless, wandering the Earth without purpose. And yes, I acknowledge that comparing a middle-aged man who finds himself suddenly less sexually desirable than he once was to an honest-to-god samurai is patently absurd, and frankly probably an insult to all the masterless samurai who eventually overcame their shame and became soldiers or bodyguards. So perhaps a better comparison is to the Fleetwood Mac song “Landslide”, found on their eponymous 1975 album and covered by artists such as Smashing Pumpkins and The Chicks:

Well I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I built my life around you

I get validation from my family to an extent. It’s not the same as the validation I feel when someone likes a sexy picture I’ve tweeted, but it’s validation nonetheless and I know I should be grateful for it. And at any rate, I can’t expect external validation anymore. It may come, or it may not, but counting on it for my sense of self-worth is a mistake.

At this point in my life it’s clear that I must find the affirmation I need within myself. This is not something to which I am really accustomed, but I’m actually finding it easier than expected. The modest pride I felt in the past upon creating art, cooking a delicious meal, or a professional accomplishment has increased exponentially, apparently out of necessity.

It works on a physical level, too. After years of balancing healthy confidence in my looks with humility, I’m pleased to report that I see less reason for the latter. Which is not to say that I’ve become a raging egomaniac, but I do see clearly what it is about me that many people have found, and likely continue to find, attractive. It’s rare, in fact, that I pass by a mirror and don’t like what I see.

Needless to say, I look forward to not having to wear a mask anymore.

The State of Jack, Part 3 of 4

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I Have No Title For This Chapter

Wherein I revisit a short-lived relationship.

(You can read the first two parts here and here.)

In early summer, while reflecting on my faltering long-distance relationship, I reached out to somebody I knew from Twitter. It was a relatively innocuous greeting along with an attractive – arguably sexy – picture of myself lounging by my parents’ pool on a hot June day. My message wasn’t intended as anything beyond an innocent hello; though she and I did occasionally flirt, and exchanging pictures was not unheard of, it was no secret that she was in a monogamous long-distance relationship. If anything, I had intended to share a friendly face and let her know I was thinking of her. I considered her a friend, after all.

She appreciated my message and my picture, and told me that her relationship had recently ended. I was admittedly shocked; tweets about her relationship with her overseas Dom – including frequent daily countdowns each time she looked forward to getting on a plane to see him – were a regular feature of my Twitter feed. I expressed sympathy, and she explained the factors behind the breakup. I’d be lying if I neglected to say that on some level my undeveloped primate brain was excited to hear that she was now single, but I was there to offer friendship and emotional support, not try and inflict myself on a vulnerable woman, and in doing so possibly harm a valued friendship. Besides, I told myself, just because I find her attractive, that doesn’t mean she feels the same about me. Ironically, she later told me that she once told herself the same thing about me.

We began talking more often, and over time the nature of our conversation grew more sexual, and even romantic. As we got to know each other, I could see that there were clear feelings on her part; she identified as demisexual, meaning that she needs an emotional connection with someone in order to experience sexual feelings for them. It was exciting to realize that she evidently felt that with me. I made her feel safe enough to entrust me with control of her Lovense Lush, a bluetooth-enabled vibrator that can be controlled using a smartphone app. It was the first time I’d gotten someone other than my wife off in nearly a year.

Over time, she and I built an intense long-distance relationship. She wasn’t local, but she was in the same state. We made plans to meet eventually, once travel was safer. She let me know in no uncertain terms that when it happened – not if, but when – sex would definitely be on her agenda. But she didn’t say it in an overly confident way; she was anything but dominant, and in addition she was vulnerable. She’d been hurt recently, and her self-esteem wasn’t what it might have been. She likely feared rejection. So she wasn’t saying that she intended to have sex with me when we met. Rather, she was saying that she found me sexually attractive, and wanted sex with me if that’s what I wanted. And I did.

Suddenly, for the first time since the pandemic began, I had something tangible to look forward to. I thought fondly about the anticipation I’d feel as I eventually sat in the window seat of an airplane on its way to her city. I imagined lying in a hotel bed with her, naked and covered with sweat, eating room service and watching TV while looking forward to more sex. I hadn’t had an escape like that in a very long time. Although vaccine trials were still ongoing and unbeknownst to me it it would be six months or more before I would be vaccinated, it felt like the light was visible at the end of the tunnel. It was still a long way off, but I could see it.

We continued to connect on levels beyond romance and sex. She told me about her family, and heard about my own. In the evenings it was not unusual for us to converse about things that happened that day. She sent me pictures that she took: Beautiful sunsets, the sights in the area where she lived, elements of her daily life, meals she cooked. And she told me that she had an adorable nickname for me that she’d use in conversation with her mother.

Sometime in November things changed. It was shortly after Biden was announced as the winner of the presidential election. Her withdrawal was something one might expect of someone whose candidate lost, but she was as vocally pro-Biden (or at least anti-Trump) as I am. Clearly it wasn’t that. But I don’t pry, and I didn’t know her well enough to ask what was going on her life that precipitated the change. But as always I made myself available if she needed to talk to me. And we did continue to talk, but now conversation was sporadic, and not as deep as it once was. There was no longer anything in the sexual or romantic realms. According to my Lovense app, the last time I was invited to control her Lush was November 8. It was clear that the emotional connection she once felt, which allowed her to feel secure enough to be sexual with me, had faded.

Around the same time, she deactivated her Twitter account. Though we continued talking using other messaging apps, I missed seeing her in my timeline. I had enjoyed her geeky, funny, and often sexy Twitter musings for years, and I know others did as well. I hoped it wasn’t my fault that she left Twitter before checking my ego and realizing not everything is about me. And I felt lucky to still have access to her, to be granted her continued friendship, even if platonic; I knew others on Twitter were missing her and acknowledged that under different circumstances I might not have been so fortunate.

In March, however, the messaging stopped altogether. The last contact between her and I was a message wherein I checked in, expressing hope that she was okay in light of some personal setbacks she mentioned the previous time we talked. I’ve noticed a few random social media posts from her, so I assume she’s safe. But I’m not the sort to keep contacting someone who hasn’t responded to a previous message; even with the best of intentions, I’m cautious about doing anything that could possibly be construed as manipulation. She has the right to change her feelings without being pestered, just as does everybody. In my last message I wished her well. And I continue to wish her well.

To be concluded.