On the Make

I had my first post-breakup sex dream last night, which involved an acquaintance of mine and an embarrassing amount of saliva.

Apparently, I am uptight to my core, since I asked said acquaintance if their girlfriend would mind. After finding out things were copacetic on the partner front, I proceeded to have an internal dialogue about whether I was being safe enough. Eventually, I decided to throw dream caution to the wind and go on down, lack of barrier be damned.

So while I wouldn't necessarily say my sex drive was back, it is at least revving a rusty purr. And actively engaging the parts of my brain needed for navigation.

Odd that, since a couple weeks ago, the thought of kissing someone made me feel a little nauseous. Now it's just the thought of dating that does that.

Feels like a mixed blessing, this revival. It's as it should be. As of valentines day, it'll be a couple months since I've had sex. My body is telling me that's getting close to long enough.

I'm not sure my brain is buying it though, and I'm not sure to whom I should listen.

Because my brain is telling me this is somewhat of a betrayal. Of my ex as a real person, certainly, but also the abject sense-memories of my love for him. Of my grief, too. Like my brain thinks the best thing to do is keep the mourning pure, and keep it on, a suffocating hairshirt.

I know, I know, that if I heard my ex were sleeping with someone who was not me, if I found out he was on the make, I would feel bitter, replaced, and so so hurt. Not that anyone ever gets actually replaced. Not that people can't be fucking one person and missing another. Still, some part of me wants to protect him from a projected hurt by not being intimate with someone else. Like that will protect me.

But what can you do. People move on. They have to. Some people maybe do it before they should, some people maybe wait too long. But bodies will call bodies.