11:34 p.m. - Saturday, May. 07, 2011
Just in Time for Mother's Day
I slid in through the side entrance of the bookstore, keeping my eyes peeled for the author who was signing books that day. Peeking just beyond each corner. Still not sure if I would be brave enough to get my copy of her book signed.
She had gone on a similar journey as I underwent a few years ago . . .looking for physical touch, love . . .finding it in these gay erotic masseurs. She wrote a book about it, and two of the men in her book were men that I had also met. And here she was, signing books in my town . . .a relatively remote town . . .I mean, what are the odds? I HAD to see her. The Universe brought her here.
So I shyly approached her table and told her a little bit about my experience, and asked if she would sign my book. I loved the way she called me "sweetheart" . . .I loved the way she looked, the way she spoke. I wanted to hug her.
And that's when I realized . . .
All this time, I thought I was trying to iron out this sexual stuff . . .this post-traumatic stress from an abusive relationship and some self-hating bad decisions which followed. Thinking I was choosing gay men because they were safe ways to experience that touch I was craving. But that's not what it was at all. I didn't want sex, that's true. I wanted nurturing. I wanted love. I wanted a mother.
My mother is an amazing woman. Strong, stable, inspiring superwoman. But private. Guarded with her emotions. A friend of mine killed himself a couple of years ago. When I came home for the funeral, she sent me for a manicure . . .when what I wanted was a hug. I take after her. So I conditioned myself to not need nurturing and care.
But maybe this is my ah-ha moment. All this time I've been searching for a man to do what only a woman can. Hug me like a mother.
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