As I stand on the precipice of 52, looking out, I realize this, I became a “goddess” when I was with someone worthy of my effort. And I packed that aspect away when I was around people who were not worthy of my effort. Usually based on their own effort. There’s a lot of reasons I came home from the Lost Coast. One was the demise of passion in a relationship and his lack of motivation to change that fact.
Now, he basically got my 40s, and I never felt what I had with the one who called me goddess.
I wrote it off to differences in intensity. And, for a while, was happy with the break. But mellow evolved into couch potato/wake-n-bake/stay drunk.
I was a caregiver and manager of the space more than a sexual being. I had no interest in being intimate with someone who was not caring for themselves physically or mentally. The smell of beer now makes me nauseated.
Now, I’m with someone who appreciates the physical, takes care of himself well, appreciates my intellect, even if he has started to say, “now, SB, don’t overthink this...” We can debate the issues of the day with respect for one another. He’s liberal minded, I’m “bordering on communist.” He reminds me where I’m actually moderate, and I remind him where he’s lefty.
And between rounds of saving the world and stuff, we scorch sheets.
He would never use the term “goddess,” but I see it in his eyes.
