Lustover again

Ever have a dream about someone you were previously involved with and it brings back every feeling fresh and new? Its like my mind just opened the dryer and breathed him in all over again.



Nothing went wrong. It wasn't like that. He just lived far. And I lived far. And it was unlikely from the first night.


I still vividly remember that night more than 10 years later. I wandered around aimlessly in Munich and stumbled upon this hostel. I remember checking in to the hostel and seeing him sitting at a table. I remember my leftover adolescense categorizing him as the cool guy. The beautiful cool guy. The one I would sneak glances at just to drink in the way his eyes could pierce even things they weren't focused on.


One who certainly wouldn't have interest in me. Although looking back, I'm not sure why I would have thought that.


I stashed my stuff and sat at a table and ordered a beer. I struck up a conversation with a significantly less cool, not-good-looking guy but who was nice enough. I'd barely slept after travelling around Sweden for a beautiful light summer week of summer sun. So I excused myself to go take a nap before going out for my first night out in Germany. I planned to meet the nice-enough guy and go out. But when I came back hours later, he was no where to be seen while the beautiful man was.


Dave.


He was with a Norweigan guy and I spoke Swedish which is sometimes close enough so we struck up a conversation. I joined their table and the three of us became fast friends engrossed in discussion of the best political systems and problems with governments that gave way to religion and the universe and everything you can solve with long conversation over beers in Europe.

At some point we headed out to a bar and Dave bought me a drink. I thought it was nice but the thought still hadn’t occurred to me that he might be interested in me.

At some point, we started dancing and that melded into realizing that the beautiful man was interested in me. My body wanted every inch of him.



We kissed and kissed until the sun came up and I had to catch a train to meet up with my class. (I was in Germany for school and had taken an extra week to visit friends and family in Sweden.)



I gave him my email address and hoped. You might meet again, you never know!



I went off to the town I was to spend 2 months in studying German and he continued travelling around Europe. A few days later, I got an email. "Hey gorgeous" which sounds hokey but to this day makes me flutter.

More emails and more. Then we just decided to meet up. I bought a plane ticket, he took the train, and we met up in Bilbao, Spain.

I fell hard.

But he's Canadian, I'm American. I was 20, he was maybe 22. We were too young, too focused, too unsure. We kept talking though.

And visiting. He came to visit me twice and each time was amazing.

But we never went beyond that.

I got married. Maybe I shouldn't have. I was so sure. I remember how sure I was that whole day. So many people remarked on how happy and in love I looked. It was truly the best day of my life.

But the doubt crept in between the sheets the very first night. The night that my husband crawled into our marriage bed and initiated our married sex life with the possibly the worst sex I've ever had.

We'd had sex before of course. Mostly good. I'd never thought my husband to be the best in bed I'd ever had, but I was ok with what we were working with. There was a lot to be sure of.

So when he got off of me and ran to the bathroom and threw up, a seed of fear/doubt/disappointment was planted. I knew we'd both been drinking all day and felt maybe that I should've expected it. But that didn't make the seed go away.

Last night, he didn't sleep in our bed. He got up and slept in the extra bedroom.

And I didn't care. I scooched over and enjoyed sprawling across the middle. I snuggled under the covers and just didn't care.

And I had a dream that pictured the intense look of Dave.

And now I'm finding myself contacting him again, looking at old pictures. And wanting...