my man

When I first decided to move across the country to be with Dan, I had no idea what I was in for, but whatever it was, I just knew it was going to be good. I just didn’t know it was going to be this good.


I arrived in Syracuse on December 8, 2010 where my man picked me up and we kissed for the very first time. We haven’t stopped kissing since.

I’ve learned a lot about this man since then, and I’ve learned even more about me.

I live in a house full of men. It has a revolving door where young men come and go. They all happen to have Dan’s last name. One left last Friday, and a couple of days later another moved in. Well, at least his stuff did. I haven’t seen him since our last big meal together.

And that’s another thing I’m not used to. There are big meals in this house. BIG meals, meals like I haven’t had since growing up with three brothers. And all the men cook. I do the dishes. I just pull myself up to the table and food appears. It’s one of the most magical things I’ve ever experienced. Who knew? As a matter of fact, while sitting here typing this, the oldest of the frat boys brought me chocolate candy and a piece of fudge while I’m in his school library. That frat boy is the one I get to sleep with, so that chocolate was already melting before I got it unwrapped.

What else have I learned from this experience with lots and lots of boys? Well, I miss flowers. I don’t mean the kind growing in beds, I mean flower prints, flowered throw pillows, flowers in pictures hanging on the walls, flowers on my clothing… just flowers. Lace, pink, flowers, china, glass… you know, dainty, sweet, fragile things that go so well with flowered pillows. Right now I have a Texas flag the size of the capitol building tacked to walls around the little space I’ve precariously carved out for myself in what is lovingly called the front room, or better still, The Texas Room. Sweet baby jesus…

And sometimes I miss women. I remember soft voices, light touches. Somewhere far, far back in the farthest corners of my mind I can recall the sweetest laughter from people who looked much more like me. I remember arriving in Taos with my friend Tammy and sharing a closet filled with stilettos and flowing skirts and dresses. Now, I can vaguely recall what they looked like without glancing over old photos.

Would I trade any of it? Not on your life. This is my life now. While I’ve been typing this, the oldest son was sending me messages and his father was stopping by to check on me. Right now I glance at my bar on the computer and there’s a message from his father. I hear his voice behind me as he’s talking with a colleague, and I know he’s making his way back over to me.

Would I change any of it? Oh, I’d probably add a flower or two. I’ll probably adjust my attitude a bit about more things encroaching into or near my little niche. I’ll find some pink and lace and something to help me remember what it was like to share a closet with stilettos. And in the meantime, I am going to so enjoy all these men in my life, especially the one I get to call my man.