The Passion of Broken Things

Chapter 1  

Seeking Younger Man. That’s what the title of my ad read. I liked younger men. I had always looked younger than I was, and I found men my own age somewhat sedate and boring. So, I was seeking someone younger. Someone hot. Because I had to have sparks. I had to have fire. I had to have a conflagration. 

Maybe my need for unstable men was rooted in my childhood. My dad was alcoholic. My mom was distant and unavailable much of the time because she was so focused on him and his latest binge, his latest affair, his latest job loss due to his irresponsibility. So, what did I learn about men? That they were unstable, unfaithful, irresponsible.  But oh, my dad could be fun. He was handsome and exciting. He would take my sister and me on adventures. The playground would become an alien planet, the swings would become a rocket ship, the slide a trip to the ocean’s depths. He could be so much fun when he wasn’t too drunk. We would laugh and play, and my mother would look on, worried and sad, because she knew the fun would not last. She knew that there was not enough money to pay the rent the next month or the electric bill. But my dad never worried about things like that. And then something had happened. He had...

But I did not want to think about that now. I wanted to look toward the future. I wanted to meet someone new. Someone exciting, someone I could love, as well as lust after.

I had been intensely attracted to my last boyfriend, Miguel. We had met at a dance. I was wearing a short tight dress and high heels, my usual costume. I got a lot of attention that way. Miguel had walked in with his friend, tall and cool in a long overcoat, looking out of place in that rather ordinary crowd. Within minutes I was flirting madly with both, and within a few more minutes I knew I wanted Miguel. I made it clear I was interested. It didn’t take long for him to ask me out. 

We became inseparable immediately. The affair only lasted for six months, but it was hot. Flaming hot. But in the end, he was gone, and I was hurt. He cared for me but could not commit. In the end, he told me he wanted to see other women, not just one. Not just me. And he ran.

For this one, though, I was excited. We had spoken once on the phone. His voice was deep, a voice I called a chocolate voice, dark and deep. I love deep voices in men. I was 34. He told me he had just turned 28. I had asked him for a photo so I could recognize him when we met, but he had said he wanted the mystery of not sending a photo beforehand. He wanted the element of surprise.

The phone conversation had strengthened the pull. He seemed to want the same things as me. He told me he had been seeking a relationship for some time. He did not just want a quick affair, a fling. He had been hurt by his last girlfriend and wanted someone who could stick it out, who could talk things over, who would stay even through the rough times. It was exactly what I was seeking and what I wanted to hear. I couldn’t wait to meet the man this voice was attached to. 

I had flutters of excitement in my belly as I walked toward the restaurant where we were to meet. I had dressed carefully, but not ostentatiously. It was a chilly November evening, and I had put on a long-fitted sweater and tight jeans, with low-heeled boots. My loose wavy hair came down to my shoulders. I had put silver hoops in my ears that glowed against my dark hair. I took a deep breath and opened the restaurant door. 

He was sitting at the nearest table. He was the only lone man there. Seeing me, he stood.

He’s hot, was the first thought in my head. He was a smaller man than I had pictured but seemed tightly built, though his sweater was too loose for me to tell what his body looked like. His face was craggy, very masculine. His hair was reddish brown and wavy. The instantaneous attraction was like a wave that pulled me in, pulled me closer. I walked over and sat down. I barely remember what we said to each other. But when the dialogue came, it sparkled, it was like a river, flowing and undulating, strengthening the immediate connection between us. 

We talked for two hours while we ate our dinner. I told him about my work with troubled teens, and he told me he did this and that, usually working on construction sites. We spoke briefly of our last relationships. I mentioned Miguel, saying it had only lasted a short time without going into detail. He told me that his previous girlfriend had been a drug addict and he had finally left after a year when things got too crazy. 

When it was time to leave the restaurant neither of us wanted the evening to end, so we went to a nearby bar, taking both cars. We sat, talking, and listening to the music. A man walked by, selling roses. He bought me one perfect rose. His name was Ian. 

I don’t want to leave, he said when we finally walked to our cars. My heart thrilled to hear his words. I had known him but a few hours, yet I felt a tie between us, a connection, a bond that I feared to break by parting from him.

Do you want to come over tomorrow? The words  were out of my mouth before I was aware that I would say them.

Do you want me to? His blue eyes bore into mine. I knew I shouldn’t be asking him to come to my place so soon. This was against the blind date rulebook. I didn’t really know him. This was not the way a woman was supposed to play it.  I should wait, go on more dates with him, get to know him, make sure he wasn’t dangerous. But I wasn’t listening to reason. My heart and body were demanding him already.

Yes, I almost whispered. I want you to come. 

I gave him the details, we agreed on a time. Then he bent down and gave me a kiss on the lips.

It was a light kiss, a butterfly kiss, just a cool press of his lips against mine. But a sizzle went through my whole body, from my head to my toes and kept tingling as he moved away, as though I had gotten an electrical shock. I stood for a moment then slowly got into my car. I watched him drive away, then I drove home, almost in a dreamlike state. I was drunk on this man, high on him. He had somehow gotten to the core of me without seeming to try. I felt that I knew him. I was excited by him the way I had not been by the other men I had been meeting since the breakup with Miguel. I knew we would be lovers. Very soon.

I went to work the next day thinking of him, thinking of the night to come. I was a caseworker and activity coordinator for an agency that worked with disadvantaged teens. I loved the kids and loved the work, but my mind was preoccupied that day. Ms. Taggert! someone said, and I turned to see one of my favorites, Pedro, who was 16. He grinned. I been calling you. You in dreamland or what? 

Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you, Pedro. What is it?

I got a B on my math test.

I’m so proud of you! I truly was delighted for

him. He had really struggled in school and I had helped obtain an older honor student as a tutor for him. Until that he had been going down the wrong path, smoking weed, and hanging out. His single mother, who worked hard to feed her children, hadn’t known what to do with him. But since he had been matched up with Barry, the older student, he had decided he wanted to turn things around and make something of his life. 

He grinned again and went to join some of the other kids, who were playing basketball at the hoop outside. This was what was rewarding about my job. Sometimes you really did get to see progress in the kids, some of whom had been abused, who came from poor homes, or who just didn’t fit into the traditional school program and had trouble learning. 

I went about my day. At lunchtime I met my friend Ginny, who gave me a look as she got her sandwich out of the refrigerator.

Ok, spill. How was it? 

How was what?

Don’t be obtuse, Dana. Your date?

My cool broke. Ginny, he was hot. So hot! We seemed to hit it off. We talked and talked and...

Did you do it? She lowered her voice into a whisper as others came into the room. 

No! I just met him.

Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

I didn’t, ok? But I want to! I added and sat down to eat. We didn’t talk much more since others were with us. As we left, I said quietly to her, I’m seeing him again tonight.

Ok! she said, giving me a little bump with her hip. Let me know how things go. 

I smiled, but part of me didn’t want to report to her, as I usually did when I met someone. We had spent hours talking about this man and that, whether he was cute, how he was in bed. Ginny lived with her boyfriend of five years, so she had no more spicy stories to tell. Derek was attractive, steady, and had a good job. She loved him, but she liked to live vicariously through my rather wild and varied dating adventures. She was a good friend though. She had been a shoulder to cry on when Miguel had left me. She had made tea, had me stay at her apartment, and let me cry, calling him a bastard and not good enough for me to make me feel better.

But this felt different. There was something about Ian that was special. I didn’t know if I wanted to report every detail to her. I felt that I wanted to keep him all to myself for now.

That evening I put on a soft sweater with tight jeans that outlined my slender body. I put on some music and lit a candle. I kept watching out the window for Ian’s car. I was nervous, excited, alive as I had not felt since I had met Miguel the previous year. I had even purchased condoms for the occasion. Ian was supposed to be there at 7:00. When that time came and went, I began to feel scared flutters in my stomach. What if he wasn’t coming? But at 7:10 I saw his car pull up.

He apologized when he came to the door. Sorry, I was later getting home from work than I thought. His eyes looked me up and down and in a softer voice, he said,

You look beautiful. 

He took off his coat. And I caught my breath. He had on a fitted t-shirt and jeans. His body was taut, his abs beneath the shirt were flat, his chest was broad. I could see the curls of chest hair in the V-neck of his shirt. Oh my God, I am in trouble, I thought. 

Would you like some wine? I asked. 

Sure. 

I poured some white wine and we sat at the table, sipping our drinks, and talking. I wanted to know all about him. What is important to you? I asked at one point.  My own well-being, he said, after thinking for a moment. I didn’t really take care of myself in my last relationship. I was always trying to take care of Patty. She would snort coke and smoke weed and get into trouble and I would run in to rescue her. It got old.

He didn’t reciprocate by asking me the same question, but I told him anyway. I really want a relationship where we can talk, where my feelings matter. When I was with Miguel, well... he was great in some respects, but it was usually his way or nothing. And if I was upset, he would just blow me off. He didn’t really want to hear it. He would just give me a hug and say that it wasn’t worth worrying about or something like that. He just didn’t want to bother. It was as though he didn’t care enough.

Ian looked at me for a moment, then said, I wouldn’t be like that. I would care, in a quiet voice. I looked into his eyes. He repeated, I would care.

We finished our wine and went to the living room, sitting side by side on the couch. I wanted him to touch me but was not sure how to begin. But I was also afraid to have him touch me. I was so attracted to him I felt I could hardly breathe, sitting so close to him. I wanted to just sit next to him for hours, but I also wanted to jump his bones.

Who would make the first move?

I heard Ian say, I want to touch you, Dana. I want too so much. But maybe it’s too soon. Maybe we should go a bit slower.

I looked up into his eyes again. Every time I looked into his eyes, I felt that I was drowning in an ocean of blue. His eyes were large, heavy lidded, what they call bedroom eyes. There were promises in them. I could hardly look away.

Is that ok with you, Dana? I want to get to know you....in every way.

Ok. My voice was barely a whisper. Then he kissed me, softly, gently, and the electric shock went throughme again. 

It will happen, he said. 

Ok, I said again.

We sat together and talked. We talked about our lives, what was going on in the world, our beliefs, everything under the sun. And finally, he got up to leave.

I want to see you again, he said. Soon.

Do you want to make plans now? I asked.

I have a busy work week. Can I call you?

Of course.

I could not help but feel a bit of a letdown as he drove away. While the night had been wonderful in many ways, and I had gotten to know Ian better, to see how he thought and what was important to him, I had been so sure that we would become lovers that night. I thought he had wanted me too. But he had held back. And he had not made definite plans with me. I would just have to wait for his call. It would come soon.

The rest of the weekend went by without a call. Monday came and I went to work. At lunchtime I fended off Ginny, who eagerly questioned me about what happened. We just talked, I wanted to get to know him better, I told her. 

She scoffed, saying, Wow, that’s not like you. It usually doesn’t take you this long.

Well, he’s important. He matters. He isn’t just flyby-night, ok? I felt a bit irritated.

Ok, don’t get bent out of shape. That’s good. Don’t give in so soon. I didn’t tell her that he had been the one to put on the brakes.

I waited for his call. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, I waited. But it did not come. At first, I was a bit nervous, but kept telling myself he would call. But by Thursday I was jumpy and worried. I must have said something he didn’t like. I must have done something wrong. It was too close to the weekend. He should have called by now. Should I call him? No, that’s too forward. He must not want to see me. And on and on and on.

I obsessed, I even dreamed about Ian, dreamed I was kissing him on the couch, but then it became a boat on the sea, and Ian was gone, I was alone. I woke up with my heart pounding. Why did he have such a profound effect on me? I had just met him! I could live without him. I

didn’t need this crap. I would just keep going on dates with the other men who had answered my ad. I didn’t need him.... why didn’t he call???

Ian called on Friday, just as I was getting in from work. A bit breathless, I scrambled to grab my cell phone out of my purse.

Hello? 

Dana, said that deep voice. It’s Ian. 

My heart started pounding hard. Oh, hi.

Sorry I didn’t call all week. This job has me wiped out. Working long hours. 

That’s ok, I heard myself say, though it really hadn’t been.

Can we get together tomorrow? he said.

I should play hard to get. I should say no, I have plans. I should...

Sure.

We made a date to meet and hung up. The next night I drove to meet him at the restaurant he had chosen. I had forgotten my nervousness over him not calling all week, choosing not to dwell on the fact that he could have picked up the phone for a quick call or even a text sooner than he had. I was just happy to be seeing him. And it was wonderful. We talked and laughed and bantered and flirted. And at the end of dinner, he asked if I wanted to follow him to his home. I didn’t have to think about it.

Yes.

When we got there, he did not waste time. So much

for taking it slow. As soon as our coats were off, he turned to me, kissing me with open lips, with tongue, probing my mouth. He put his hands behind my back, pulling me to him. He pushed me slightly away then pulled me in again, closer, harder. He kissed me again. We started moving toward his bedroom, as he pulled his own shirt off and started slipping my dress down off my shoulders. 

And we made love. It was ecstatic, it was amazing, it was...there are almost no words for what it was. I had never had sex like this. It was not just sex. It was a joining, it was mystical, it was magical. The word love floated through my mind like a cloud. I wanted this to never end.

When it was over, he held me, whispered in my ear, You’re amazing, you’re beautiful. We dozed, then awoke and made love again. 

I stayed the night. 

And so, the relationship began.

From my journal: 

December 11

It’s hard not to not have a relationship and it’s hard to be in one. I am in one at the moment; I don’t know the definition of it, or the boundaries, but it exists, whatever it is. It’s like a dance; sometimes it’s almost like a battle. Only I don’t always know the rules. It feels like I’m living on edge again. He keeps me quite off balance. Yet he pays attention- to what I say, to who I am. He is far from perfect, but he shows his flaws clearly. So far it seems to be reality based, there don’t seem to be any illusions or fantasies. There have been no promises. No promises that could be broken, like in my last relationship. I’ve known him for a little over a month. I have feelings for him, but I’m not sure how to define those feelings. Sometimes it feels like deep tenderness, sometimes desire, sometimes burning anger and frustration. He’s not easy with me; he pushes my limits. When we talk it’s like verbal sparring. It can be exhausting. But he keeps my interest, like most men don’t.

Chapter 2

Ian had done it again. Distanced himself.

We had been dating for over two months now. He was erratic, at times calling frequently, flirting, making plans to see me. When I saw him, it could be magical. The sex remained phenomenal. He made love like a young god. He paid such close attention to my needs, my desires. He focused wholly on me, as though there were only the two of us in the whole wide world. He kissed me with such passion, he undressed me with desire, he touched me with tenderness. He would move his kisses from my mouth down my body and back up, then kiss me with my own juices on his mouth. He told me I was beautiful, desirable. He never said that he loved me. But he would gaze at me with those deep blue eyes, gaze at me with passion so that I felt wanted, I felt loved.

A hobby of mine was writing poetry. I had even been published a few times in poetry journals. I taught a class at work to my kids, teaching them to write poetry, to put their feelings, their frustrations, their loves and hates into words. Now Ian was my inspiration, my muse. I wrote poetry to him that I never shared. 

Dragons

When we make love

The dragons come

White, yellow, red, purple

And the galaxies swirl

Their spiral arms

And I feel your spirit merge with mine

In brilliant colors

Our spirits make love

Like shadows above us

Mirroring our movements

And I travel to a world 

Beyond time

Where I have known you for eons Where I have never known you Yet, you are myself.

Then, fearing,

I touch you, grope for you

You become flesh again

I return from the realms of angels

And my tears come

At leaving the place that is so beautiful At sadness that we are separate again.

During those moments together

When we make love We become

Light.

You

We have stripped each other’s souls bare

I have seen your nakedness

Body and soul

And it is beautiful.

I have seen your soul

Shining through your eyes

I have seen the love

You hold sheltered deep inside you

I have seen your fear

And I am not afraid

I have seen your passion

And in passion you become a god

Worshipping the goddess

I have seen what you are

And caught glimpses of what you could be

I have seen your shadow

But I have also seen your light

And it is so beautiful

It hurts my eyes to look.

I wanted to share my words, my thoughts,

everything with him. But I held back. I had learned that if I pushed too hard for anything, for time, for intimacy, he would back off. I wanted to share my poetry, but I was afraid to spook him. For I had learned that Ian spooked easily.

Although he would look at me with love and desire in his eyes, he would not always share his innermost thoughts. Sometimes we would talk for hours, but other times he would clam up and I would feel that I was looking for a key to open a door that was stuck solidly shut. Then he would get irritable with me if I kept pushing, so I would try to back off. I wrote in my journal:

February 9

I don’t have any expectations. At least I’m trying not to. I just enjoy his company and know that (most of the time) he enjoys mine. And if he gets rejecting, I will let him know that I perceive it as a challenge, that his pushing me away isn’t working, that he doesn’t bore me as most other men do. That he isn’t discouraging me. I want to let him know that. 

I saw him last weekend and we made love. It was magical as always. He is so intense, so focused on me. It seems as though he loves me, though he doesn’t say it. I’m afraid to say it to him. I stayed the night, but in the morning, he seemed distracted and said he had things to do. He didn’t make plans to see me again. He frightens me and challenges me. Over and over again. 

I felt nervous over the lack of contact with him. I

argued with myself not to call him and won. I tried to read to distract myself but couldn’t focus so I went to visit my mother, who lived in a town nearby. She had been alone since my dad had passed away some years ago when my sister was in college and I was in my last year of high school, his liver shot. My mom was doing ok now, she had created a life for herself. She had made new friends, even dated a little. She was not depressed as she had been when my sister and I were growing up. We had lunch together and she asked me about what was going on in my life.    Are you seeing anyone, honey? came her usual question after she had made lunch and we sat down to eat. She wanted to see me safely married like my older sister Tina.

Yes. Kind of, I answered, not sure how to answer.

She laughed. What exactly does that mean?    I wasn’t sure how to answer. "I have been seeing someone but... well, I’m not sure what the relationship is.

How to define it."

What’s his name? What does he do? That latter question was important to her. My dad never had a career, he kept losing jobs over his drinking. She’d had to be the responsible one, working hard to keep up with the bills.

She wanted me to be with someone more settled.

Ian. He does construction work. He works for different companies when they have work for him. 

Oh. That doesn’t sound very secure.

Mom....

Well, I’m just saying. She took a bite of her sandwich. 

I’m not engaged to him or anything. I felt a bit defensive. We just started seeing each other a couple of months ago.

She raised her eyebrows. And I’m just hearing about this now?

"I told you, I’m not sure how to define it. I wasn’t

sure what to even tell you."

Are you happy?

That question took me aback. I hadn’t considered it before. Did Ian make me happy? He made me many things. He made me feel beautiful and desirable when we made love. He made me feel frustrated and angry when he backed away. He made me laugh when he was in a good