By ShaVaughn Elle

I thought I knew intimacy until a couple of weeks ago. I was sure I had a clue. But, I’m reminded there’s still much to learn when he comes around. Our encounters are sweet. The newness of them still stashed in my mind. The first lover I let record our love-making. Because that’s what it was, or at least, that’s how it felt. Humidity in the Spring seems to bring out the kink in me. 

There was something genuine about our connection. 

I hadn’t had someone love on me in years. I’d gotten use to the fuck. Fuck buddies became a dime a dozen and as much I craved more, I allowed myself to find contentment in the fuck. Intimacy being far, few, and in between. Couldn’t even get a nice postcoital snuggle. Dudes just rolled over and caught a snooze before leaving, but not him. He rested. Nuzzled his body into mine. Didn’t mind the sex that stain our bodies. 

Then the conversation afterward.

Talks that included plans for the week. Plans for the remainder of the day, Whether or not I liked a certain movie. How much I enjoyed me choking him just as much as I enjoyed him doing it to me. Not the life shit that warrants depression after a good sexscapade, normal shit. Like the bottle of chocolate red wine we capped off before the first session and the adult brownies in between. Laughs about his other lovers, which he was surprised didn’t make me green with envy. I was clear in his intent, sure of his purpose. This was a learning experience, not a potential bae. Wanted to show me that the person I’d come to know him as was more than he let on. That he wasn’t just that guy, he had feelings. Feelings he expressed during our second encounter. Wasn’t afraid to tell me that he missed me, our conversations, and of course, the sex. 

And he gets plenty of sex.

Just not like he and I.

This I understood.

Because it was the same for me.

Till this day, I can’t recall a man who genuinely missed me. Not missed me because he wanted something or merely to check the temperature of my emotions. He, missed…me. Didn’t care about the polish halfway off my toes or the “hairy monster” I referred to as my vag, which really isn’t hairy at all. He laughed at my drama, kissed my lips and escorted me to my room. And he didn’t rush the sex. Clear there wasn’t a schedule on when he and I would see other again—be in each other’s presence. He wasn’t out of his clothes as quickly as he showed up at my apartment. There was time spent. The time became important. Phones placed to the side and on vibrate. Didn’t even think to record this time. This wasn’t to be replayed—not physically. All mental. The memories. The experience. He showed me that all of it had importance. That I, was important.

No one’s ever made me feel important. At least, not without trying to own me.

And as much as he wanted to fuck me all day long, he respected I had shit to do and carved out time, just for him. He didn’t complain or try to coax me into staying just a little while longer, despite how much he wanted—and I did too. Even sat in the living room while I got dressed to go work in a cafe for the next umpteen hours. Walked me to my car, squeezed me tight, kissed my lips and bid me farewell. 

See, here’s what I learned: Intimacy is simple.

It’s your partner enjoying your conversation, even when they have no idea of the subject. All they care to do is listen. It’s your partner seeing the surgical scars on your belly and kissing them; letting you know they’re just as beautiful as you. Them inhaling the fragrance from your freshly washed skin and trailing soft pecks along the trace of your neck just to have a hint of taste. It’s watching a boring ass cooking show, then being intrigued by the ingredients. It’s sharing a song that reminds you of them and they get it. 

Intimacy means they get it. 

They get you and they love it. Want all of it. All of you. All the time. And when they can’t get it all the time, they cherish the moments when they can. He changed how I viewed intimacy. How I viewed recreational peen, cause he became a little more than that. It’s not often that fly by night dick comes in and changes your view on relationships, hell, it’s actually quite impossible. But, he made pigs fly. And I’m grateful for it.

Will I ever see him again? I doubt it.

He became one of those “reason for the season” kind of dudes and I appreciate the moments we shared. The prerequisite to the man that’s for me, whoever he is. And I know how it should look, even though I’m open to how it manifests. I know what it’s not because he showed me what it is. And if it doesn’t have the bare minimum, I know it doesn’t belong to me. Sometimes that fuck buddy comes into your life to remind you that you're worth more than just come and go dick. To remind you that it’s more than just the nut. You want the whole tree. And if he or she can’t give you the tree, then their seed doesn’t need to grow in your garden.

To him, I say, thanks babes.