Back to the dance floor. After a night-long sweat dance fest on the floor of The Abbey, I found the Italian. The Italian was the first man I had allowed myself to be close to since the Yoga Heartbreak several months before. I was necessarily ready to move on, at least consciously, however, my body told me that night it was time to move forward. Even after a sweaty, drunk grinding all night, the Italian politely took my number at the end of the night and sent me off with my friends to go home and sleep peacefully. He texted me good night as I was home, drifting off to sleep. With an advanced iPhone extra happy smiley. Only Europeans can get away with that, just in case you were wondering…
Within the next 2 days he texted me again and told me we should get together for a coffee date. I did not want to be ready to move on from my heartbreak, but he was so sweet and polite I couldn’t justify turning him away. It was so easy with a lot of the others, they smelled of douche so strongly I could prevent myself from getting close to any of them and be fully justified. But this one was different.
So I went on the date. And I had a wonderful time. He was a pleasure to be around, and we talked for hours. He was aggressive yet he wasn’t passive. And he seemed completely in tune with what I needed. He took me for a walk afterwards and we kissed under the light of a store shop light, a PDA performance that seemed romantic, yet not cheesy and not gross.
I went home, and felt at peace. This was a drama free situation. Just mutual attraction and respect, without the heartbreak. The next morning in yoga class, I was able to release some of the energy from my teacher. Of course, he could tell immediately and decided to have a long conversation with me. This conversation was not about the weather, it was specifically how miserable he was at the studio and how often his boss (the owner) reminds him not to sleep with the students. I, of course, being a natural nurturer, listened to his problems intently and ignored the fact this conversation was tearing me apart inside. I left the studio with renewed passion for him because he gave me an inkling of hope.
“He is actually in love with me, but he cannot do anything about it because he is caught in this tough situation with the studio,” says my brain in love. That was enough for me, I was consumed by thoughts of him again. The next time a text with a funny emoticon came in, it was already too late and I was possessed. I postponed a date with the Italian that night and went to bed early for yoga class in the morning.
Bright and early I was in, and once again, the drama resurfaced. He knew my energy was attached to him again, and once again, he broke my heart by saying something dumb. This time, he kept flirting with a girl in the class who I know he thinks is attractive, because he told me that before also. Which he then followed with something like, (while assisting us with backbends) why don’t you two move closer together so I can do you both at the same time?
That day after class, I rescheduled my date with the Italian. As always, drama free, and he responded immediately. We planned something for later in the week. I kept my date with him this time and we went to dinner. Again, it was the perfect evening and he walked me to my car. He gave me a good night kiss…
which turned into a good night make-out session…
which turned into us inside my car in a hot and heavy make-out session…
which turned into us driving into a dark alley…
which turned into us in the back seat of my car, having sex like teenagers.
Ironically, when I got home that night, I didn’t feel sleazy and used. I laughed and reminisced about my teenage years, and fell asleep peacefully. The next morning in yoga, my yoga teacher didn’t affect me, I was for once in our entire tragic relationship, untouchable.
Unfortunately, even though I wish I could say differently, but there was not much more to the story of the Italian. I didn’t feel the spark with him, and so I only saw him one more time. What he did leave me with was something way more important. He gave me the ability to take Step #1 out of my heartbreak and onto the next chapter in my life. And for that, I am forever grateful to my sweet Italian. (sausage;)
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