The return of The Cub

The year 2021 has been mostly pleasant for me.

I still enjoy the scenery that is Eastern Tennessee, I've kept up my exercise regimen, and I have suddenly begun to hear from companies that may want to hire me for full-time work. As much as I enjoy my current slugabed existence, I really need to bump up my income.

In addition, I finally wrote the email that brought my on-off communications with Cincinnati* to a final close. I had kept falling into the trap of believing his promises of a future weekend together, even after he forgot (or pretended to forget) them over and over.

Last month, I wrote Cincinnati, quoting a few of his promises to meet soon.  I said that I needed a real-time relationship, even if the real-time bits were few and far between, and that he did not share this need.

In addition, I suggested that our occasional passionate chats were no more than self-abuse fodder for him. I did this for two reasons: I suspect it's true, and it would be something he would never forgive.

He did eventually respond, although he offered no explanation for his inactions. He politely wished me well. But there's been one interesting action: instead of promptly blocking/unfriending me from Instagram and Strava, he simply went quiet.

But on to the return of The Cub, aka Darren*. We had spent some particularly delightful times together in 2016. If readers will pardon my bluntness, it was some of the best sex I'd ever had.

Darren lived/lives in Houston, but came to my then-neck of the woods on a regular basis until his project was completed. But we had always kept in touch, shared the occasional photo, and sometimes admitted to missing one another. Until last weekend.

Last week he said he would be traveling to Tennessee to watch a nephew's last college baseball game. He offered to spend a night in Memphis if I would like to see him, and of course I did.

While we both had put on some COVID lockdown weight, he was every bit as blue-eyed and attractive as I had found him some years ago. I managed to be a total airhead, from pouring a soda in my lap during my drive to Memphis to locking my keys in my truck. I have never locked keys in a vehicle, ever.

We had dinner and retired to his room, and although I felt somewhat unsure of myself at first, it was enjoyable a tryst as it could be (I had shown up without certain outfits I knew The Cub preferred, since they were still in my Texas house).

Morning arrived. We kissed goodbye, he hugged me, and he was gone.

Here's where things get a bit strange: For the last two days I've felt sad about our meeting, and I'm not entirely sure why. We still shared an attraction to each other - didn't we?

At first I thought that perhaps I was jealous that he had two beautiful and prize-winning children, while my miscarriages and other factors had prevented my having children of my own. But then I thought that his life was far from perfect, and I enjoyed freedoms that he could never indulge. I had felt a bit sorry for him when he described his current, hated job. So I decided this wasn't the cause of my sadness.

The only reason I can fathom is my realization that my chances of another evening with The Cub are very small. His reasons for last week's trip won't re-appear, and even if a new job takes me elsewhere, it won't be in the same state. I still hate Texas summers with a passion.

But perhaps I'm being pessimistic. After all, my life has had more pleasant surprises than unpleasant ones. 

* See The Usual Suspects.