So. It was time for dessert, though by the time I crossed the threshold into Slump Buster’s pad, I couldn’t care less about the chocolate cake that I’d suggested earlier. He was the only thing I wanted in my mouth.
“We’ve spent a lot of time naked in this apartment,” Slump Buster mused.
It was true. I’d never been there without shedding my panties at some point. But we’d we’d also spent a lot of time having some really kick-ass conversations. And laughing. God, how I’d missed the way Slump Buster made me giggle with his cynical, melancholic sense of humor.
I know the sex fiends out there are moaning (in annoyance, not ecstasy), but it’s true. The way to Man Eater’s heart is through her brain. And a funny bone is as necessary to my satisfaction as a boner.
Our tete-a-tete deepened as we sunk into the sofa. It seemed like Slump Buster was creeping toward a radical transformation of his life, but it wasn’t clear what the deets were yet.
When I asked him what he wanted most, he said, “Quiet.”
I was surprised. His life was so incompatible with quiet.
“I’m so drained,” he said. “I think I need to go to the doctor. Or get away for a few days.”
“Where to?” I asked, silently hoping for a couples’ vacay.
“New York. I like New York.”
“But it’s so noisy there.”
“There’s anonymity in the noise,” he said.
Slump Buster still had that weird hang-up about hiding, a habit he indulged in crowds.
“And yet, you're always hanging out with people...whose company you don’t seem to enjoy that much...”
“That’s how it is. Most relationships are superficial.”
"No, they're not. I have some really good friendships right now. Especially with guys."
Slump Buster scoffed. “Erica, you give cutesy nicknames to the men you fuck.”
“Yeah, because I care about them!”
(The unremarkable men never make it to the blog.)
“Is it true you named one ‘Honey Buns’?” Slump Buster asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And now he’s one of my best buddies. We go to concerts together all the time.”
“Aww…you found yourself a BFF,” he teased.
“He’s a nice guy. And what girl wouldn’t want an attractive man accompanying her out on the town?”
Slump Buster shrugged.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” I asked.
“I’m least lonely when I’m alone,” he said.
“Don’t you want someone to be there for you, though?”
Slump Buster sighed. “I don’t want the weekend canoe trips and all that shit...and yet all these girls I date think I’m ‘The One’.”
I believed him. Hell, I was one of them! But now we were talking past each other. He was complaining about society’s definition of coupledom, while I was getting at the innate, essential need of human beings to have a family. Perhaps I am delusional, readers, but I don’t believe anyone wants to be alone. At least, not forever. But far be it from me to try to convince a man that what he needs is me...
This when Slump Buster busted out the “this is like a dream” statement.
“A dream?” I asked.
“Yeah. Doesn’t it feel that way to you?”
I wasn’t sure what it felt like. It was definitely different. I didn’t feel like I was plotting my next move or trying to be wittier than normal. It felt…comfortable.
I once heard someone compare a good relationship to an old couch. I’d cringed at the time (I may have even told Slump Buster about this once and we’d laughed about it) but now it made sense. That’s what it felt like, sitting next to him. Familiar. Safe. Cozy. (Though for the record, my body was anything but relaxed. I was totally primed to mount this man.)
While my mind was in the gutter, Slump Buster’s was somewhere else entirely. Apropos of nothing, he confessed something very personal to me. This was one of maybe three times he's shared something painful about his past. I couldn't muster much besides "I'm sorry that happened", but I stroked his wrist with my fingertips. Slump Buster was stiff as a board, staring at the opposite wall while he spoke. Still, I was grateful for the disclosure. Maybe Slump Buster was capable of change. As was I.
“I won’t blog about this if you ask me not to,” I said.
“Oh, no….” Slump Buster replied. “I know you better than that. You can’t help yourself.”
True…in most circumstances. But if he’d ask me to keep my mouth shut...
“Sometimes when you reappear in my life I think it’s just because you want a little blog action,” I said.
Slump Buster chuckled.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. I’ll be sitting here thinking, ‘My profile around town is waning. I better get in touch with Erica. I need some blog action.’ ”
It didn’t sound that far-fetched to me.
“I’ve been written about enough,” Slump Buster said. “Though I must say, I’ve given you some interesting stories. Those other guys you’ve dated sound so dull.”
“They’re not dull,” I said. “In fact, my relationships have been improving. I don’t know if it’s the quality or the maturity of the men, but…it’s getting better.”
Slump Buster rolled his eyes.
“They’re not wild and crazy guys,” I said, “But when your goal is a long-term relationship, you look for different qualities in people, you know?”
Slump Buster did not know. His expression said, “You’re so lame.” But I felt more mature than ever before.
Prepare yourselves, readers, 'cause I'm about to go all "girl power" on you: I used to believe that the person who loved less wore the pants in a relationship; at that moment, I felt the reverse. I felt stronger because I was the one who had taken off her mask. I was the one who laid my heart out there. I was the one who made myself available to love and be loved. I wanted Slump Buster to follow suit, but if he didn’t, I knew I’d be okay. There were plenty of people out there looking for the same things I was.
“I’m so glad fall is here,” Slump Buster said, returning to our safer conversation topics. “I sleep better and I get really introspective...”
“Yeah, fall always make me nostalgic.”
Slump Buster chuckled.
“What?” I said. “It’s true. Don’t make fun of me.”
Slump Buster gave me the “you’re lame” look again.
“Uh-huh. This from the man who said, ‘I miss your passion’,” I mocked in a syrupy tone.
That shut Slump Buster up—which hadn’t been my intention. I really liked that he’d been transparent with his feelings for once, and I told him so.
“I don’t even know where that came from,” he said, waving it off.
“Don’t try to take it back,” I said. “That may have been one of the most honest things you’ve ever said to me.”
Slump Buster didn’t agree.
“No, ‘honest’ is the wrong word. Sincere is what I meant,” I said.
There was finally a long, drawn out moment of silence. Part of me wanted to fill it with chatter; the other part of me thought that this was when he should have kissed me.
We sat there, breathing.
Slump Buster seemed in no hurry to get to the bedroom…at least, not to have sex. His head began to loll and his eyes looked blurry. WTF?!
“I guess I’m going to hit the road?” I said unconvincingly.
“Okay," Slump Buster said between yawns. “Your readers will enjoy this. They’ll be proud of you for keeping your clothes on. It will be an ‘Empowered Erica’ post.”
I didn’t want to write an empowerment post. I wanted to write a kiss-and-make-up post. Hell, I wanted something so profound and raw to enough to happen that I wouldn’t want to blog about it.
And though I’d sworn to myself on the way over that I would not, under any circumstances, get naked with Slump Buster that night, now that I was there, saturating in his pheromones, it was all I could do not to rip off my clothes and demand he fuck me on the coffee table. Hard.
"Actions always have consequences," Slump Buster sighed. "And they're never what we think they're going to be."
Yes, but, if you do nothing, how can anything happen? I wondered.
“I’m exhausted,” Slump Buster said.
Of what? My unconditional support? My come hither vibes? This conversation?
“Maybe I need to take a break,” he said.
“Okey dokey,” I replied. (I don’t know why I turn into a dork in the presence of hot guys. It just happens.) “Here I go.”
I leaned forward on the couch…but had no intention of leaving. I could feel the top of my thong peeking out the waistband of my pants. I looked back at Slump Buster. He knew this was his cue to stop me. On any other day, he’d let his finger trace the slim, silky fabric all the way down to my sweet spot. Now, he was as responsive as a statue.
Part of me (I'm guessing my heart) didn't care if we got naked. What I really wanted was to wrap my arms around Slump Buster’s shoulders, pull his head to my chest and cuddle for a while as I stroked his hair. And then there was that other part of me (ahem) that just wanted to ride him. I was simultaneously overflowing with lust and warm fuzzies.
But something was amiss. Slump Buster was all boarded up. I would’ve needed a bulldozer to get into that man’s heart.
I patted him on the leg. We stood up. He followed me downstairs. Does this sound mechanical? That’s how it felt. Robotic. Cold. Unfriendly.
We stood on the porch, both mumbling half-assed goodbyes. I ran my hand down his torso as an invitation to give me a hug. He didn’t. That he hadn’t touched me intentionally all evening was what hurt the most. After all that we’d been through, he couldn’t give me a fucking hug?!
I got in my car but I wasn't ready to go straight home and face my utter aloneness. I loitered in a gas station, I went to a bar, I heard some live music, but all the while, I felt like I’d forgotten my heart at Slump Buster’s...and I wanted him to call me and tell me to come back for it. I wanted him to drop the “I’m too cool for love” act and just let me in already.
Of course that didn’t happen. It was just another trademark Slump Buster mind-fuck. But this time, I didn’t even get fucked beforehand.
So much for my just desserts…not to mention that cake…
**
I know I’d originally asked Slump Buster to get chocolate cake with me, but two days post-reunion, when the need to stuff down my disappointment with sugar hit, I decided to take a shortcut. I already had a cake mix on hand, so I whipped up a heart-shaped funfetti creation. I was out of that cocaine-esque tub frosting, so I made my own.
But the moment I served my heart up on a platter, so to speak, was so anticlimactic. My cake desperately needed some pizzazz...and that’s when I remembered that Slump Buster’s favorite candy was Sweet Tarts. (Remember that Rice Krispies Sweet Tart heart I made him? That sugar bomb commemorated our first fight.)
After hauling ass to the store for candy, I decorated the cake and photographed it, amazed at how enticing it looked. I wasn’t going to eat it, but…yeah, yeah, you know how this goes (though I haven’t done it for a while), I took one little taste and ended up devouring half. (Moderation. It’s just not my thang.)
The cake was so moist and tingly on my tongue, I didn’t regret the binge one bit. And, as voo doo cooking always tends to work, as the sugar crash descended, Slump Buster texted me.
(Note: I’m giving you the distilled version of our exchange.)
SB: I imagine you’re less than pleased with your last visit. I don’t want to run the risk hurting you. You deserve much better than me in my current state.
ME: Why don’t you let me decide what I do and don’t deserve? I’m still interested in exploring whatever it is that keep drawing us back together...but I’m not getting much of a read on you here.
SB: I’m hard to read these days. Even for me.
We agreed to (gasp!) just be friends. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. So that’s that. A whole lotta nothing. Same as it ever was. A relationship as nourishing as sprinkle-filled Sweet Tart cake.
**
If you’ve never made your own frosting, ladies, now’s the time. (And that’s as empowering as this post is going to get.) Once you do, you’ll never go back to that chemically altered shit in plastic tubs. Yes, this is an analogy for men. Or semen. Whatever. Stick to the wholesome, no-artificial-anything dudes. Because they, unlike tub frosting, have a shelf life. As do your eggs. But that’s a post for some other blog…
UNBREAK MY HEART CAKE
Ingredients
For the cake:
1 box Pilsbury funfetti cake mix
1 cup water
1/3 cup oil
3 eggs
For the frosting:
5 cups powdered sugar
2 ½ sticks (20 tablespoons) butter, softened
1 to 2 tablespoons milk
1 tablespoon vanilla
For the decoration:
2 rolls Sweet Tarts candy
Method
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat two heart-shaped pans with cooking spray.
• In large bowl, combine cake mix, water, oil, and eggs. Beat with electric mixer on high speed for 2 minutes, scraping sides of bowl often.
• Pour batter into pans. Bake 20-25 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
• Remove from oven; let cool 3 minutes in pan, then gently flip onto wire rack to cool completely.
• Meanwhile, make frosting my combining butter, 1 tablespoon milk, and vanilla in large bowl. Beat on medium with electric mixer until creamy. Gradually add in powdered sugar and continue to beat until smooth. Add up to 1 additional tablespoon of milk as needed for ideal consistency.
• Spead frosting over one cake; top with second cake and frost. Decorate with Sweet Tarts.
• Share with your sweetie or enjoy alone. Us empowered women will enjoy it equally either way. (But boy would it be sad for him if he misses out!)
**
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