Fake Conversations N° 3

The Context

As usual, my fake conversation comes from something real. A few weeks ago my partner and I were in Nova Scotia, and the place we were staying at had the game “We’re Not Really Strangers” and in it there was a card that allowed me to ask my own question so of course I went straight for the fucking throat with “what are you scared to admit?” and in hindsight I can see how this is a really big question but I thought it might be something kind of silly like what kind of porn does he like to watch.

What unfolded was tender, and also was not an answer to the question. There was genuine fear, and an obvious inner dialogue that was making it hard to really open up tot this question which is so reasonable and fair.

Oh and we were also on mushrooms so you know, that was a part of the experience as well.

The thing that struck me though was he said “I’m afraid if I tell you it will end our relationship” and of course it is easy to get into a mindset of catastrophizing about this but I genuinely did not feel that whatever it was, was really going to do that so much as the fear talking here. Obviously this thing that had come up was extremely personal and close to the heart, and the idea of being rejected because of it even more painful.

I didn’t push it, but I do think about it almost daily and this is my current favourite fantasy about it. And perhaps it’s a projection or perhaps there will end up being some truth in it, but alas this is my safe space to lay it all out so here is the fake conversation I’ve been playing in my head on repeat for the last few weeks.

The Conversation

It’s been a long, beautiful summer day. We have arrived home after several beers and many laughs and deep conversation and many under-the-table hand holding and feet touching moments. We’re laying on his couch entwined in each other still laughing at something that was said or observed and we fall into a comfortable silence looking at each other.

“I want you to know, that no matter who you are or how you are that I love you. I see you and feel you and you are safe in all forms with me.” I tell him this with my hand cupped around his jaw, looking deeply into his eyes and feeling the tenderness of the moment in an aching way.

He looks at me in this way that nearly breaks my heart because he knows it is true and yet there is still things he feels are unsaid or perhaps unknown although I am really in the business of knowing.

“I say that because when we played that game Are We Really Strangers, you seemed so genuinely scared at the question and it’s been on my mind. I don’t need or even want you to tell me what it was, I just want to let you know as often as possible how I feel about you so that even when you are feeling scared you can also know you’re safe.”

I truly mean this. I don’t need to know what it was; I trust him to not withhold information that would truly change the context of our connection or what I need to know to consent to being in this relationship. I am feeling protective of him; a person who has to be so hard and tough in so many circumstances and is trapped in many aspects of his life to express only certain things. The burden of working in a corporate industry with company politics and values that aren’t of this culture or timeline.

He looks at me for a long moment, and I watch him receive this. Watch him as he plays over in his mind who he wants to be, how he wants to be, what there is to lose within it. What are any of us scared to admit? What do any of us have to lose? Whatever it is, the fear comes down to I will not be loved or accepted or safe. Whatever this truth is about my life or my experience or what I know or need will be a danger to me.

I think about how desire is a sign and I want to tell him that what we want wants us back but I’ve said enough and I don’t want to take him out of his thoughts right now. I want to truly hold the space I say I will and I want to extend the olive branch of my love as many times as it takes for him to grasp it - not in admittance but in acceptance.

I don’t think he will say anything. Maybe thank you or I love you or something like that.

“I’ve said this before in another way, but I feel like I am more than just a man…”

I don’t say anything. I just keep my eyes on his eyes, warm and open.

“I don’t know how to say it. I am jealous of the people who can be who they want and wear what they want. I want to paint my nails and have tattoos and wear crop tops and eyeliner if I want to. I feel trapped as a man. I want to kiss everyone, I see them all as beautiful. I want to be the one who is held, I want to be the one who is fucked, I want to be held down and not have to feel I have to fight back.”

I understand what he is saying, and this is where language is so hard because sometimes words don’t fit. Sometimes they really are fully inadequate to our expressions. He isn’t trying to say he’s non-binary, he isn’t trying to say he’s gay, he isn’t trying to say he is anything. In fact he is trying to get away from having to define it at all, and the suppression that definition gives us when we are conditioned to call it safety.

I can see the tears forming. This isn’t new information - we’ve talked about these things before but maybe it didn’t feel whole or complete or there were parts missing. Maybe he thinks I didn’t understand or maybe he has simply forgotten - buried it under the memories of other things because it was more comfortable or known. And I understand it so completely, I feel it myself so fully. The oppression, the admittance of desire, actually fucking naming it and not just saying it is there. For years I could barely tell my ex what I wanted in bed and we spent nearly 4 years together. I hate all the labels and the projected necessity of them to understand ourselves. I hate the status quo and relationship roles and unnecessary dichotomies and expectations that come with them.

And here’s the thing too. I want to see him in the slutty top and I want to braid his hair and paint little iridescent blue flames on his toes and go to the store with him to get make-up for the Met Gala themed event and I want to go to the club in Berlin and watch us both dance with strangers who will never know us and never need to and I want to be the big spoon and cover the cheque and baby-girl him with the hair tucked behind the ear and being the one for him to fall into my open arms. And he is saying these things that are so obvious to me and are so much a part of the love I have with him and I am suddenly so fucking sad that he feels it could ever end anything real to truly be himself - that perhaps it doesn’t shine through or he isn’t really seen or that he is seen in a way that he isn’t aware of and it constantly outing himself in ways and to people he doesn’t want to.

So I don’t really have adequate words and who does? So I put both of my legs on either side of him and pull his head into my heart and wrap all my limbs around him as tightly as I can and I put my lips to the top of his head and hold him like this. I hold him like this until I feel the tears wet on my shirt and I hold him like this until he puts his arms around me and grips me back and then I kiss every single part of his face methodically and slowly and carefully and sweetly and when I get to his lips I embrace every ounce of softness in me and let them hover just there and I say “I love you wholly, truly, completely, passionately, fervently, tenderly, gracefully; with everything I am and can be and will be.” and keep myself there in the almost touch of our mouths and promise to myself that I will do this every day until he feels safe in being loved as who he is.