I fell in love with a man that I hadn’t physically met. I’d spoken to him and seen him for hours every day over the last year and, yet, I’d never been in a room with him. I’d never felt his body pressed up against mine as he embraced me. He’d made me feel safe and secure, yet I’d never been held and comforted by him. This man was my best friend even though, before now, I’d only ever seen him on a screen.
He was here, finally. Physically here in front of me. I was able to touch him, kiss him and hug him. The microphone or webcam was no longer needed. I didn’t have to close my eyes and imagine him being here with me, because he was now here with me and it felt amazing.
Our first physical interaction went perfectly. I smile now thinking about it and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not really the mushy, romantic type but that first meeting was incredibly special to me, and every time I think about it, the smile I wear is huge, because it was perfect. It was us, unfiltered. I wasn’t looking for the best angle on camera to slim down my face and I wasn’t pulling my clothes to try and hide my pockets of fat. I was just me and he was just him – the man that I’d fallen in love with. My best friend. Our first meeting was so perfect, its actually pretty nauseating to listen to.
After holding each other by the front door for what seemed like forever, I finally invited him inside. We were at my mother’s house, so I led him into the guest lounge and, no sooner had we closed the door, we began to make out. Any previous insecurities had vanished and what remained was reminiscent of a horny teenager. Almost an hour later after many hugs, a serious kissing session and some over (and under) the clothes fondling, I took him into the main lounge to meet my mother. Poor Peter. I mean, my mother was on her best behaviour and incredibly polite, but both he and I already knew that mum didn’t much like him, if at all, really.
Peter must have felt incredibly awkward. He literally met me a little over an hour before and, now, he was sat in the lounge exchanging mindless small talk with my mother. Well, things got a little more awkward as I received a phone call from the school and I had to go and pick my son up. We decided that he would go to the hotel and get some sleep and I’d meet him there later that night, once I’d put my little man to bed. Mum told Peter that she’d drive him to the hotel (YAY, he got to be in a car alone with her) and she’d pick up my room key whilst she was there, while I went to pick up the child that was having an incredibly difficult time having a full week of school.
Later that evening, I’d put the little man to bed, showered and made my way to the hotel. Mum had offered to get him ready for school and take him there, during Peter’s stay, and I could pick the little man up at 3:30pm and return to the hotel after he’d gone to sleep for the night. This way, I got to spend pretty much the entire time with Peter while he was here. As I was walking to the room Peter and I would share for the week, I started to get a little nervous again. He could have changed his mind about us. Right? (Yes, I know I’m bloody hopeless. In honesty though, I still get these little twinges in my stomach, right before a visit. It’s been five years and they’re still there. I don’t see them as a bad thing anymore, though.)
Finally, at the door of the room, I took a deep breath and let myself in. I, honestly, expected him to be asleep, so I was taken aback when I found him wide awake and blow drying his hair, with his back to me. He was half dressed, as he’d just got out of the shower. By half dressed, I mean just wearing his boxers. I’m a nervous talker, so I vaguely remember making some kind of joke about how I didn’t even have to try to remove his clothes. He retorted that I was wearing too many – I thoroughly concurred. Moments later, we found ourselves in bed, tangled in the bed sheets and getting to know each other on a more physical level.
His first visit to the UK lasted a week and, honestly, we didn’t do much of anything. Unless you count each other – I mean, we did plenty of that. The full week basically consisted of us lounging in the hotel bed, either having sex or watching movies on my laptop. We’d leave the hotel exclusively for food. Across from the hotel, there was a restaurant that was also open for breakfast. This was perfect for us – we’d go to the restaurant for breakfast/lunch depending on when we rolled out of bed, more often than not it was after midday. We’d then order take out to the hotel for dinner. At the beginning of the week, we went shopping and purchased some non-perishable items for the hotel. Mainly this consisted of snacks and plenty of pot noodles.
We ended up in some weird routine. I can pretty much give the whole schedule for the week in one day:
We’d wake up around 12-1pm, get dirty before we’d get in the shower together to get somewhat clean. We’d leave, go to the restaurant and have breakfast. This also gave the maids time to change the bedding and towels in the hotel room. I’m so sorry that I’m not really sorry – we’d come back to the hotel room again and have sex, and mess it all up again. We lay there for a while talking about random things before we’d pass out for a nap. We’d wake up and watch a movie. This is where the schedule somewhat deviated. See, Peter and I don’t always see eye to eye on our choice of movies. So when it was my turn to pick a movie, he’d watch it for as long as he could endure to before he’d start to get restless, and would distract me from the movie with sex. We’d then peruse over the Just Eat selection before ordering food and watching a show. Sex and shower time, again, and then we’d pass out whilst talking to each other. For some reason, while at the hotel, every morning I woke up between 3 and 4am. I have no idea why, but I made use of my time by waking him up for morning sex (I’m delightful) and he’d make us a pot noodle for me to consume before I passed out again. This became somewhat of a tradition. Even now, several years later, we still sometimes have a pot noodle after sex. I can’t even look at a pot noodle now without thinking dirty thoughts.
In a nut shell, that was our entire week. Obviously, in between, there was a lot of talking, lots of ‘squishy’ moments, where we’d just cuddle and make use of every minute of us being together. Honestly, there weren’t very many moments where one of us wasn’t touching the other – we were getting our fill of physicality before we’d be back to the grind of long distance, which came a lot sooner than I wanted it to.
The day of his departure was brutal. He left pretty early in the morning, far earlier than the hotel check out time. Waking up was horrible. There was a pit in my stomach, as I knew this was going to be it. He’d be leaving in a few hours and we didn’t really have any idea of when we’d be back together. I spent most of the morning being held by him while in a daze, and then, finally, the call came that his taxi was here to take him to the airport.
It was horrible watching the taxi leave. I felt terrible and made my way home, stopping myself from getting emotional outside of the hotel. Within minutes of him leaving, my phone beeped. Looking down at it there was a text message from him – “Missing you already, I love you.”
The next part of the story is about a brief visit. This next part was wrote shortly after it happened to highlight a milestone in our relationship. Going the Distance – Briefly Together.