Oh, crap, what do I do now?

I got kissed last night. I mean, KISSED. In the way you want to be kissed by someone you want to be kissed by. Good ‘n kissed.

It was nice.

It’s been more than six years since I’ve been kissed and that was by my ex-husband.

It was a good night of discovery and discussion as to what this new thing is between me and the Filmmaker. There’s actually something there and something going somewhere. Where, I don’t know yet but trying to just let it go and follow it and see where it leads.

It was a night of someone I really like saying all the things one wants someone to say. It was a night of gentle and sweet and funny and ease.

It was also one of the scariest fucking nights of my recent life.

The Filmmaker was sitting in this big chair, I was sitting on the arm, his hand gently stroking my thigh as he told me I was beautiful and I was sexy and I was fascinating. He held my hand and said all those things to me.

And the clowns in my head were screaming - “RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!”

Run because this might actually be something.

Run because it’s feeling so good and so awesome and so thrilling.

Run because it could be something amazing.

Run because it could end like all the others have ended.

Run because I want it so very much.

Part of me was fascinated, listening to the little bastards run around in my head, trying to distract me from the words that I longed to hear. Fascinated that I was afraid of this good thing, this wonderful thing, this darling man with his hand on my thigh. That all the disappointments, especially the recent one with the Poet, made me afraid to believe this gentle man and his gentle words. He couldn’t possibly be saying that he wanted me. That’s not possible. No one wants me.

I had a huge struggle within me, fighting the urge to flee, fighting the urge to gently pull away from his caress and go back into my quiet, isolated world, leaving him standing there, his desire hanging in the air.

And he gently watched me fight the urge, listened to me as I expressed the fear and the fright and the uncertainty of what to do, his hand never leaving my thigh, his eyes never leaving my face. And he finally smiled and just asked me what I wanted.

What I wanted.

And the clowns refrained, “RRRUUUUNNNNN!!”

But a tiny voice cut through all of that screaming. The teeniest, tiniest voice spoke out quietly, shyly, whispering softly from the corner.

“I want you.”

And I spoke to him in that tiny voice and explained that I heard him and, yes, it all sounded very good and I kept feeling his hand on my thigh and how good that felt.

And I didn’t run.

And, yes, I’m terrified. And I’m scared that this is going to be like the others, that I’ll be left on the side of the road, my heart nothing but roadkill, wondering how this all went so terribly wrong, how this wonderful man who I adored could be gone without a word, without a sound. And I’m scared that his sweet, gentle goodnight kiss will be the last one I’ll feel in a long time. I’m scared that it’s going to end in anger, with me broken and shattered and lost.

And I’m scared that it’s going to be none of that.

I’m scared that it will be right. That it will be something good, no matter how long or short it may be. I’m scared that his hand on my thigh will stay there and be as comfortable as it was last night. I’m scared that this might be something this time around, that this will be what I’ve been hoping it would be. I’m scared that my heart will open up and let him in and that his will do that as well.

But I’m facing that fear and instead of running away, I’m going to slowly tread into the deep, holding my heart out cautiously, to see what will happen if I let it go, if I let him take it. Because, for a change, this is a man who wants to take it and who is not afraid to say that.

And it scares the fuck out of me. In the best way possible.