The friend I refer to as The Chef, who calls himself Gnome, texted me again today. I used to believe he only contacted me when he was unhappy and wanted to fuck. I slowly came to believe that he really did want the friendship he claimed to want. I slowly come to learn that I learn more slowly than I think, and that idealism and optimism are very different feelings.
He moved to Vermont recently. He and I bumped into one another at mutual times of upheaval and uncertainty in the summer of 2005. I immediately knew he thought I was cute, and I'd just begun to test the waters of both my sexual confidence and emotional capabilities. In other words, I was a burgeoning slut with freedom. I was living in the grey tarmac of suburbia and feeling like I had very little control over my life.
Coming out of the woods is never easy. Coming out of the home I'd made the woods to a place people told me was my home was downright infuriating.
Gnome and I flirted, and quickly found that we were kindred spirits of the Earth locked under a bubble of telephone wires and four-lane highway smog. The first time we spent together was in a nature reserve where we went off the trails and hid in the tall grasses by the shifting lakes in the Fox Valley. We pretended we were bushwhacking it, back in our separate and magical homes. I practiced doing cartwheels and told myself to just be me. I was awed by how easily that was done and delighted when he followed me in a log roll down a big grass hill. We laughed hysterically and nearly cried we were so happy to have found a friend that Understood.
I thought he was too much of a gear head for me and didn't entirely trust his motives. I used those thoughts as a way to deny the affection I was feeling for him, I didn't ask about the ring on his "wedding finger" but instead wanted to know why the burre blanc sauce tasted so good or what else arugula went well with. I don't remember the events leading up to our first kiss, but him telling me he wanted to kidnap me away after that day in the preserve.
We planned for a discreet weekend in the City while I was training for a new job there. He booked a hotel; I brought my laciest black panties and bra.
I went away for 6 weeks after my job training. Before I'd gone, I'd gotten a bit involved with a nice guy who didn’t have a wife and kids; who opened the car door for me and loaned me a toothbrush after a long night out. I came back and everything had changed. Gnome's boss, the nice guy's best friend had died suddenly, I quit the restaurant and moved off to the city.
The last kiss I gave the Gnome was one of the most horribly memorable moments I've had. We'd already fucked, in his car. I was crying because of an overdose of emotions; desperation, orgasm, fear, love. He kept saying he had to go, which made me want to wail disproportionately louder. I slumped over to my car from his; he half walked me there. I got in, rolled my window down, and grabbed him, dramatically, by the shirt to pulled him to me for another kiss. We bumped mouths, teeth, and a front tooth cap popped off in his mouth.