Joy: Diary of a Sex Addict

Monday, June 19, 2006

Tent Man and the Honesty Conundrum
Thanks to anyone and everyone who read this sporadic blog. I'm retiring it today, before my RADIO subscription runs out. I'll still keep my equally sporadic blog at http://thejoydiary.blogspot.com. Best wishes to you all.

A final word: My one-and-a-half month period of being "clean" ended this weekend. Picture a campsite in Big Sur, a man who knows how to pitch a tent, an ill-tended fire gradually dwindling to sparks. I met the man at a gas station on my way to meet a couple of friends at their cabin for an outdoorsy weekend. Ten minutes after starting up a conversation with him at the pump (he went premium unleaded, I went regular), I called my friends on my cell and told them I couldn't make it. My story involved car trouble--I was not feeling terribly inventive. Still, they seemed to buy it. As I dialed their number, I was thinking, they are very nice people, good friends to me, and I like spending time with them. Why am I lying to them? Why does this stranger at the pump mean more to me at this moment than my very dear friends? I couldn't think of a very good answer, and I almost hung up, but then my friend's voice mail picked up. It would have been different if she'd answered, but it was voice mail, which made it so easy to say, "Sorry, I can't make it. Car trouble. Call me when you get back."

And then the guy at the pump was giving me directions to the campsite, in case I lost sight of his car on the way. He had serious sideburns, which seemed painfully and sweetly out of date--even the hipsters don't really have sideburns anymore, do they? And his shoes--I can't help myself! I'm always noticing the shoes--were too clean, clearly new hiking boots, which made me wonder if he'd ever camped before. But when we got to the campsite it was clear he knew just what he was doing, and his tin mess kit was battered and well-worn. His hands were rough and just beautiful, and there were--miracle of miracles--actual stars in the night sky. And my husband was thousands of miles away--in Germany at the moment--but even if he'd been in San Francisco he'd still be thousands of miles away, because that's the way it is with us, the way it has been for so long.

Do you ever meet someone and start things off with them in exactly the wrong way, but think maybe it could turn out all right in the end? I know, I know, it is a bit off key for a sex addict to get sentimental. But I'm telling you, this man loved reading--Ian McEwan's early stuff, Murakami, Alice Munro--and he seemed to be a very kind person--the way he kept checking to make sure I had enough food on my little tin plate, the way he tenderly pulled a splinter out of my palm using tweasers that were attached to his little Swiss knife (who carries one of those things around? I got the feeling he had it with him all the time, not just when he went camping, like he's the sort of man who'd be perfectly equipped to slice crosshairs on your arm and suck the venom out should you succumb to a snakebite in Manhattan).

The sex was phenomenal, and I know it wasn't just the stars and the wind in the trees talking. It's the first time in a while I've gone to bed with a man without the aid of alcohol, and I was nervous about it, but it was great. I felt present for it. But who am I kidding? I'm not really cut out for relationships, am I? As much as I'd like to think that meeting the right person would suddenly "cure" me, I've been myself long enough to know that isn't going to happen.

So as we stood outside our respective cars at the same gas station where we met--each of us heading home, going our separate ways--he asked for my phone number. This morning, he actually called, wants to get together for dinner on Wednesday. And I said yes. But how far can I let this thing go? I can't let myself fall in love with a man who I'm only going to cheat on later, can I? Certainly, I can't tell him about my condition, because that would likely ruin his memories of our weekend in Big Sur, and I'd like for that to be a good memory for him, as it is for me.

Or maybe, by some perfectly ludicrous coincidence, Big Sur Tent Man is reading this right now. Maybe he has his own share of problems. Maybe...okay, probably not...but maybe he'd understand.

6:50:58 AM

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