I do not know if my boyfriend, Marty, will be reading this or not. I am pretty sure he won’t, but he might. In some ways I hope he does read it, in other ways I hope he doesn’t. But either way, I feel like I have to write it. Here is goes…
I don’t know if Marty and I will be together six months from now, let alone in the years beyond. I do know that right now things are going great between us. I also know that if we are together in six or eight months we will not be sharing the same relationship that we are having now. I have been down this road before and I know.
As the weeks and months go by, Marty and I will be less desirous of each other physically. That is one of the rules stipulated by Mother Nature placed upon most of the animal kingdom, including human animals. The sexual lust will have to be replaced by something else if our relationship is to survive. The simple word for what will be needed is friendship. But it cannot be an ordinary friendship. It must be a loving friendship. It entails such things as quick kisses, casual snuggles, and backrubs. It requires various acts such as his telling me I look hot in a new dress, and me telling Marty that his tee shirt makes him look like a young Bruce Willis.
I will come to love some of Marty’s idiosyncrasies, while at the same time become annoyed by others. It will be the same for Marty. It will irk him when I decide to vacuum the carpet while he tries to watch some action movie on the TV. But the sound of my idiotic laugh will always make him smile. Hopefully the trade-off will be more than enough.
The amorous moments will become less frequent, and they will be more blissfully warm rather than fervidly hot. There will be less sexual intensity and more sexual playfulness, and we’ll be okay with that.
We will support each other, help each other, and worry about each other. We will listen to each other’s thoughts, ideas, wants, and fears. Perhaps together, years down the road, we will see the day when I glance into a mirror and in a wistful voice complain about my encroaching gray hair. Marty will tenderly place his hand upon my shoulder and say, “Actually, I think the gray hair looks pretty good.” It will not matter that he is not stating the truth. The only thing will matter is that he still wants to please this older Katie and make her feel good, and so he says it.