Have you ever noticed that the first five to seven days following a breakup are very similar to PMS?
For one thing, you eat like crap—you pack on so much extra weight that you have to unbutton the top of your favorite jeans just to breathe. This brings on a massive panic attack at the thought of eventually having to get naked in front of someone new. Your face breaks out, and to top it all off, your emotions change with the wind.
One minute you're zipping down the Beltway, windows down, wind blowing your hair, singing to Gloria Gaynor at the top of your lungs: "At first I was afraid, I was petrified / Kept thinkin' I could never live without you by my side ... (2-3-4) ... I will survive! Hey, hey!" You have never felt stronger or more confident. Your decision to call it quits with your non-dancing, non-roller-coaster-riding, baseball-watching, doesn't-do-that-thing-I-like-in-bed, has-no-passion-for-me boyfriend was a brilliant move!
The next minute, you're completely annihilated by a television ad for life insurance. You know the one, in which a loving, young couple sits signing a policy, naming one another as emergency contacts. You suddenly realize you don't have an emergency contact.
You sob uncontrollably as you envision yourself alone in your bedroom, dead from a sugar overdose thanks to your breakup diet of Oreos, Sugar Pops and Pez. Your body could go undiscovered for two weeks, which is how long your children are vacationing in Hawaii with their dad and his hot, younger-than-you, bikini-body-beautiful, newly liposuctioned girlfriend. "I'm all alone again," you cry miserably, as booger bubbles pop from your nostrils. "I'm going to die all alone!"
Then, just like that, you pull yourself together. The worst is over. Now it's time to strategize. How am I going to get through this with the style and grace I have become accustomed to when dealing with heartbreak? Who in the hell am I kidding? I've never had style and grace after a breakup. I've never had style and grace under any circumstances. What I have had is a firm belief that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Pronto. Especially in a situation where you're left questioning your womanly wiles. After all, how could the man in your life not want to devour you—was there something terribly wrong with you?
Knowing that a rebound relationship is completely out of the question, and that all I need is one night of hot, sweaty, lustful, freak-nasty passion to get me back on track, I weigh my options. I could hire a male prostitute. He'd have to be good at doing all the things a woman craves in bed, duh! That's what he gets paid to do.
Of course, the thought of actually paying a man to please me and make me feel sexy and desirable kind of pisses me off. I don't even like it when I spring for dinner and then put out later. I'd rather excercise my ability to put the brakes on and keep my virtue intact until he's doing the buying. Maybe I should carry a sign on dates that reads: Will hump for steak dinner.
No, what I needed was a him-bo. A good, old-fashioned, commitment-phobic sexual dynamo. Preferably not an ex-boyfriend—there is, after all, a reason they became an ex to begin with. What I wanted was an unadulterated, fervent, fiery, intensely passionate one-night stand with someone I trusted.
Someone like Tim.
Perfect! Tim and I take yoga together and have sustained a platonic relationship ever since he told me that he was a newly divorced, single father only interested in his successful career as a self-defense instructor, is still unsure if he should get back together with his ex-wife, and that he spends more than half the year on the road teaching.
Not exactly what a relationship junkie searching for roots—like me—is looking for. But exactly what a thirtysomething woman at the peak of her sexual prime, newly heartbroken, not seeking a relationship, needing to erase the pain of her most recent failure—like me—is in the market for. Besides, he's built like a brick pooh house and oozes sensuality.
"Hey, Sonja! What a great surprise to hear from you," he said. "I just happen to be in town for the next two days. Feel like grabbing something to eat tonight?" No, I thought, but I feel like being something to eat tonight.
An hour later he was at my place, and we were catching up. In my hot tub. Naked. And as he slid his strong hands expertly over my quivering body, he whispered in my ear, "I want to do all the things you want me to do to you. Just tell me what you like. You are so sexy. God, I want you." I melted like butta.
He said all the things I longed to hear from my now-ex-boyfriend. All the things that he had refused to say and do, Tim was more than ready to make good on. The passion between us was undeniable. But then, as suddenly as if a ton of bricks had fallen on my head, I regained control of myself. Was I doing this because the man I loved failed to feel the same passion for me that I felt for him? And did I really need some man to erase the fear that something was wrong with me and to validate me as desirable and sexy?
Without a single shred of doubt in my mind, I knew that the answer was: ABSOLUTELY NOT.
But I went ahead and did it anyway. And as Tim worked his magic, all the fears and insecurities that I'd been experiencing became a distant memory.
Now, I'm ready for my next adventure.