journal entries

the hurricane between us

Four full days, four nights.

I don’t even know where to begin. There was wandering around the Village, visiting The Leatherman and New York pizza and a very successful trip to DSW for shoes – I found brown leather Steve Madden loafers, she bought ruby slippers, these incredible wine-red heels. There were noodles at Republic, coffee & bagel breakfasts in Park Slope, dancing at the dyke club Cattyshack (and a little too much whiskey for me, which only made it easier for her to fuck me on my kitchen floor after), burlesque at the Shanghai Mermaid where we stepped into 1920s Paris, which featured the house Tin Pan Blues Band. There was an unsuccessful dance at Stepping Out Studios and then the subsequent making up for it at Therapy, where, yes, we did get busted having sex in the bathroom.

There was sex and fucking and making love and play and rope and my flogger even came down off the wall for a while.

There was sitting in a coffee shop, writing across the table from her. There were late night conversations on pillows and morning light over her face and showers and walks and drinking and stories on the subway and kissing her. Holding her hand.

It was hard to stay present, hard not to be sad that she was leaving, that this was temporary, but I wanted to squeeze everything out of it that possibly could. Since she left, I feel numb. I took a deep breath, started focusing on my 200-item to-do-list and couldn’t focus on anything, not even a TV show.

I held it together until I peeled back the covers to find the baby-blue babydoll nightie she’d been wearing all weekend, sheer, barely covering her ass, so beautiful, and it smelled like her skin of course, and my fingers had been holding her body inside of it for days, and then suddenly it was just fabric, empty, and I welled up with the loss.

I know – we both know – better than to cultivate such intensity so early on in a relationship. We’re both passionate, intense, emotional – makes for romance and fascination, I’m sure, but we are wary of the distance between us, we discussed this; angry that we cannot properly date, slowly, excitedly, and instead we’re doing this hurricane long distance thing.

I don’t know what we’re going to do. All I know is, the next step is that she’s working from Puerta Vallarta in February, and I’m going to visit her at the villa she’s rented (just happens to be over Valentine’s Day). Twenty-two days, then, until I get to see her again.

I can make it until then.

One step at a time.

Published by Sinclair Sexsmith

Sinclair Sexsmith (they/them) is "the best-known butch erotica writer whose kinky, groundbreaking stories have turned on countless queers" (AfterEllen), who "is in all the books, wins all the awards, speaks at all the panels and readings, knows all the stuff, and writes for all the places" (Autostraddle). ​Their short story collection, Sweet & Rough: Queer Kink Erotica, was a 2016 finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and they are the current editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica series. They identify as a white non-binary butch dominant, a survivor, and an introvert, and they live outside Seattle as an uninvited settler on traditional, ancestral, & unceded Snoqualmie land.

8 thoughts on “the hurricane between us”

  1. Wow, that does sound intense.

    You two will work it out — no doubt. :)

    Good luck!

  2. Jan says:

    Hi Sinclair, what a weekend it must have been!! I missed your posts a lot. Selfishly I'm glad you are writing again, though sad you are not together today.

    One step at a time really does work. I've been living it for 15 years with numerous chronic health challenges.

    If the emotions get to be too much, let us know. We'll support you through it.


  3. It sounds like such a lovely few days and you seem to have made the most of it. My goodness, your description of her empty nightie was haunting.

    I think that as long as you have a future date to look forward to, you will be ok. Puerta Vallarta is sure to be so romantic.

  4. Jen says:

    I don't even know how, haven't even been following your blog for that long – and I am as caught up in this thing developing between you and DD the way I was caught up in Days of Our Lives back in high school.

    You tell a damn good sex story Sinclair, we all know that – but it turns out you can write a damn good love story too.

    I'm hooked.


  5. holding back a hurricane
    the moon, the tides, the barometric pressure
    the confluence of systems spinning into
    the sheer nature
    my friend
    conspires against your best intended plans
    to stay calm, cool, collected!

    my (unsought) advice:
    ride the wave
    ::: grin :::

  6. Essin' Em says:

    I'm rooting for the two of you, and I don't even like love. I hate it.

    What a beautiful few days the two of you spent together…and I'm sure you'll have a lovely time in the Villa as well.

    Please, keep continuing the story…I know i'll keep reading.

  7. M. Monkey says:

    I've been there and done this, twice, and both times it's worked out beautifully. You can do this, too. The missing-each-other and the sharing-intense-short-times-together and the exchanging-significant-emails/notes/music…in my case it has built two beautiful, strong relationships and has brought me a greater appreciation of my partners' presence once we've come together for good. It's also given us a deeper knowledge of and insight into one another, especially since we are all writers. Sometimes it is easier to open up in print than with the spoken word. And when there's no chance of holding your lover in your arms, words can (inadequately) bridge the gap between you.

    Long distance sucks at times, absolutely true, but there are good things, too, especially in that it can help bring into sharp focus what is important to you both and it can bring you very suddenly to an unexpected crossroads in life. Who knows where it will lead? I am thrilled for you both.

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