On Saturday November 7, I wrote the turning point blogpost in a series that has covered five months of 2020;
A Chance To Purge All That Once Was | The Book Club final week
This is one of those final 7 posts, to purge all that once was.

It came to me, the way all revelations seem to come to me nowadays;
Through a man I call The Saint.
In my blogposts which I write “from 1995”, for the project where I live as if it’s 1995, I call him Nikki;
A man from England with whom I am writing letters.

I know The Saint, the 2020 version of Nikki, through the internet but other than that I don’t know him any more than Lauren95 knows her anonymous Nikki.
Whether it’s 2020 or we take the story to 1995;
It’s just that there was a click.

Rather than a physical affair, or flirtations that are aimed at becoming a couple or having sex, our correspondence is really just that.
Correspondence.
Allowing Lauren95, the 23 year old version of me, to get over her relationship with Bear.
And allowing current day me, to get over my relationship with Mr.Big.

It’s funny how this new correspondence makes me aware what blessing there is in wanting each other, but beforehand indicating you’re not available for real sex; What a unique set of circumstances, that creates an experience you’ll never forget.
It’s almost as if the minds demand to plunge into one another, as if they demand full satisfaction on the mental plane, when the physical aspect of sex is taken off the menu.

And it’s never entirely off the menu.
I have a body, he has a body.
It’s just that considering the circumstances, a step to become lovers will not be easily taken. And in all likeliness, never be taken.

But the mind plunges, confesses, absorbs, penetrates.
They melt together and do the things the bodies can’t. And in my opinion they do it because the bodies can’t.

The Saint and me were talking about our favorite poses, and our least favorite poses, and although I thought I had good reason to not like doggy style sex – because it hurts because the penetration is too deep – he made it very specific.
He asked me if I had been hurt.
And maybe because I had been so explicit about the physical aspect being hurtful, I understood this question as:
Mentally.

I think I brushed it off, or repeated the physical aspects of it, because I really don’t have a memory of anything happening in doggy against my will or anything.
But despite my quick and pragmatic answers, I kept thinking about it. 
Had I been hurt in doggy?

The question wasn’t answered until we had already moved on to our favorite poses, and I said I liked the melting together missionary.
And how I remembered the most intimate versions of that to be in our first few years. And suddenly I felt sorry for myself, because I knew that I had not gotten that in recent years.

It was as if the most intimate part of our affair had stopped years before it ended. As if he had retreated, pulled away, and I had not noticed.
But I could have, if I had paid attention.

And that’s when I realized it was not so much about not liking doggy. Nor was my problem with the physical pain of it. 
But that doggy style sex stood for something that had stayed on the menu. And suddenly I did remember vividly that every time I positioned myself that way, turning away with my back towards him, I had felt disappointment.
I had known, it was not what I really wanted.
Just that I didn’t understand why.

When your deepest desire is to melt together, drowning into each other’s eyes, and the bodies pressing and sweating together, desiring to become one and to be one, and then you get doggy?

Yeah, that hurts.