How Kid Got Her Swagger Back: Pt. I - 1st Contact
Feb 8, 2013 22:10:06 GMT -5
hanabanana and Nova like this
Post by Kid A on Feb 8, 2013 22:10:06 GMT -5
At long, long last, here is Part I of how Swagger and I met and fell in love. There will be at least one more part covering our cross-country trip and perhaps more later on. Swagger will be adding his side of the story as well, but if I had waited for BOTH of us to be finished, you guys may not have seen this first section for many months to come . . . and frankly, haven't you waited long enough?!
Without further ado, here is Pt. I as seen through the eyes of yours truly. Enjoy!
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The date was June thirteenth, twelve o-seven a.m. I was on the verge of yet another sleepless night. I’d come out of hiding. It seemed like such a flippant decision at the time, a kind of, “Just do it, what’s the worst that could happen?” moment. I’d been lurking for a few weeks upon discovering the term “devotee” for the first time after over a quarter century of guilt and shame. You mean there are others like me? It was still quite a shock.
Still, the threads I had read gave me courage to open up. Little did I know that doing so would change my life forever. It wasn’t long after registering that I decided to be even more daring and post a thread under the photos section. After all, hadn’t that cute hipster boy posted something there that had caught your eye? Perhaps he might notice me.
There wasn’t much I could do at that point; my target had been set. I zeroed in on this so-called “swaggerofacripple” and couldn’t shake the idea of reaching out to him. Before I’d even posted a “personal,” I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, especially because I could see he was on online. “Now’s my chance!” I thought. It’s pathetic how nonchalant I attempted to sound – some single-lined drivel about wanting to introduce myself “since I’m new around here,” with a quick invitation to message me if he ever cared to chat. *groan*
Much to my delight, we were engaged in conversation within half an hour of the invitation’s extension. It was magnetic – an instant connection. We were immediately off and running on the subject of music, which plucked my heart strings. From that day forward, we would talk everyday. Let’s just say my boring office job got A LOT more interesting.
As the days and weeks passed, I found myself feeling more and more confident in my own skin. What started as sheer terror and shame at the thought of “coming out” turned into more of a “coming home” with each decreasingly fumbling admission. Admittedly, it was hardest to come out to heterosexual males. The thought of defending who I was and my attraction seemed so daunting in the face of their judgment, but as it turned out, most people didn’t so much as flinch. I guess when love is scrawled all over every gesture and inflection, the people you care about most are simply delighted to see you so happy.
It soon became apparent that we had to meet and soon. I just had to know if everything I felt was just as real in person as it was through a digital display. So, we planned to meet at summer’s end. Luckily, I had plenty of activities to keep me busy until then. Between, music festivals, packing up my life and saying my “goodbyes,” there was hardly time to let myself get nervous, but then again, there would be plenty of time for that on the plane.
I was at quite a crossroads. My temporary office position had ended, with no real job prospects on the horizon and I couldn’t afford to stay in the Bay Area any longer. It was either move home or pursue something completely new - the love I’d always dreamed of, but never thought possible. In my mind, if our in-person meeting went even a fraction as well as things had been going, I’d be crazy not to follow my heart all the way to Boston!
August fifteenth finally arrived - talk about the longest flight of my fucking life! My seat, of course, was somewhere in the mid to late twenties and it felt like everyone ahead of me was taking an infinitely long time to gather their bags and move the fuck along. After an eternity of muttering under my breath and trying desperately to keep my stomach from audibly giving my nerves away, I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead compartment in one fluid motion and hurried out of the terminal.
My legs just couldn’t move fast enough. I made a quick stop in the ladies’ to give myself one last look before putting myself out there. “I’ll be in a long black and white striped skirt and a purple Radiohead shirt,” I had texted. I never felt more naked. Ever.
As I nervously scanned the flurry of signs ahead of me for the direction of Baggage Claim, I came upon a set of escalators – up or down? Why the hell would it be above the terminal? IDIOT. Realizing my mistake, I turned on my heels in a flash and made my way to the downward moving steps revolving to my right. Catching my breath, I looked down. There he is!! My clammy hand clasped my carry-on handle and I raced down to meet him, breathless once again.
In his lap were hand-picked flowers and a sign that read “*heart melts* . . . [Kid A]!!” I could hardly contain myself. “Hi!! I’m here! I can’t believe it!!” I leaned over, my quivering hands held his face and I kissed him, his mouth frozen in an expression of euphoric shock. CP is unforgiving in moments of utter excitement, but that didn’t stop me from prying his arms away from his quavering torso as best I could and hooking them around my waist for the first of many embraces, though none so taut or earth shattering as this one.
Soon, Swagger’s PCA and his partner emerged from where they’d been watching the scene unfold, misty-eyed, and greeted me. I hardly remember the nervous chatter exchanged between us on the rainy drive to Cambridge, though Swagger spoke not a word for at least an hour – still too stunned to force the breath he was holding over his anxious larynx.
After a quick bite – I was far too nervous to eat – we made our way to Lexington, where a dark, empty house greeted us. Finally, Swagger and I could be alone while his PCA made the trek to and from Salem to drop his partner off at home. At first, he seemed hesitant to leave me without any proper training, but I assured him, “I got this, don’t worry.” I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Between the tangling of limbs and textiles and bumping Swagger’s head against the window, I was obviously completely unprepared. It didn’t help that it was a sweltering summer night in an un-air-conditioned home, with 1920’s insulation. The thin walls seemed to radiate the swampy air. Not my most flattering moments, but I wouldn’t have traded one of those awkward initial contacts for all the refrigerant in Phoenix.
The days passed like hours and before we knew it, the twentieth had arrived. I had been fully trained by Swagger’s PCA and had handled with ease an entire day of transfers, feedings, and cleanings of all sorts. Never had I been surer of anything – I was moving to Boston, in seven day’s time. I had a long day of travel ahead of me and an even longer drive across the country soon thereafter . . . but first, I had the daunting task of breaking the news to my parents. It wasn’t going to be easy, but love was on my side.
Without further ado, here is Pt. I as seen through the eyes of yours truly. Enjoy!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The date was June thirteenth, twelve o-seven a.m. I was on the verge of yet another sleepless night. I’d come out of hiding. It seemed like such a flippant decision at the time, a kind of, “Just do it, what’s the worst that could happen?” moment. I’d been lurking for a few weeks upon discovering the term “devotee” for the first time after over a quarter century of guilt and shame. You mean there are others like me? It was still quite a shock.
Still, the threads I had read gave me courage to open up. Little did I know that doing so would change my life forever. It wasn’t long after registering that I decided to be even more daring and post a thread under the photos section. After all, hadn’t that cute hipster boy posted something there that had caught your eye? Perhaps he might notice me.
There wasn’t much I could do at that point; my target had been set. I zeroed in on this so-called “swaggerofacripple” and couldn’t shake the idea of reaching out to him. Before I’d even posted a “personal,” I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, especially because I could see he was on online. “Now’s my chance!” I thought. It’s pathetic how nonchalant I attempted to sound – some single-lined drivel about wanting to introduce myself “since I’m new around here,” with a quick invitation to message me if he ever cared to chat. *groan*
Much to my delight, we were engaged in conversation within half an hour of the invitation’s extension. It was magnetic – an instant connection. We were immediately off and running on the subject of music, which plucked my heart strings. From that day forward, we would talk everyday. Let’s just say my boring office job got A LOT more interesting.
As the days and weeks passed, I found myself feeling more and more confident in my own skin. What started as sheer terror and shame at the thought of “coming out” turned into more of a “coming home” with each decreasingly fumbling admission. Admittedly, it was hardest to come out to heterosexual males. The thought of defending who I was and my attraction seemed so daunting in the face of their judgment, but as it turned out, most people didn’t so much as flinch. I guess when love is scrawled all over every gesture and inflection, the people you care about most are simply delighted to see you so happy.
It soon became apparent that we had to meet and soon. I just had to know if everything I felt was just as real in person as it was through a digital display. So, we planned to meet at summer’s end. Luckily, I had plenty of activities to keep me busy until then. Between, music festivals, packing up my life and saying my “goodbyes,” there was hardly time to let myself get nervous, but then again, there would be plenty of time for that on the plane.
I was at quite a crossroads. My temporary office position had ended, with no real job prospects on the horizon and I couldn’t afford to stay in the Bay Area any longer. It was either move home or pursue something completely new - the love I’d always dreamed of, but never thought possible. In my mind, if our in-person meeting went even a fraction as well as things had been going, I’d be crazy not to follow my heart all the way to Boston!
August fifteenth finally arrived - talk about the longest flight of my fucking life! My seat, of course, was somewhere in the mid to late twenties and it felt like everyone ahead of me was taking an infinitely long time to gather their bags and move the fuck along. After an eternity of muttering under my breath and trying desperately to keep my stomach from audibly giving my nerves away, I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead compartment in one fluid motion and hurried out of the terminal.
My legs just couldn’t move fast enough. I made a quick stop in the ladies’ to give myself one last look before putting myself out there. “I’ll be in a long black and white striped skirt and a purple Radiohead shirt,” I had texted. I never felt more naked. Ever.
As I nervously scanned the flurry of signs ahead of me for the direction of Baggage Claim, I came upon a set of escalators – up or down? Why the hell would it be above the terminal? IDIOT. Realizing my mistake, I turned on my heels in a flash and made my way to the downward moving steps revolving to my right. Catching my breath, I looked down. There he is!! My clammy hand clasped my carry-on handle and I raced down to meet him, breathless once again.
In his lap were hand-picked flowers and a sign that read “*heart melts* . . . [Kid A]!!” I could hardly contain myself. “Hi!! I’m here! I can’t believe it!!” I leaned over, my quivering hands held his face and I kissed him, his mouth frozen in an expression of euphoric shock. CP is unforgiving in moments of utter excitement, but that didn’t stop me from prying his arms away from his quavering torso as best I could and hooking them around my waist for the first of many embraces, though none so taut or earth shattering as this one.
Soon, Swagger’s PCA and his partner emerged from where they’d been watching the scene unfold, misty-eyed, and greeted me. I hardly remember the nervous chatter exchanged between us on the rainy drive to Cambridge, though Swagger spoke not a word for at least an hour – still too stunned to force the breath he was holding over his anxious larynx.
After a quick bite – I was far too nervous to eat – we made our way to Lexington, where a dark, empty house greeted us. Finally, Swagger and I could be alone while his PCA made the trek to and from Salem to drop his partner off at home. At first, he seemed hesitant to leave me without any proper training, but I assured him, “I got this, don’t worry.” I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Between the tangling of limbs and textiles and bumping Swagger’s head against the window, I was obviously completely unprepared. It didn’t help that it was a sweltering summer night in an un-air-conditioned home, with 1920’s insulation. The thin walls seemed to radiate the swampy air. Not my most flattering moments, but I wouldn’t have traded one of those awkward initial contacts for all the refrigerant in Phoenix.
The days passed like hours and before we knew it, the twentieth had arrived. I had been fully trained by Swagger’s PCA and had handled with ease an entire day of transfers, feedings, and cleanings of all sorts. Never had I been surer of anything – I was moving to Boston, in seven day’s time. I had a long day of travel ahead of me and an even longer drive across the country soon thereafter . . . but first, I had the daunting task of breaking the news to my parents. It wasn’t going to be easy, but love was on my side.
.
