Robert Francis once wrote (in "Summons") that sometimes we need someone in our life that won't let us miss a beautiful moment, even the moment that is in the process of being created.
First, a disclaimer and apology to any family members that might one day read this when I'm ready to share this journal and its contents with them.
A few years ago I had the most extraordinary of lovers/"fuck buddies." I find the term "lover" to be too saccharine and "fuck buddy" to be too stark. He wasn't a one-night stand, nor was he a boyfriend. He was part psychologist, part explorer, part sexual surrogate, part fantasy, part reality. He was comforter and conqueror. Years later, I'm struggling to find a single word for him and for what he was to me. But in thinking of the Robert Francis poem, I can say what he did: he summoned me forth.
He didn't let me hide from myself, or from him. More than just letting him touch me, I let him see me, and he didn't look away. He taught me to give up control and give trust. He allowed me to sink into a pillow and grasp at bedsheets. He encouraged me to bring joy and friendship into sex.
He once asked me to stand on my bed-- clothes off and lights on. I turned around, modeling my nakedness to him. As I turned around full circle, he was looking straight into my eyes. I pulled him close to me, his head resting on my most embarrassing of body parts--my stomach. My fingers ran through his golden hair, and I whispered silent words of gratitude as I sank into his body.
He's moved on farther than I have, but I miss him, his capable hands, his perfect lips, but most of all I miss the gift of what he gave me on those nights -- not only himself, but the gift of myself.