The Difference

I was talking to Andy today, about car shopping, and he jokingly made a comment that I “would look hot in a Lamborghini”.
Tell me, please, how he is allowed to make comments like that, and it’s fine, but I tell him I MISS HIM, and it’s inappropriate?!
…eh, not the point; the point is that it, of course, stirred feelings. What? He thinks I would look hot in a Lamborghini? He still thinks I’m pretty?
And I thought, why, oh why, do I still CARE?

He is the only guy, I have ever, ever ever felt safe with; safe enough to “enjoy” sex.
Not that I “hated” sex with every other guy, I dated Mike for a year, I didn’t “hate” sex every time…but I never felt safe, safe enough for me to “enjoy” it, either. It had been, and still was, this thing that I did for them, something for them to enjoy, not me.
I let myself feel things with Andy, actually, feel. I let myself like it.
And maybe that doesn’t make sense to many people, how I could have had sex with so many people, and have never felt or “liked” it.
But, there was a numbness to it. For me.
Until Andy.
And I think that’s why I care so much.

I wish I could explain it better.
Maybe another day.