I have a man. I haven't told anyone much about how I feel about him so I'm going to now. I'll be Frank, and you can be Billy-Bob, and I won't care what you or your wife, Mary-Sue, think! So there.
He makes me feel good. He makes me smile all the time for no apparent reason. Sometimes it is apparent to me; sometimes I can't help it. Not that he doesn't make me smile FOR a reason, but he just makes me smile even when he's not doing anything in particular. And then he tells me I'm way too smiley and I smile more and I say sorry but we both know I'm not.
My tummy feels funny before I see him but I can be myself when I'm with him. I never think, "Well, I won't bother telling him that because he won't care" or "Maybe I shouldn't say or do this or that because..." I don't worry about everything when I'm with him. The only thing I ever worry about, really, is whether or not my breath smells and things like that.
How did this happen? Well, it started a while ago. I've been friends with him for some time now and he's... He doesn't bullshit. He's SO unbullshitful. And he's really sweet. And he's cute. And we think/say the same things a lot = hivemind. I love being with him. And I love the way he looks at me. I don't love it that he lives in godforsaken LANGLEY. But whatever! He's also kind of really, really tall. But he's not scrawny, so that's good. I like meat on my men's bones. He's like a big teddy bear that I can't wait to snuggle-n-cuddle with.
We probably look silly together. But I'd rather look silly with someone I love than look good with someone I don't. Fuck conventional. Conventionality dies when I feel the... well, the warm fuzzy feeling. I don't... think I did before. It's different. It is for him too.
I like his values. I like how he thinks. I love talking to him. He helped me with a lot of stuff and I trust him. I have trusted him with so much... and I feel like I can tell him anything and I can only hope he does too. I love the little things he does. I love the way he puts his hand on mine and how it's hard to hold hands with our fingers locked because I'm too short and he's too tall so we have to hold hands the regular way unless we're sitting. I love the way he looks at me. I know I said that already but I do. It makes me feel... >.< like... a kiwi. Not like a New Zealander, but kiwis are fuzzy, aren't they? And sweet inside. Unless they're bad. But I'm a good kiwi. Usually. I'm good even when I'm not.
I also love it that when he says something bluntly, it doesn't hurt. It might tingle for a little bit but it doesn't last. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me feel like killing myself. Things have been said to me before that have done that. Sometimes when he says those kinds of things, I wonder how I'd have reacted to the same words if someone else said it. Almost always, "someone else" would have hurt me a lot.
Maybe I know what he means better? Or know when he's kidding? Or maybe it's because it's coming from him.
I also love his rules.
I love how we went to the movies and kissed and stuff, and how the second time that lady got mad at us and forgot her helmet, and how the first time the guy who we thought would get mad at us too, didn't.
I love being his First Mate and him being my Cap'n Tentacles.
I love my new hoodies.
I love it when he's happy and when he smiles.
And I love how it isn't hard to...
... love him.
So he better not be a dickhead in the end. But I don't think he will be. He knows how not to be. It's rule number one.
And no, this could not get any more mushy than it already is. Well, maybe it could, but you'd die if it did.