loving a helpful friend

I met a new person and thought he was loud and probably not someone I could get along well with.  Let’s call him D.  I met him through a friend I found harmful.  That was a strike against him!

Over the years, I saw him at events.  I learned he was super helpful, affectionate, energetic, and kind.  Wow, I loved having him around.  I felt safer.  He wanted to know what needed to be done, and do it.

I also liked his colorful clothing, especially a beautiful skirt and some strange pants.  His values and projects.  Past activist work he had done.

There was a crisis at our event–a boundary-violating substance abusing person was troubling us.  D was helpful to the situation.  I felt grateful to him.

I noticed his home life seems good.  He’s married and there are a couple kids–a young adult and a teenager, I think.  I like that.


He got really sick, which turned into recurring pneumonia.  It was scary, and he couldn’t work, which was causing financial problems for him and his family.  I was afraid he might die.  I txted him to check in, sometimes.

Newly I had a ton of money that was left to me, so my spouse sent D a check for some dollars to help him pay his housing.  Later we realized that must have been covid–it was in spring of this year.

Then he mentioned relocating some young adults–they were in a bad situation, so D was taking them to live with relatives elsewhere.  I offered gas money, as the project seemed worthwhile and important.  Felt good to support it.


On facebook, I saw D post poly memes, and I loved his sense of humor.  I like the queerness.  He has pretty hair too.

A certain meme said how when covid is over and well-being is mostly assured, he wanted to have sex with every single one of his friends.

I imagined D driving to the town I live, not too far from his.  He would arrive to hugs and conversation, and I’d make him some delicious soup.

Then I imagined him fucking me soundly in the guest room.   Hmm, sounded good.  I’d never thought of him that way.  The meme wasn’t directed toward me, but I felt cared for by the broadcast desire.


Then I was kind of smitten with him.  I want to be close to him and hold his hand, cuddle him, and matter to him.  But I was afraid I’d messed things up with the money.  Like something was wrong with the power dynamic, that couldn’t be fixed.

Maybe the money was not a big deal.  He’s mentioned how we were both abused as children.  He said something super-nice to me on facebook publicly, to the point where I almost blushed.  And he thanked me for being who I am, in a late reply to a complicated mass email.  He was appreciating me.

love letter

I’m not thinking about his parts, or sex with him–maybe I will one day, but not now.  It’s a crush more about cuddliness and love.  Something more than regular friends, but not sex, necessarily.

He was in town for an event.  I wrote him a love letter on pink paper and gave it to him with some art.  I never heard his response to it.  Probably he thought I was weird.  Being social is a challenge.

In the letter, I told him he’s beautiful and listed several things I admire about him.  Can’t really remember.

I’m crying now because it hurts a little bit, he didn’t say anything.  Loving a helpful friend is its own reward, but I wish he felt something similar.  Maybe he couldn’t read my handwriting.  Maybe he never opened the envelope.  Or he was too busy, or the letter slipped out unnoticed as he looked at the art.

Maybe the wind blew it away into a ravine, where a lizard is sleeping under it right now.

Oh, lizard.  Please dream of the actual world we live in.  See the actual stars shining outside your paper hut.  Eat a juicy bug victoriously.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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