Dating Post-Divorce? Patience Required

I met the man I’m going to call MC a week before my life imploded, a week before my body rejected everything I’d been trying to convince it of. I met him just before my Wasband sexually assaulted me in the wake of a panic attack.

At the time, Wasband and I were practicing nonmonogamy, but not in the joyous consensual way I wanted. He’d started an affair, refused to end it, and I found myself reliant on his medical benefits and trying to make the best of a situation that was becoming more abusive and less beneficial for me by the day.

Sometimes, it’s Just a Date

I said yes to a date with MC because I needed to remember that I was desirable. He delivered. Great conversation, more laughs than I can remember having on a first date, and a kiss in a cold December rain.

There’s dating advice hidden in that choice, though I didn’t know it at the time: sometimes the first date after heartbreak, betrayal, or the slow erosion of your self-worth should not be about finding your next great love. Sometimes it’s just about remembering you still exist outside the wreckage. You are allowed to go on a date because you want to laugh. You are allowed to kiss someone because your body needs evidence that it can still feel delight. Not every spark needs to become a forest fire. Sometimes a spark is enough to prove the pilot light still works

Complications

The next weekend, my life became a dumpster fire of epic proportions.

Add to this that I met Viking and was considering a shift to monogamy (we can leave the story of how that wrapped up for another day, but let’s just say I handled shit terribly and didn’t use my words the way I should have).

Then, another complication, MC lives an hour and a half from me, and I hate driving. I was pretty sure I’d crave more of him if I let him get closer, and then the distance becomes torturous.

Low-Key Relentless Pursuit

When I asked him for space just before filing for divorce, he gave it. He reached out three times over the next five months, each time gently checking in to see if I might be available for a second date. Relentless, but in a low-key way that felt just fine. He didn’t push when I didn’t respond, but he made it clear he was still thinking about me.

This is where MC got something very right. A gentle check-in says, “I’m interested.” Repeated demands say, “Your healing is inconvenient for me.” If you’re dating someone newly separated, newly divorced, or newly clawing their way out of a relationship that did damage, you do not get to treat their nervous system like an obstacle course. Interest is lovely. Consistency is lovely. But the sexiest thing MC did in those five months was let my silence be an answer without punishing me for it. He waited until my brain and body stopped telling me I wasn’t enough for someone to want.

And, six months later, I was still thinking about that rainy kiss and the feeling of his hands on my waist. MC stands for Mountainous Comedian; he is a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall and broad-chested. His hands span my entire waist, and I wanted to climb him like a tree during that kiss against the side of my SUV. He escapes his day job for open mic comedy nights and stand-up gigs around New England. MC is funny, desirable, and, I suspected, very sexually compatible with me.

Fear? Or Just an Overworked Security Guard?

In early June, I reactivated my dating profiles, and he immediately sent me a message. All the thoughts of the kiss in the rain came tumbling back. I spent about a week telling myself he lived too far away, and that I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to wind up jumping in and then hurt him (or me). I wasn’t sure I could manage the version of nonmonogamy he preferred after everything I’d just survived. My life was too complicated. I have two kids at home and three adult stepkids I kept in the divorce. My dog is intense, my house is still in unpacking mode, and I can’t manage my to-do list most days.

The mean girl in my head (I call her Shirley) tried like hell to convince me not to take the risk.

Here’s the hard part about dating after divorce: sometimes your fear is wisdom, and sometimes your fear is just an overworked security guard who hasn’t slept since 2014. The trick is learning the difference. My fear told me the distance was too much, my life was too messy, my body was too complicated, my desires were too tangled, and no reasonable man would want to step into the half-unpacked chaos of my current life. Some of those concerns were logistical. Some were protective. Some were bullshit. Dating again required me to ask, “Is this my intuition, or is this the voice of someone who learned to survive by expecting disappointment?”

Once I finally beat Shirley into submission, I decided I might finally be ready for that second date.

Not one to play coy, I told him that if he was willing to do the drive to me, I would likely invite him inside (double entendre intended). Throughout the week, we flirted a bit via text, and I let him know how much I was looking forward to a kiss and what I started calling our second first date.

The Second First Date

MC didn’t disappoint. I saw his black Silverado pull into my driveway and headed outside to meet him. He pulled me in for a hug and then immediately transported my brain somewhere else. His massive arms wrapped me up, held me, and his lips danced across mine. When his mouth moved to my neck, I thought I was going to melt into a puddle in the middle of the gravel drive.

We enjoyed a makeout session in my kitchen that had me considering canceling our plans and begging him to pound into me in the feral way his kisses made me want. Then, a vineyard date, and a walk where we alternated between making each other laugh and kissing until the people walking behind us grew uncomfortable and turned around.

He pointed out some small grapes just starting to grow on a vine. When I reached out to touch them, he said, “Don’t touch them, they’re just babies, you’ll get in trouble.”

I glanced up at him, “That would be statutory grape.”

We dissolved into a fit of giggles before ducking down another row of vines to kiss…again.

Sex Isn’t a Performance

Heading back to the car, holding my hand, MC asked, “Where to next?”

“I think you should take me home.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

Back at my place, I invited him to my bedroom and watched the largest man I’ve ever been naked with strip down. What followed was the most unhurried sexual experience of my life. He explored, made me cum, backed off, held me, stroked my skin, made me laugh, and then repeated it all until I was begging to feel him inside me. Then, he made me cum again.

A man who can make me laugh, takes his time, and knows that sex isn’t over when he finishes…Yes, please.

If you are dating after divorce, especially after a relationship where your body, boundaries, or consent were ignored, please hear me: sex does not have to be a performance review. You do not have to prove you are fun enough, healed enough, adventurous enough, or low-maintenance enough to be chosen. The right person will care how your body responds. They will notice if you tense. They will ask questions. They will understand that enthusiasm matters more than access. Chemistry is wonderful, but care is what makes chemistry safe enough to enjoy.

Share History — When it’s Relevant

After he went home to care for his bulldog and I walked my rescue mutt, settling in on my couch with a cup of tea, I had a realization that I needed to share some things with this man if our new connection was going to continue.

See, he has a particular fetish that I’m happy to support…I think. He’s into the hotwife/cuckold fantasy and, while he considers himself monogamous, he prefers his partner not to be. I’d love to explore that with him, but after how nonmonogamy became weaponized in my marriage, and how the sexual assault by my Wasband impacted my desire, I need some gentle care and attention in that exploration.

This is also where dating advice gets less cute and more necessary: if your desires come with history attached, say that. You do not have to hand someone your whole trauma file on the second date. You do not need to turn every flirtatious text into a deposition. But if there is something your new person needs to understand in order to know you, touch you, date you, or explore with you responsibly, find a way to say it before fear or panic says it for you. “I want this, and I need to move slowly,” works. So does, “That fantasy sounds hot, but parts of it bump up against old harm for me.”

The people worth keeping will not need you to amputate your history to make the relationship easier for them.

I texted MC and badly explained that I needed to chat with him about something related to sexual exploration. I did a bad job explaining, panicked, and sent a confusing message.

He thought I was referring to STIs (whoops). After assuring him that wasn’t the case, I clarified that there were a few things related to my former relationship that were impacting how I was showing up sexually. I haven’t shared the details yet. That has to be a phone call or an in-person conversation so I can see his eyes when I share the scary parts of me.

Until then, I’ll just enjoy the memories of rolling around with him for most of a Sunday afternoon and laugh when I see a bunch of grapes. And yes, the distance is making this wait a bit torturous.

Molly Frances’s writing explores what it means to be human: relationships, families, sexuality, mental health, and growth. When she isn’t writing or working with clients, she’s either on a beach or reading (or both) or dancing with abandon. She lives with her children, a rescue pup, and too many books.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.