Today I’m thinking about something that is often suffered silently, but not publicly by many of us with partners in other countries:
Right now, I have sex regularly in Mexico, but never in the United States.
Recently, R and I have been through a moment. You know, it happens. I do feel that we’re on the other side of it.
But the moment would’ve been helped along to a resolution much more quickly by us knocking boots, of this I am sure.
When I’m in Mexico, there’s a lot of touching going on. The simple fact of sharing physical space, i.e., passing by each other in and out of rooms, scooching by R while he’s cooking in the kitchen so that I can get something out of the fridge. Playful swats on the butt, sexy laughter and eyes.
And if we are in a moment, then we have to face each other, literally and figuratively.
I woke up thinking today how my skin is a border, that’s truly only touched when I cross a line in the sand.