Smothered by Another Brother

I suffer from a high sensitivity to smothering. If I even catch a whiff, I balk and swerve a 180, heading at a fast click in the opposite direction.

Nothing brings on the ick in a relationship like me being smothered, and yet it’s a recurring theme in my life. 

And it's all my fault.

Yes, I’m even taken aback at my honesty. But facts are facts and the facts are that I bring ‘em home, make ‘em dinner, ask ‘em to stay over and then flip some pancakes in the morning. 

I even fry up some bacon. 

Then we sit about in our skivvies and watch morning TV with big cups of coffee until we start making out. Then I click on football and crack open some beer before whipping up cheese dip. Then I hit repeat, over and over again until I finally get smothered.

Weird, right? I know. It doesn’t compute. I don't even like football. And if I know this behavior spirals into destruction, why continue to do it?

One word: infatuation.

I’m a sucker for new love. When I like a guy, I LIKE a guy. With head over heels, I wiggle my way in, deeper and deeper, soaking up every bit of the wonder that is the infatuation of the early days of love. So sweet, so savory, so tempting and not at all easy to resist. I want more of it.

And with them never saying no - and wanting more, too - it just feels so right. 

Until it doesn't anymore, because who is this guy forming a perma-dent with his ass on my couch? 

Why are his holey socks sitting on my coffee table... on my Vogue! 

And why won't he go home already? Because all this cheese dip has made me need to use the bathroom. And my one bedroom is rather small and echoey and... poorly ventilated. Darn him! Does he think he lives here or something?! 

And just like that, I go from wanting all of it to wanting none of it. 

This all makes sense to me and I can see it clear as day. Even as I’m doing it, I know it’s wrong, but there’s a sneaky voice deep inside me that wonders if this is the time that smothering will take a hike. Because when being together feels so right, how can being together too much even exist? 

There is not too much of a good thing, dammit!!

But of course there is. And that’s why I’ll remain single until one of two things happens. One is I wisen up and control myself. The other is I’ll finally meet a man who plays hard to get. Because the only thing more addictive than infatuation is a man who keeps me from satiation – a man who keeps me wanting more.

I suppose there's always option #3, where I do as my sister says and let her lead me through life. But she's been trying since age 3, so what's the chance I'll start listening now?