S: Soulmate Sam
The Seventh Excerpt of B.A.D.G.E.R.(S).
I’m not one to believe in finding a soulmate. I always invested everything I had in people and expected that in return.
Looking at my history in this book, I never got everything from someone.
That made me horribly pessimistic toward the subject of a soulmate.
When asked what a soulmate is, these are the most common responses (or a variation of these responses). “Someone who is perfectly tailored to fit you like a glove.” Or “Someone who is meant to pick up all of the pieces when you’ve fallen apart.” Or “Someone who loves you unconditionally.”
I don’t like those definitions or expectations of a human.
So I made my own definition.
It’s someone who can handle you. Not control (because that’s just cruel). But someone who can handle you at your best and worst, who can handle your sexiest and your ugliest and who can handle the genius moments and stupidity.
It’s someone who respects you. They respect where you’ve come from, who you became, and where you plan on going with your life.
And while those two things may seem like renditions of the most common responses, the big difference I find is that that person isn’t meant to dominate you. You don’t need to rely on a soulmate; they don’t need to rely on you.
They just happen to be someone you click with and want to be with.
And that I have found.
Be prepared for the sappiness, the bubbly feelings, and all of the characteristic female emotions.
At least, those things will be in the history.
At this point in my life, I’m going through a major life crisis at the age of 25.
I’d gone back to a community college to try a different career path.
I got a promotion at work that seemed like a good idea at the time but was actually a million times more stressful.
I was still in a weird joint custody agreement with my ex over my dog because my parents didn’t want him living at the house.
And yeah. I was still living with my parents.
Long story short: I was stressed. And I had no time to deal with the stress.
So me, being me, I figured I should get back out there in the dating world.
Because I hadn’t gone on a date in a while and wanted a change of pace (as if I hadn’t changed pace enough with everything else in my life).
So, I joined a dating app.
My logic was that even if I didn’t find somebody that I wanted to go on a date with I could be friends with these people.
What I didn’t expect was the response that I got.
I was matching with people left and right (from the mini profile and picture section).
And that was something that I had never really had.
Throughout my life, I was often told that I was the friend that stood next to others to make them look better.
I never got hit on at parties, I never was sought out by others, and I was never set up on blind dates because people thought that I wouldn’t match well with someone.
So having a few guys think I was attractive enough to want to start a conversation was both exhilarating and intimidating.
A lot of them matched with me but didn’t start a conversation.
One or two of them continued the conversation that went WAY past what it should have (because I clearly had ended the conversation and they hadn’t gotten the hint).
Then there were the few who had very little to say but that intrigued me.
That was Sam.
Eventually, after having a very short conversation with Sam, we agreed to go on a date.
I needed to see a show for one of my classes and figured it would be a good first date.
There was enough time for conversation, enough time to see if there was any interest in the activity, and enough time to leave if things were going horribly.
We decided on a day (November 10), I bought the tickets, and frantically got ready after working a double at work.
Arriving at the community college for the show, I was somehow calm.
First dates usually put me in a tizzy where I blabber like an idiot.
I don’t know if I was calm or tired or comfortable.
Until he messaged me that he was heading up the stairs.
Shit got real.
My heart leapt into my throat.
What if he didn’t look like what he said he was going to look like and was going to drag me out to the car by my hair to take advantage of me and then throw me in the retention pond on campus?
Sam came up the stairs. He looked exactly like the pictures I had seen.
He was in a vest, a button down shirt, grey pants, and brown shoes. His hair was meticulously in place and he had the most gorgeous green/blue eyes I had ever seen.
No. Seriously. Ever.
We briefly talked about I don’t even know what. All I could really hear was my heart in my ears.
I somehow ended up looking at my phone to see that the doors had just opened for the theatre for us to sit down.
And since I had to take notes for class, I was eager to get there early.
Plus, I figured sitting down was going to help me focus.
What happened next is something I had never done before and still can’t figure out why I did it.
I grabbed his hand and briskly walked to the theatre.
I have no idea what his face looked like when I made that move, but he was right behind me and grabbing my hand right back.
I took out our tickets, we were ushered to our seats, and I was instantly overwhelmed.
Similar to how I was at the Shedd with Eli: lots of information to take in and my brain not knowing how to process any of it.
Sam continued to have conversation with me until I realized that I hadn’t brought a pen or paper to this show to take notes (yes, I’m that person).
Improvisation time: I told Sam everything instead.
I talked him through the set plot and told him about the different kind of lights.
Which is when I realized I was blabbering and seeming like a total theatre nerd.
Which I can acknowledge I am but when I’m with new people, I can occasionally get self-conscious about it.
Which is when I noticed probably the best thing ever.
Sam didn’t care in the slightest.
He smiled and listened and asked questions to feed into the nerd-gasm that was happening.
And that made my heart flutter even harder.
I started flipping through the program to figure out what this show was going to be about.
I knew it had pirates.
I didn’t know it was a love story.
Well, that might make this a little awkward.
The show started and it was definitely interesting to say the least.
Especially the sword fights.
As a sidebar, I took a sword fighting class in college and received a certificate to be able to safely practice swordplay on stage.
Whatever was happening on that stage was not safe.
So I squirmed almost every time swords were out on stage.
Similar to my reaction to penises. Except death could actually happen with these sharp pointy things.
Intermission came and we sat and talked more. He asked if I was enjoying the show and we talked about school and interests.
It was a nice slow conversation that had me assured that he was listening.
The lights dimmed for the second act and the rest of the show happened.
I took a lot of mental notes about the show.
And how Sam was totally enthralled in what was going on.
Both in the date and in the show.
The show finished up (I continued to squirm when the swords came out) and we headed out to our respective cars.
He asked if I wanted to get drinks or if I wanted to go home.
I chose the former and we agreed to meet up at Brick House.
We drove to the bar, headed in, took our seats, and each ordered a beer.
His drink was just as dark as mine so I wasn’t concerned about him holding his own.
What’s really sad is I don’t remember a lot of our conversation that night.
We talked a lot about the show and a lot about careers.
And how he was surprised that I hadn’t brought up that he had a three-year-old at home.
And up until that point of the conversation, I’m pretty sure I had completely forgotten.
Which sounds awful that I forgot about a small human.
But I was so smitten with this human that the thing that should have scared me was so far in the back of my mind that it didn’t bother me.
And even having it brought out into the open, I was okay with that fact.
We continued drinking well into the night and eventually closed down the bar.
I had to work early the next morning which meant the night had to come to an end.
We walked out to my car where there was what normally would have been an awkward moment.
Do you go in for the hug or do you go in for the kiss?
Luckily, we were both on the same page for what was going to happen.
And I had the whole foot-pop feeling that Princess Mia has in Princess Diaries.
And I couldn’t have been more happy in that moment if I had tried.
We went our separate ways and let each other know when we got home.
Days went by where we didn’t see each other.
But we talked all the time.
It was similar to being addicted to something; you just have to keep going back because of how happy it makes you feel.
But this was more than an addiction. This was a euphoric experience that I had never felt before.
As we kept talking, it came out that the promotion I was receiving meant that I was moving buildings at work.
Which meant I wasn’t going to see my normal group of dogs who I had built a relationship with.
And I wasn’t going to be with the same people who I had developed a bond with.
So, naturally, I was upset.
That day at work was particularly rough. All I wanted to do was be with the dogs that I had cared for and be with the people I respected.
And I wasn’t going to get to do that.
After the morning shift, we had a break for lunch. I took a nap, ate some food, and started to get misty-eyed as I put my shoes on to head back to work.
I hopped back in my car, composed enough to get to work, and got the dogs out to the yard.
Which is when the people running in the building told me to answer the door.
Everyone expected it to be a client with her dog who always ran late.
I came up to a guy holding a dozen roses in a vase.
I stared blankly at the delivery guy.
“I’m going to assume these are for you.”
People always assume that I am the only female that works at the dog daycare facility (which is so far from the truth).
I took the flowers and looked at the note.
“I hope these brighten your day on the last day in your usual building -Sam”
I turned bright tomato red.
I put the flowers down and headed back out to the yard.
“Wait, it wasn’t her?”
“Who was it then?” Both of the guys who were running the building were perplexed as to what had just transpired.
“I just got delivered flowers at work.”
Every guy in the yard (which was the majority of the staff that day) lost it.
“You what?” they all asked in stitches.
“A guy I had a date with had flowers delivered to me at work.”
Everyone thought this was the greatest moment of their lives and couldn’t stop laughing.
Where I couldn’t stop smiling.
I never had flowers delivered to me before.
I never really had nice gestures like that before.
I couldn’t have been more smitten with this kid.
That night I went to Sam’s house.
Which is a beautiful two-level house in the middle of farm country.
Or what seems like farm country anyway.
He smiled as he opened the door.
He knew exactly what he had done and really wanted me to be happy about it.
All that came out of my mouth was the regaling of how I wasn’t used to nice things like that.
He couldn’t quite understand that.
We put on Grease and cuddled up on the couch.
He walked me out to the car and kissed me good night.
And I was so happy.
We kept talking about everything under the sun.
We eventually started talking about holidays (it was right around Thanksgiving that all of this was going down).
And it came out that I wasn’t going to have a traditional Thanksgiving.
Which he was not okay with and offered to bring me food from his Thanksgiving.
More nice gestures that I wasn’t used to.
On Thanksgiving, I was the only trusted person to have the boss’s credit card to go out to a doggie daycare Thanksgiving.
Which meant Steak ’N Shake.
Roger (yes, the one from chapter Rebel Roger) handed me the card and went to go enjoy his own homemade Thanksgiving dinner.
I had to call Sam to explain that I wasn’t going to be at work and that I had to be the trusted one to take everyone out to Steak ’N Shake.
And he offered to join us.
We all sat down at Steak ’N Shake and had conversation.
And Sam had his hand on my leg and kept telling me that I looked so beautiful.
Considering I was in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, that’s pretty amazing.
We kissed good night when I had to go back to work and everyone who had been there gushed about how cute Sam and I were.
One of my particularly good friends from work, Tyler, sent me a text that night.
“Your boyfriend seems really nice.”
Those words sent me reeling.
Sam and I had known each other a week.
Not even a week.
And people thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend.
And that was something I didn’t expect.
Because I didn’t deserve someone like this.
I was the girl who was always used by every guy.
I was the girl who had to have a way out all the time because I was used to being hurt.
I was the girl who was great to have sex with but wasn’t expected to enjoy it.
Hell, I was the girl who had never gotten flowers from a guy.
So the fact that people thought I was with someone who was as nice and attractive as Sam was enough to send me into a panic attack.
The following day, Friday after Thanksgiving, I offered to make dinner at Sam’s.
I brought over everything to make fajitas.
Up until that night, the last time that I had had tequila was when I puked all over Roger.
Needless to say, I was really nervous.
For the tequila and for that night.
I walked into Sam’s house and we began prepping food to cook.
Sam needed a little guidance when it came to cooking. He didn’t cook much and seemed to be happy to be learning from someone.
We started cooking and we talked about the night before.
That’s when I said the unthinkable (at least for me).
“Yeah, Tyler said something really interesting later at work.”
“What was that?” Sam kept stirring the vegetables.
“He said that my boyfriend seemed really nice.”
Why would I say that out loud?
He smiled. “Did you just call me your boyfriend?”
This was the end. I had shot myself in the foot and he was going to be uncomfortable with asking me to leave.
“I…I guess I did…”
“I like the sound of that. On one condition.”
I looked at him.
Was this really happening?
“You can call me your boyfriend if I can call you my girlfriend.”
I was really surprised I didn’t squeal. Or scream.
“That can happen.”
I had a boyfriend.
And it didn’t require alcohol or me being super ridiculous or anything radical.
It required me saying something.
What a concept.
And that night would be the best catalyst for a lot of different things.
You’ll enjoy this next part.
After finishing our fajitas, we sat down on the couch to watch a movie.
Or a TV show.
I’m not entirely sure.
What I do remember is a lot of making out.
And him clearly trying to suppress a want to do more.
I looked at him.
“Sam, what is it that you want to do?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sam, you have your nice guy face on. I need you to take that off and tell me what you want to do.”
I, for some reason, waved my hand in front of his face to symbolize him taking the nice guy face off.
And boy, did he ever.
“I want to fuck the shit out of you.”
I put his nice guy face back on and he began immediately apologizing.
“There’s no need to apologize.”
We kept making out and hands roamed all over the place.
But neither of us offered to move from the couch.
I straddled him, my shirt ended up off at one point, and I was ready to rock and roll right then and there.
Which is when I looked at the clock.
It was almost one in the morning and I had work early the next day.
I put my shirt back on and could feel his eyes watching me.
I looked up to see him smiling.
“God, you’re so beautiful.”
How did I deserve someone like this?
I was standing half naked, wetter than Niagara Falls, and about to leave.
And I was still called beautiful.
We eventually got back together at his house on a Tuesday.
And it seemed like everything was going in the same direction it had just a few nights before.
Except this time we went upstairs.
“I should probably give the tour,” he remarked as we both bounded up the stairs. “Spare room, spare room, closet, Tonya’s room, laundry room, my room.”
We went into his room and fumbled around in the dark.
We kept stripping layers of clothing off and magnetically would find our way back to each other.
He slipped off my underwear and kissed his way down.
Normal awkward start (to be expected) and a lot of joy once everything was rolling.
Which meant that I had to reciprocate.
I did; I always do because it’s rude not to.
It’s still not my favorite thing.
He grabbed a condom from his dresser, rolled it on, and slid inside.
I won’t lie. The first time with anyone is awkward.
And this wasn’t any exception.
But this was a fun awkward.
There was laughing and smiling and relentless pussy pounding.
He came and seemed to not quite know what to do.
I found out later that naked laying around after sex was not in his repertoire.
He was usually a get-dressed-and-call-it-a-night kind of guy.
And that was not going to fly with me.
We laid around for a little while before looking at the clock.
He had work the next day.
We stumbled to find our clothes and headed downstairs for me to head out.
We kissed before I left.
And I was still on cloud nine.
I spent the night as his place that weekend.
And sex got really fun.
Mostly because I had one of the most momentous moments in my sex history.
We stayed up late that Friday night and would have serious conversations in between rounds of sex.
And it came out that I had never orgasmed during sex.
He, just like almost every guy before, said that he was going to change that.
We tried a lot of different positions with a lot of the normal results.
Until he stood at the end of the bed, put my legs on his shoulders, and kept my torso down on the bed.
I could feel my eyes roll back in my head and felt everything relax.
Ladies and gentleman, I officially orgasmed during sex.
And he was mighty proud of himself.
We eventually fell asleep around two and I woke up around seven.
He was completely knocked out and letting out little snores.
And he had a smile on his face.
I scrolled through my phone, I looked out the window near the bed, and sat up to look around.
Which was when I noticed girl shoes on the shelves.
And a picture of him and a girl and what I was assuming was his daughter in a picture frame.
This was too good to be true.
He woke up shortly after I had that realization to which I made the remark that those things were around.
He said he just hadn’t cleaned them out yet.
I still felt my stomach drop.
I composed myself enough to have sex again (because if it meant I got to orgasm again, it was totally worth it).
And it was just as good as the night before.
Except this time I could see his face.
Which had the best expressions.
His face didn’t hide anything.
Which was incredibly sexy.
Eventually, we left our little bubble for me to go home.
But I kept thinking about those shoes.
And that picture.
And couldn’t let it go.
It lead to a pretty impressive panic attack that never really stopped.
Until he eventually packed those things away and changed the picture in the frame.
We’ll fast forward to more sex (because that’s the most fun part of this book).
We fell into a routine: I would drive to his house, we’d start watching some TV, we’d make out, we’d head upstairs, we’d have sex a few times, and then I’d have to leave to go home.
Having a sex routine sounds horribly mundane.
But it’s actually the best feeling ever.
Not because a routine is the best feeling ever.
But because it all seems so new when you’re with someone you genuinely care about.
And want to have sex with.
Back to business, we’ll talk about my favorite time with Sam.
It is still my favorite time of having sex with Sam to this day.
In fact, it’s probably my favorite time that I’ve ever had sex.
Because there was something sweet about it.
We began our normal routine.
We started watching something on TV.
We were magnetic and couldn’t seem to let each other go.
Even our walk upstairs was somehow different because we had to be in contact with each other.
We continued to make out, shed some clothes, and began having great sex.
Which is when he stopped.
“No, it’s not the right time.”
What the hell was he talking about?
Was this when he was going to say he had another girl? The one from the picture?
Was this when he was going to break things off?
Was this when he was going to be when everything was going to fall apart?
Was he about to tell me something that would change my life?
“Sam, tell me what it is.”
“No, it’s not the right time.”
Mind you, we're still having sex during this entire conversation.
My felt my heart lurch into my throat.
“Sam, tell me what it is.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I must have had the goofiest expression on my face because his smile grew bigger.
“I’m going to try that again. I am falling in love with you.”
Alright folks, here’s the sappy feelings.
Sappier than a maple tree in harvest season (I do understand how cliche that is).
I felt like every part of me was glowing (and not like after sex glow). I felt hot in every extremity of my body and light-headed. My heartbeat raced, my tongue tied, and my stomach knotted up.
He waited for a response.
Which I had.
“I’m falling in love with you too.”
Having passionate sex with someone you have feelings for is probably the best sex you can ever have.
And I finally got to have that.
And it was a month into a relationship.
How weird is that?
Well, it’s weird for me.
Now, you’re probably wondering: what’s the catch?
This is usually where all of my ‘relationships’ start to falter.
Where everything that was so perfect wavers.
Which there isn’t much of an exception here.
Sam travels for work.
I knew this going into the relationship.
What I didn’t know was how often it was going to happen.
January was hard.
Two full weeks in numerous cities where I didn’t get to see Sam.
Or have sex.
Both of which drove me crazy.
You can ask him. It drove me pretty close to crazy.
The sex when he was finally home.
While I know I said my favorite sex I’ve ever had with Sam was when we told each other we loved each other, this may be tied for first place.
I got to Sam’s house (part of the original routine) and said we were going upstairs.
I was going to skip the couch bullshit.
I had a black, high-neck balconette bra and underwear that really didn’t cover my ass.
And I was going to use it.
I had never been stripped down to my underwear so fast.
He was equally excited.
He grabbed the back of my neck. Hard.
There was nothing sweet or nice about how he threw me around the room that night.
Which I was really okay with.
I got fucked on the edge of the bed, I got fucked on my back, I got fucked ten different ways before I had my sweet Sam back.
It was a trade off that I was going to have to learn to live with: I wouldn’t always have Sam next to me.
But I’d get fucked senseless when he was next to me.
And that was way okay with me.
The Moral of the Story
A soulmate is someone that respects you, admires you, treats you the way you are supposed to be treated, and listens to you.
And yes, you can add “in bed” at the end of all of those and it totally applies.
And up until I met Sam, I thought that I was getting what I deserved from every guy.
I kept running into guys who would admire me but treated me like crap.
I kept running into guys who would respect me but didn’t admire me in the slightest.
Hell, I kept running into guys who didn’t do any of those things but I still thought they were who I was supposed to end up with.
So finding Sam was a huge adjustment.
Because I finally had someone who matched the definition I had created for a soulmate.
Sam respects me and everything that I do; if I don’t want to do something (or really want to do something), he respects it.
I mean, hey, he thinks it’s cool that theatre is what I want to do with my life. He respects what I do for a living.
Sam admires me. I get told I’m beautiful every day. Besides admiring how I look, he admires that I choose to do what makes me happy (whether that’s eating a bunch of pizza, watching a hockey game, or enjoying a musical).
Sam treats me how I’m supposed to be treated. I’m treated as valued, important, and he spoils the crap out of me (which I never experienced).
And he’ll punish me if I really deserve it in the bed (insert wink here).
The best part? Sam listens to me.
I freak out a lot; my emotions can be a lot to handle.
And instead of every other guy who eventually would get to the point of telling me that I was over-reacting, Sam listens.
He calms me down.
And smiles at me.
And reassures that whatever I’m freaking out about is going to work out and be okay.
Your soulmate is supposed to be someone who respects you, admires you, treats you the way you are supposed to be treated, and listens to you.
Find someone who does those things.
Closing Note to Sam
I don’t think you have any idea how much you mean to me.
I can say it a million different ways but it will never do justice to how much you mean to me.
But I’m going to give it a try.
You make me the happiest I’ve ever been. I never fake a smile with you (unless you’re asking me to give you a smile when I’m mad/upset) because you deserve to have the most genuine happiness shown to you.
You’ve shown me how I’m supposed to be treated my entire life. You’ve given me flowers; you’ve taken me to everything that means the most to me (Hamilton, a Blackhawks game, family gatherings, and your bedroom to name a few…); you’ve talked me down from some pretty intense emotional moments.
You’ve made me realize (or at least, start to realize) how much I matter to the rest of the world.
And you gave me my first orgasm during sex.
I can’t wait to see where this crazy adventure takes us.
Because, like it or not, you’re stuck with me darling.
Stuck like glue.