The Furio That Got Away
#NSFW
Had a dream last night that Furio Giunta from The Sopranos was wooing me. Not the actor, and not a man like Furio, but Furio. He was kind and sweet to me. He wanted to dance with me – not bump and grind, mind you, but proper ballroom dancing. We had been flirting for a while. Or rather, he was very courtly and attentive to me – almost devotional – and I was allowing that, and confidently giving it back. Unlike Carmela Soprano, I had no Tony Soprano to worry about, so I was openly accepting his ardor and reciprocating without turning too girly about it.
We were taking it slow, enjoying the courtship, and the ease of the moments, letting it fall into its own rhythm. Also blessedly absent: AJ, Carmela’s cock-blocker of a son. Or any distractions at all, come to think – other than my blasted alarm clock, just as things were about to get good. And that would be my actual alarm clock, not a dream one.
I wanted to dance with him. He was quietly confident, and insistent that we dance. While I love to dance in real life, that’s when I’m solo dancing, and not with a partner – especially not while ballroom dancing. Then I feel like a third wheel. However, in this dream I felt confident and relaxed – I was ready to let Furio Giunta show me a new step or two. I wanted an excuse to touch him, especially a palm to his broad chest, or my hand cupped around his strong shoulder. I wanted to feel the silk of his fine Italian shirt, and smell his cologne. I wanted to feel the warmth of his body, and to read what his body language could tell me that his mouth could not – or would not – tell me. Not yet. I wanted an excuse to let him touch me, too – my small hands in his, a large hand of his on my shoulder, or waist...or anywhere. I was eager to let my body to the talking for me, as well – it always is far superior in being honest and forthright, compared to my mouth. My words hide behind the veil of my mind, which can be cowardly. My body, though, speaks with authority, honesty, and pure authenticity. It can convey in one shiver or sway of the hip, what you need to know. Talking can be nice, but at some point, it’s best to just let the bodies do the talking.
And I would love to know what his would have to say to mine. Would he grip me gently, or firmly? Would he hold me more formally, and apart, or pull me close? Would his hand stay at my shoulder, or would it wander down my back? Would he lean in to kiss, or would I be the one to make the first move? How tall would I be next to him? Would our eyes meet, or would my head be just about should height, perfect to lay my head against his broad chest and hard pecs? Would he be tall enough to cover me entirely if he were to lay on top of me?
All of these are just thoughts, as we never made it to the dance floor. In my dream, we were at that sweet settling-in period – both seated at a table, alone, having a drink and enjoying some nice conversation in a restaurant-like situation. Oh, and no COVID, so no one has to worry about wearing masks or being socially distant. We were just enjoying that moment, letting the atmosphere and the alcohol work on us, and getting ready for that inevitable moment when the right song would come on and Furio would say, “Come, dance with me,” and I would take his hand immediately and walk with him to the dance floor. No hesitation, no shame. No on-lookers or hang-ups. Just two people who are deeply attracted to each other finally getting to take it to the next level. Nothing is more pure and beautiful than that.
And that’s when my stupid alarm went off. Stoopida fucking alarm. Just we were getting in that locked-in space – when you and another person just lock into each other, and everything else disappears, and eventually places close, and you find the next place to go, and then that closes, and you find yourselves at someone’s house or apartment, and in that haziness between night and day everything is simply perfect. And you’re kissing, and your bodies need each other, and all the inhibitions are gone – just your pure desire and honest feelings for one another are left, and you set them free, and it’s just gorgeous. Total liberation. Not just physical and emotional, but spiritual – your ego selves dissolve into the moment, burned away by the passion and power of the chemical reaction you create. Cliche as it is, the two become one. The bliss of forgetting yourself in the arms of another. Being not just completely accepted, but admired, worshipped for who you truly are, warts and all, and loving all the imperfections of you lover, as well. I wish I at least got to that stage before my alarm clock chose to wake me up.
Stoopida fuckin alarm clock.
So I feel for Carm (Carmela Soprano), because she also had the rug pulled out under her – except for her, it was real life, and not some second-hand voyeurism. And for her, it also was a single shining candle that got suddenly and cruelly snuffed out of her life when Furio abruptly left without even saying goodbye. No wonder Carm got mono, or whatever it was in the next episode. I’d look like that too if I were her.
Lucky for me, it was just a dream, and I have a life with more options and freedom than her. More choices and less judgment. I even have an open relationship with my husband, so I get to have my cake and eat it too, as the saying goes – I can have my Tony Soprano and my Furio Giunta, if I choose. So what is my subconscious telling me?
Well, for one thing, that even with all relationships being above-board among consenting adults, the Furios and Carmelas can still slip through our fingers – the other loves of our lives can still get away. Because we humans are complex creatures, and we can be skittish like deer startled in a forest. Love is a tender, fragile thing – an egg that is easy to break – and it requires much nurturing to keep it alive and thriving. Just because a man is available doesn’t mean he’s available. There are strings attached, even if he doesn’t know it. A woman has hang-ups, even if she wants nothing more desperately than to be free of them all. We simply carry around more than we can possibly know, until someone asks you to drop it – that’s when we make the tough choice of holding on to it or letting it go.
Maybe that’s something my subconscious is trying to tell me – to let go of my baggage, my strings, my shit. I do, after all, have my first solo date this Saturday – the first since this whole COVID thing started, and only the second since I had a heartbreak in the polyamory lifestyle. My Furio got away from me – and just like in The Sopranos, it wasn’t by his choice, or mine, it was out of our control. Someone else’s choice. We just had to submit to the code, the hard truth. Just like Carmela, I had a shock, when things were flying high, then everything was pulled out from underneath me, and, I imagine, him. The devastation was real. The heartbreak was real. Having a loving, supportive, handsome husband of your own – your best friend, and undisputed number one – still there is nice, but it doesn’t take the sting out of losing that special someone in your life. You know you won’t be just friends. You know that despite all the talk of “getting together” it’s not going to happen. You could invite for ages, and you’ll be put-off for ages – not because he doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t want to. His wife. You were Furio and Carmela, and she felt like the third wheel, even as a strong, sexy woman paired nicely with my husband. Still, it only takes one to pull down the foursome – and in this case, we were all victims to her fear, her insecurity, or whatever it may have been. I can’t fault her – we’ve all been there, and I’m still fighting those battles.
But like that dream I was woken from prematurely, it would have been SO nice to just get to finish it – to let it play out a little longer, and see where it would have gone. To watch where it would have flowed on its own, like a river down a mountainside. And yeah, it would have been nice to have felt what that would have felt like, too – in the heart, in the body, and in the soul. To feel that all-consuming lust and passion, devotion and love; the generosity of spirit that makes you want to literally dissolve into another’s arms. Yes, my husband and I have this – we ARE one. We are brothers. We are war veterans. We are homies. But there is something about that attraction to, and merging with, a new, different lover, that is so damn enticing. When it’s genuine, and the love is there for real, as well as the admiration and dedication over the long-term.
Sadly, like my dream, long-term is often the missing part of that equation. Not that the potential wasn’t there – rather, one person putting a spoke in the wheel was the real issue. Progress is so often not failed-at but outrightly sabotaged. I have been both victim and saboteur. I just long to have my just deserts one of these days. I want my Furio, and I want to eat him, too.
And no goddamn alarm better wake me up from THAT dream, when it DOES happen.