Long-distance relationships and the intangibility of the body

My partner got on a plane last week (wearing a mask, toting hand sanitizer, living in fear) to head back home to New York, after staying with me here in Toronto for 4 months of quarantine.

It’s been a shock to my system in a lot of ways, and my body and mind are still playing catch-up with the reality of the situation. But I’ve also started to notice and reconnect with some of the benefits of being far apart, the way we normally are in our LDR. One of them is that my body once again becomes solely my own, a private zone over which my influence is the only influence.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with other people’s tastes dictating how you choose to groom and attire yourself, so long as you are happily consenting to whatever it is that they want. But for a person with depression and/or chronic pain (or just, y’know, a lazy personality), sometimes it can be nice to take a vacation from the expectations others may have of you and your body.

Matt, to their credit, has never once pressured or shamed me for anything body-related. I’ve never experienced with them anything akin to the horror stories I’ve heard from friends of dudes who threw tantrums about leg hair or refused to perform oral sex because they “didn’t like the taste.” (Side note: did you see that /r/relationships post about the woman whose boyfriend gaslit her into thinking she smelled bad so that she would stay with him? Don’t be that guy. Ever.) But nonetheless, since Matt is my partner and my dom and my forever-crush, I am conscious of wanting them to think I’m cute and sexy. So when they’re around, I keep my body hair in check, shower regularly, keep up with my skincare routine – all things I should be doing normally, and usually enjoy when I do, but that I don’t always commit to when left to my own devices.