My Unicorn: On Attunement, Trust, and the Men Who Actually Pay Attention

TikTok video from 2023-01-01

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There’s something uniquely grounding about conversations that happen after intimacy. Not the scripted kind. Not the performance of “what are we now?” But the real, open-eyed moments of reflection that happen between people who aren’t trying to possess one another—just witness each other.

This weekend, Bob and I had one of those conversations.

Now, I should stop here and say—I won’t be calling him Bob anymore.

He’s earned a new name.

He’s my unicorn.

And here’s why.

Bob and I have both been in the lifestyle long enough to know the difference between someone who “plays” and someone who connects. He’s not a swinger in the traditional sense. He’s not collecting conquests. He’s not chasing novelty. He’s intentional, discerning, and sensitive. He enjoys the atmosphere of play, yes, but only when it’s matched with energy that feels aligned.

When he meets someone, he doesn’t jump in. He reads them. He senses their energy. And when it resonates, he builds a connection—not for the night, but for the possibility of something ongoing. Intimate. Repeatable.

He’s not a hookup guy, and calling what we have a “hookup” doesn’t even come close.

When we talked about this, he told me something that struck me.

He said that when he does decide to play with someone, he usually tells them:

“I’m in the lifestyle. I date many women. I enjoy pleasing women. And it’s probably going to change your life.”

That might sound bold. But it’s not ego—it’s experience. It’s feedback. It’s the truth.

He didn’t say that to me when we first connected—maybe because from the beginning, our energy was different. We met one another in a different place. But I’ve come to see what he meant, not just because of what I’ve experienced, but because of what I’ve witnessed.

We did a swap recently with Orion and Amy—his wife. During play, I had the rare privilege of watching him with her. And Amy, being the expressive, open-hearted woman she is, was vocal and unfiltered in her surprise and delight.

“What are you doing?!” she gasped mid-scene.
“How do you know how to do that?
When did you learn that?”

His answer?

“Tonight.”

It was the perfect response.

Because what she was really asking wasn’t what he was doing—it was how he knew what she needed. And the truth is, he didn’t. Not in the way you read a manual or memorize technique. He felt it.

He is attuned.

In a world where most men are taught to pursue performance or control, attunement is rare. But it is, without question, one of the most powerful erotic skills a partner can cultivate. It’s intuitive. It’s embodied. It requires presence, not presumption.

And Bob—my unicorn—is a master of it.

As we talked afterward, our conversation turned to something I’ve noticed over and over again in my relationships.

When I connect physically and emotionally with a man—particularly for the first or second time—one of two things usually happens:

They either tell me they love me…
Or they tell me a secret they’ve never told anyone before.

Sometimes both.

Is it possible that they’re caught up in the moment? Absolutely.
Is it possible that some of those confessions aren’t as rare as they claim? Sure.

But the point isn’t whether the secret is “true.” The point is that they feel safe enough to tell it.

There’s something about being with someone who doesn’t demand ownership or exclusivity—someone who isn’t angling for monogamy or a traditional trajectory—that allows people to be more honest. More themselves. More whole.

I think people feel safe with me because they know I’m not trying to keep them.
I don’t want to possess or rescue or convert them.
I want to meet them where they are, with curiosity, joy, and respect for their freedom.

And I think they recognize that.

There are no strings. But there is depth. There is realness. There is truth.

And in a world that often confuses attachment with intimacy, that kind of freedom can be more revealing—and more transformative—than any scripted romance.

Bob—my unicorn—is rare not just because of his skill, but because of his presence. He listens with his body. He responds with his spirit. He brings himself to the moment with no agenda other than connection.

And that, to me, is magic.

It’s not about whether someone will stay forever.
It’s about how fully they show up while they’re here.

In a life full of beautiful, complicated, evolving relationships, that’s the kind of partner I treasure most. Not someone who promises permanence—but someone who offers presence, attunement, and truth.

So yes—he’s earned the title.
He’s my unicorn.
And I’m lucky to know him.