“…If you were to ask me to go home with you, I wouldn’t say no.” He said. I stared at him in shock, and my mind felt suddenly like a dropped jar of marbles. Glass shattering and marbles skittering every which way on the hardwood floor. What’s my name? Do I even remember how to speak English? Where am I? What’s the square root of…. elephants?
It was a long day having answered a couple more of the cl ads after work and rushing off to the Doug Fir where I had a photo gig for Eric Kotila. I’d said to one of the CL guys that I was doing a gig there and he was welcome to stop by for a drink afterward.
To my utter astonishment, he did – and he was beautiful. He was tall, as his ad stated but I was still surprised to be looking up even in my heels. He had sandy colored hair and a beard that framed deliciously full lips. Pin-stripped trousers and a grey sweater over a casual red t-shirt.
He loitered while I finished up my gig and then as I was leaving, I stopped by to talk to Eric and let him know I was going upstairs to have a drink. Eric mentioned that he reads the blog and said, “You’re very witty and I read your stories about dating and I think, “It’s not that hard to be a good guy!” You just need a good guy, guys. It’s not that hard!” I think I must have hugged Eric three or four times. I doubt he’ll ever have any idea how much that small pep talk meant to me. Foolishly, I was too distracted by the idea of the man waiting for me upstairs to tell Eric that I was going to go meet with someone I hoped would change all the ideas about bad dates thus far.
So it was that I found myself sitting next to FilmBuff. For the next couple of hours I sipped a rum and coke and had great conversation with him. We talked about film, argued about cars, and subtly and not so subtly dissected each other’s back stories. A strange thing began to happen. I have been electrically attracted to all of two men in as many years. Don’t get me wrong, I have admired many, their beauty or grace or geekiness – but my visceral and hormonal response has been triggered by two men in the last drought of sexual inactivity. While talking to FilmBuff, I began to wonder what he kissed like. I began to feel heat radiating up my belly in a way that it hasn’t in a very long time. Over those couple of hours my proximity gap shifted and I inched closer and closer to him until I could feel the warmth of his body even though I wasn’t actually touching him and god help me, I was hot for him.
Then he asked about my next adventure and I mentioned I was 30 so it’s definitely time to learn to ride a motorcycle.
“You’re 30?” he asked.
To my surprise I’d forgotten to mention it in my response and I suddenly remember that he is only 23. When I had invited him to drinks, I assumed I would only be talking about film or whatever, I didn’t actually think I would have a sexual reaction – because I almost never do. Suddenly remembering that he was only 23 was like a cold shower on a blazing hot day.
We talked about it. For a good while. He asked if I was an ageist. Obviously, I didn’t want to admit I was and instead claimed, “The twenties are all about having your own personal adventures. It’s when you find yourself, discover and explore and sleep with all the wrong people and ultimately figure out who you are. I don’t want to poach on that – so I rarely am attracted to younger guys. I don’t want to be a poacher.”
Ultimately, he said something to the affect that it was his choice – and who can argue with that? After hours of talking I will confess, that I was less than thorough about reading the subtleties. I will confess that I imagined his limbs tangled with mine. I confess I wanted my mouth on him and I will further confess that I was more and more astonished by my physical desire.
The awareness that my body still works, still wants, still craves on a carnal level the actual lustful passion that my brain writes and my imagination worships left me suddenly insecure and completely disoriented. My mind raced with condemning thoughts and excuses and ways to try to run away because I didn’t know how to escape the electrical rapid fire in my limbs.
I didn’t wash my hair this morning. I’m tired. I didn’t take the kitchen trash out. I have to work in the morning. I might still be needed for photos. I’m wearing the wrong shoes…
Excuses. A litany of unreasonable, illogical escapes triggered in my brain in hopes that I would gather my wits and flee the system overload that was shutting my brain off.
Right at that very moment he said, “So where do you see this evening going?”
My heart exploded into frantic beating, “What? Why? What do you mean?” Is it hot in here?
“I think you know what I mean….” He said and met my eyes with magnetic confidence.
They say that the last thing a bug sees when it hits a windshield is its own ass. I am inclined to agree for that very moment when he looked at me, I felt much like a drifty hapless butterfly flittering across a desert road and fatefully meeting the window of a speeding Mac truck.
“… if you were to ask me to go home with you, I wouldn’t say no.” In my panic, sheer and utter flummoxed panic I said the very first thing to come to mind, “Oh, my god! I knew I should have taken the kitchen trash out!”
He looked at me in blank astonishment, “Excuse me?”
I rambled, “I didn’t take the kitchen trash out today and now the house smells funny and I don’t know because I haven’t cleaned up and I just…”
I suppose it’s possible he was feeling his own brand of Mac Truck at the moment. As I rambled I could hear a voice inside my head screaming – “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SAY YES, YOU IDIOT! Just stop talking and take his hand and lead him out!!!”
There are times I’d give my right ovary for a built-in six second nationally televised buffer to edit what happens in my brain before it reaches my mouth.
His mouth clicked shut and he blinked as I ran out of breath and stopped to gulp air.
There was a tremendous awkward silence and when I could breathe again I said, “Can we just talk for a minute while I think about it?”
I suspect he was too surprised to say anything by “Sure.” And we returned to a tilted and halting conversation while my back brain flew in dazed circles.
I’m a grown woman, I reasoned. I haven’t had sex, good satisfying sex in almost a year and almost a year before that and a prior two year self-induced celibacy that may have starved my brain of oxygen and left me somewhat retarded. Oh, my god, am I really retarded?
Of course not, I reasoned. I’m just rusty and out of practice. Hey, Athena, you remember how when you turned 21 you set out on a personal mission to discover your sexuality? You were determined to be able to write erotica with an open mind and detailed accuracy – remember how you broke free of preconceived and social bindings to embark on a non-vanilla lifestyle adventure of, power-struggles, psychology, being a swinger, experimenting with non-monogamy, figging, flogging, bondage and safe words? Remember how you used to be good at this before you were shocked into fear by heartbreak? I know you remember it on some level because you still write erotica that speaks these things. Remember? Remember that you usually regret the things you don’t do? Remember how if you want to get back to dating and loving and experiencing a great connection – this is part of that? Get it together, woman. Find your center. Breathe.
I know you’ve shut this out for a long time for self-preservation and for the desire to have clarity… but you here you are – clearly still a functioning woman with desire and need and he is offering to help you open up again. Do you remember how you have been an unashamed, unabashedly sexual creature? You have been taking a time out but it still smolders deep within and maybe it’s time to give some air to the embers…
I interrupted the conversation to say, “If it would be fun to go home with me tonight… would it also be fun just to have a conversation tomorrow. Maybe another drink tomorrow?”
He smiled, a beautiful stretch of white through his beard, and my world rocked a little when he said, “That would also be fun, yes.”
“Then why don’t you come home with me tonight, and we can talk some more tomorrow…”
I led him out and my knees felt fragile, my belly quivering with emotions and anxieties I haven’t had in years. Eric was outside and I waved him goodnight and thought – I wonder if he’ll read about his awesome guy on the blog. I’d dearly love to have a story that would show my readers a really good experience with a date. It would be great not to have to be the bearer of bad news all the time.
And so it was that I brought him home with me, but not everything is as it seemed. Stay tuned for the outcome, the inevitable turn of events that I should have seen coming. No pun intended. Stay tuned for the experience that has left me doubting I will ever be able to adequately write the complexity of the human experience. Our inflated desires crippled by our shattering insecurities.
I need time to quantify it. So this rest of the story will have to be thought upon as to how I can word it.
Stay tuned…. for full disclosure.
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