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  1. Lust

    Tuesday, August 6, 2013




    
    Well I admit it.  I’m sexually attracted to men.  Not often humanly attracted to men is the problem. 
    Went to a poetry reading.  There were four features and an open mic.  Got there late. Missed some open-mic-ers.  The host introduced me and asked people to make room to squeeze me in and announced that I am pretty.  I was shocked and said, “That’s my claim to fame.”  Two features read, I had a wine, and then there was a short break.  I was grateful as I had to pee big time.  Of the two bathrooms, one had an out of order sign on it.  So there was a line.  A co-ed line.  The man in front of me, a man with a British accent who was one of the features that hadn’t read yet, began a conversation, asked my name and shook my hand.  He was husky, handsome, and I liked his accent. 

    Could you imagine fucking him, I asked myself.  Yes.  Yes, I could.  Of course, I had no real knowledge about him.  Just impressions.
    He asked if I also was a poet.  I said, “Sometimes.” 

    He was the next reader after the break.  I enjoyed listening to him, and his poetry was damn good.  Thick with texture. 
    He kept a cap on.  I suspected he was hiding a loss of hair.  I understand.  We all have our shit we prefer not to showcase.

    I liked that he is husky.  My ex was too skinny.  I had accepted it but never liked it. 
    He is a cigarette smoker.  That neutralizes my breath.  He was clearly interested in me physically. 

    So while he was reading his poetry and I was drinking my second wine, I asked myself again if I could see myself having sex with him.  Again, I said yes.
    After everyone read, there was mingling and poets selling their books.  He signed one for me which he gave me as a gift.  I asked him about his accent.  In his answer, he mentioned a number of countries including one where “we have a house.”  I don’t know what my face looked like but it must’ve registered the “we” word visibly because he looked at me and said that he and his wife have a house.  Well, there goes that, I thought to myself.  I thanked him for the book and started to leave.  Within moments, he and several others were outside and he asked me to go with them to eat and was I hungry.  I wasn’t.  He and the whole bunch of people who were with him plus the reading host were hungry, so I said I could have tea or something and hang out.  He then mentioned having sex.  Between his accent and my head, I thought I might have heard him wrong.  I looked up at him surprised.  “Just a thought,” he said.  We smiled.  I had very mixed feelings.  I liked that the attraction was mutual, but damn, one hour of acquaintanceship, and he felt the right to throw that out there.  Do men have anything going for them at all, I wondered.  Or do I keep meeting the ones who are such let-downs?  The more decent ones are probably less bold.  They are probably more hesitant to say hello.  While assertive is appealing, it is a thin line.

    On the way, the host and I stole a moment.  I told her he seemed interested in me and asked her what was his story.  She said, “He’s married.”  I said that was my understanding.  She said that maybe he wants to publish me.  “Uh, no.  He said nothing about my poem but did mention sex.”  Her eyes bulged.  “Then I don’t know,” she said.
    As the evening continued, we’d step out of the restaurant, where I was having a third wine instead of tea, to smoke and I learned (some of this was confirmed by a woman who knows him) he and his “wife” are not actually married but are life partners.  They have an open relationship (for sure, he does; I’m not convinced it is truly open).  Commitment to one person is not how he sees life or wants his to be.  He claimed he is gentle.  I enjoyed the hugs very much.  His body temperature is very warm.  He smells good and he liked my scent too.  He tried to tongue-kiss me which I didn’t accept.  I dropped my head and laughed at the situation.  He must’ve been annoyed by that.  He spoke about being “adult.”  I suddenly remembered so much that I hated about boys, boyfriends, pressure, teenager-hood, etc.  Only now I am not a teen.  Nor am I a young adult.  And I’ve been through waaaayyy too much for that shit to have the effect he hoped.  I shook my head and said, “Oh so cheating is called ‘adult’?”  No response.  Good. 

    In spite of the sexual attraction, I knew I’d regret having a one-nighter with this man.  Maybe if I was in a very different head – one more playful and desperate to simply get laid, but that was not the case.  I felt like a tender person who should not be toyed with.  I believed I would have felt like his toy.  He just seemed like getting laid was his goal for the night as opposed to getting to know me.  There are moments I may want that.  This wasn’t one of those.  It didn’t feel good.
    He and two of his friends walked me to the train.  The whole way, he kept hope alive.  He, of course, had no idea how not visitor-ready my apartment is.  But I knew.  And I knew that while I may not always know what I want, I am getting lots better at knowing what I don’t want and honoring that.

    I did not give in to the heat of the moment.  I went home.  My dog was glad to see me.
    Okay, I admit I really liked the man’s scent on me and went to sleep with it.
    |


  2. 9 comments:

    1. Jack Cooper said...

      Learned, suave, generally (perhaps even genitally) impeccable in both the majority and minority of ways of the world, Gore Vidal advised never to pass up either opportunity for sex or to be on TV. I don't know for certain whether he had a dog.

    2. It sounds like a pretty nice encounter. Good smell is very appealing, Likewise sex. Ditto a dog

    3. Canada Anne said...

      MMM warm body temperature

    4. Jack and Richard, you are seeing life from a different place than where I live. I feel more like prey. I do not live worrying that no one in the world would want to stick their dick in here. My life experience has me more concerned that I get where I'm going without anyone losing their ability to handle themselves.

      With all the languages this man speaks, he didn't speak the language of my heart and head which is directly related to my vagina.

      To those who would just like vagina on a stick, but this ain't no take-out shish-kebob joint.

    5. Jack Cooper said...

      I like vagina on a stick when the spirit (however unsuccessfully -- and that is often) moves me (tit for tat), as well, I expect, you do the Emperor-of-Ice Cream encounter of the speared kind ... But when biology, dragging whatever else, meets the cell wall -- the self wall -- the mem- and womenbrane, electricity must contend with ion channels and all such typical (and archtypical) convolution linked, and leading to, the brain. And there -- in which active part, so far as I know -- neither science, the hub of reason, nor religion, the hubba hubba toil and troubuh, has succeeded to even to identify, much less penetrate (that old sweet song). I'm happy, though, to hear your Dunsinane remove to Burnham Wood, evidence of some human movement in the bush besides seek out and destroy. But I insist we remain in one room, and refuse to accept genital definition. Why should a vagina be munition for a first-strike defense any more than a dick -- the Big Stick -- sway diplomacy? Don't get me wrong: I like what they do together and raise (or insert) no objection to the yearnings of solitude or capabilities of their own. One glass is what I ask, one ass and whatever appurtenances it either side. Translucent, self-reflecting ... Let's keep our private parts below our waists, lest they rise above our heads. Down with dick, close vagina. The reverse, as you experienced last week, and narrate this, for our instruction, only leads to lost opportunity -- not yours. Smell or no smell (of paramount importance), he emerges as the centric part of but a single ass. A brief excerpt from Donne's XVIIIth Elegy ("Loves Progress"): Whoever loves, if he do not propose / The right true end of love, he's one that goes / to sea for nothing....Perfection is in unitie....Although we see Celestial bodies move / Above the earth, the earth we till and love: / So we her [woman's] ayres contemplate, words and heart, / And virtues; but we love the Centrique part.... / How much they erre; that set out at the face?... / Rather set out below; practice my Art, /
      Some Symetry the foot hath with that part.... / ... 'tis the first part that comes to bed. / Civilitie we see refin'd: the kiss / Which at the face began, transplanted is, / Since to the hand, since to the imperial knee, / Now at the Papal foot delights to be: / If Kings think that the nearer way, and do / Rise from the foot, Lovers may do so too.


    6. Oh Jack, you do send me to the dictionary. LOL

      When I woke the next day, I felt good with myself. That was how I knew for absolute certain that it was the right decision for me. No regrets about it.

    7. Rhonda said...

      I hate remembering what I hate about others. Desire & chemistry a volatile combo. Sometimes you get blown away...

    8. Mary said...

      It's good to be the master (I'd say mistress but that relates to something else altogether) of your pussy. Lust rules my day, but I can't let it lead me where my mind refuses. Always a battle. Lust in itself, is such a happy thing. There is an absolute sense of right and right now. Of course, the rest of life comes in and the logic you live by. You protected yourself and you should be proud of that. It's hard to walk away from certain physical pleasure. It's harder to live with certain guilt and a measure of tender feelings.

    9. She So Funny said...

      Glad you made the decision that was right for you and that you could look yourself in the mirror the next day without regret. ~S

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