There hasn’t been a man or sex or a crush in my life for six months. When the well runs dry like this, sometimes it is painfully lonely. I forget the feeling of sensual pleasure or how to go on a date or even what it feels like to have a crush. Sex in movies looks as foreign and bizarre as Animal Planet to me. Couples, my married friends, my friend who writes sappy Facebook status updates about her boyfriend – I feel like a tourist visiting from outside their strange world and culture. I don’t feel feminine. I feel asexual. I had this dream once. I revisit this dream when I feel like this. It comforts me. There is a tall man in a suit. He smells so good – his scent is not too fake from cologne and not rancid from too much natural funk. He is kind but not wimpy. He is strong but not overwhelmingly aggressive or macho. We are on a quiet but happy dance floor. He takes my hand to dance and he doesn’t overtalk. I trust him. His hands feel good. safe. Moments pass and I rest my cheek on his shoulder – the fabric feels good. I feel warm. That perfect smell. I look up into his face and meet his eyes finally. It is my face. With my eyes. Looking back at me with love. With committed intent to see me and to know me. I am loved. In my dream of me.
Archive for March, 2011
I can’t get that moment out of my head. You looked straight at me, the first time you weren’t smiling all night, and told me we were never friends. I guess you think ‘fuck buddies’ is on some level below friends. I think of it as being below a friend. I guess I have fewer friends than I thought.
I need so badly to keep believing that guys want to be my friend even now that I have a boyfriend. Otherwise, what would keep me from limiting my interactions by 50% to gay men and straight women? I don’t want to accept limits in my life. I will not.
I need to believe that I am a worthwhile person, even though I have cute girl packaging. I need to believe guys see more value in me than a meat wallet. It’s not naivety, but it is currently sheer, stupid, hopeless determination. But I am not letting it go. It’s all the hope in mankind I’ve got.
It never occurred to me that you might be a bit of a scumbag. You are married afterall. I always think we have something special. Bigger than your marriage. Different than your marriage. More than your marriage. And older than your marriage. But it never occurred to me that maybe you have that “something special” with other women, too.
remember when i made that mold of your dick? i found it today. you are way bigger that i’ve been giving you credit for for the last 2 years. so the problem was that you were just terrible in bed.
Dear college boy sitting across the subway isle:
It’s mid-February and it’s unusual to see a male stranger’s bare skin. Flesh tends to be covered by work pants, puffy down coats, and sensible scarves. The rarity made the 8 inches of the exposed back of your neck look all the more sexy. You resting your elbows on your knees & dropping your head, concentrating intently on your iPod. Me hypnotized by the valley between your smooth shoulder blades. Both perfectly proportional. A few freckles speckled the otherwise pale hills. I relaxed with my head woozy, imagining how it would feel on my tongue to lick that small, revealed space.
It makes me forgive you for wearing a shitty polo brand windbreaker.