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Posts Tagged ‘flirting’

I saw you come into the bar and give the bouncer the hugest hug. I love it when men are affectionate with each other, so I noticed you instantly. You had scruff and a flannel shirt and the best dance moves. I was watching you, but we never spoke or danced together.

Apparently you noticed me noticing you. You told me later that’s why you asked for my number.

We texted a bunch here and there but never got around to hanging out until months later.

We finally went out for an epically long date, though I wasn’t sure it was a date the entire time. You are witty and fun and we got along, despite the fact you are super religious.

We awkwardly half kissed goodbye in a pretty non-sexual way. I’ve been told so many times that I come on too strong, so I was sort of letting you take the lead in this situation. I assumed you wouldn’t contact me ever again.

But two weeks later, we hung out again. I went to your house and we had relatively awkward sex. Certainly not the worst, but not the best either.

And that was it. I think if I texted you, you would politely invite me to go out dancing. But I think if I didn’t text you, I’d never hear from you again.

I cannot figure out what just happened, even a little.

Maybe you just aren’t that into me.

But we seemed to get along, and you kept pursuing me. The next day you told me it was fun and we vaguely referred to future hang out times. I feel like if you just wanted to hook up, you would have approached it differently.

It makes me inclined to think that maybe you just aren’t that into ladies.

But maybe that’s just because I’m used to boys who are feminists.

Maybe you think I’m too fat.

You are really into working out.

Maybe it’s that we became facebook friends and now you think I’m whorish.

But probably you just aren’t that into me.

For what it’s worth, I’d totally hang out with you more if you wanted to figure it out.

Or we could just become dance buddies, which I suspect is what you wanted all along.

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Dear J.

We met when I was in the seventh grade, and you were an eighth-grader. That was twenty years ago. There was always something between us; we were intense, you a Pisces, me a Scorpio. Ain’t it the truth. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my body there in its wheelchair, didn’t know how to feel or be pretty in your eyes. But you were a kind high school boy, and said truly meaningful things like, “I really like when you wear that sweater, it makes your boobs look really good.” I am pretty sure we loved each other, in the sweetest, most longing kind of way. Time went by; we went on one date, to the movies to see Claire and Leo kill themselves for love, and you held my hand for the first time on the way home. It took another whole year for our first kiss, even after everything. I have never felt more special.

More time went by, we decided we were not for each other, met, dated, and screwed other people. But it was always there, that chance we had never taken, the secret refuge and promise of nostalgia. You always said you wanted to be married and a dad by the time you were 26, and you were. You are a great dad, even though you and his mom got divorced. Through it all we would touch base sometimes. We always knew the other one was out there, something good, something sweet, somehow ours. You used to call me long distance from overseas when you were in the service and you hated it.

More years went by, and I would hear about you, or see you on Facebook, and there was still that old pull. I asked you, out of the blue, to go out of town with me, and you wanted to, but had just started a new job, and couldn’t get away. But you wanted to, you said so, and I believed you.

You got a new phone this summer and texted me from your new number. We had maybe not really talked in ten years or so. You finally admitted that you had unresolved feelings for me, how much you wished we had taken bigger steps in our relationship, and how you thought of me so much. You said if we had gone out of town you would have taken your chance to make love,with me, and love and love and love with me. I asked you if you realized you are the person that other than my family has been in my personal interior life the longest, and wasn’t it great to know we still had each other in some way? You said you did, and yes, it was, and like me, you were glad and thankful.

We made plans to see each other shortly after that, when you were going to be in ____, an hour away, for a week-long work conference. We were going to meet here, at my house, alone and finally adults, on a Friday night. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and put on makeup. And all that day, you did not answer my calls or my texts. You did not come. You did not call or text, or make any contact with me. No excuses, no stories, nothing. I was sure it was because something happened with your son, or to you. You would never do that to me. Not the boy I knew, with those beautiful deep brown eyes. The one I had known for so long, and who maybe loved previous teenage me. I preferred to imagine you in some emergency, and was prepared to give you enough time to get in touch.

Weeks went by. No word. Casually, I saw a comment you posted on someone’s FB. With a sense of disbelief, I clicked on your name, because it meant that clearly you were right there where you had always been, and not forgivably run off the road, in a ditch and then in traction. And I saw your status, saying how happy and in love you were, and I saw your new girlfriend.

I just don’t understand. Did you decide it wasn’t worth it, that the chemistry was not enough, that out twenty-year history was not worth a returned phone call, or a straight answer? I will never know for sure, because I will never ask you, and because it doesn’t really matter. You aren’t who I thought you were. You are not the man you say you strive to be.

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but I’m not really angry anymore. I’m not hurt that you treated me the way you did this summer. I am very hurt, though (and you deserve to know and hear this) that you did not respect me or everything that had been between us. I am sad that I feel now that I never really knew you at all, and that when I look back on all those sweet, fond, innocent, exciting, charged, tender, funny, laughing, sexy, patient, stolen moments, they are tarnished now, and kind of empty. You have stolen away the brightness and warmth that you yourself gave me, and that I had made a part of myself for so long.

Goodbye. You made this choice. I don’t need to know why. But I hope you stay gone. I won’t try to find you.

A.

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can i tell you that you have been on my mind this morning?

standing in the train on my way to work…the image of you was running in my head…i am no maniac, but i keep on seeing your face and your naked body…i am craving to touch and feel you again…though i know as you told me already, it is not possible…i feel a little pinch in my being now…it is called regret…

why didn’t i let go of everything when i was with you? i want you so close to me again…to grab you and your behind to pull you so close to me…to go down on you and to devour every inch and centimeter of your sex…to taste everything that is about you…i should not have minded the feeling of being tired that day with you…if i had known it was the first and last day with you, i would not have slept for even one second…i want to feel your weight on me again. pressing my face on your sheets as you bite my nape like a cat…

yes, we live in different continents…but for 20 hours we were together that day and i was in your territory…and we spent 14 hours making and breaking and creating love…stolen moments behind the souvenir shop on top of that magical cathedral and in every wing of the gallery…and the languid afternoon delight we spent in your kitchen…and up the stairs to that wicked bed of yours…in between wine and panna cotta…

and now i’m back in my far eastern world…alone again…all of them who will come after you are ghosts…they do not know how to touch me the way you did. they don’t know how i melt and die at the touch of your breath on my back. they don’t smell like you after hours of foreplay. their mouths don’t have your flavor. our flavors mixed together in your lips and your tongue. creating a distinct taste i can never have again…

when i met you for the very first time in person…that morning, outside my hotel, in an unfamiliar city…i did not pause to think. there was no fear or doubt in me. you could have been a serial killer for all i care…i let go of all my inhibitions and i enjoyed every dart of pleasure…all of our words and letters came alive that day. all of our potent threats to each other’s needs became tangible. i never thought it was possible for us to be together that day but it happened. period.

…and now you tell me now that it is impossible to happen again. now you answer my yearnings with cruel cruel words. you tell me that to desire is better than to have. but i am not a masochist. i am a 31 year old woman in need of a man. it just so happens this man is you. and our needs do not meet anymore…

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i don’t know if it’s better to keep it to myself or say it out loud, but i feel like we’ve already crossed this line in a million tiny ways that what the fuck.

i know you obviously have a bazillion and ten things going on and certainly don’t need extra confusion, but i just feel like it’s only fair that i am totally clear that i would make out with you in a second. not just like when we talked about it before and i acted all casual about it, like, yeah, i would do that again if you are up for it. but more like, i just want to. of course being friends with you is far more important than making out and i value your friendship so fucking much it’s ridiculous. so i don’t want to jeopardize that and i feel confident enough in our friendship that i don’t think this email will, regardless of how you take it. and please know me well enough to know that it also doesn’t matter and won’t impact me or us if you just say um, no. or if you disregard this entirely.

so that’s quite enough embarrassment for one email.

don’t ignore me at school tomorrow.

*editors note: this does not qualify as an “unsent letter.” sent it word for fucking word. i’m just a glutton for public self-shaming, apparently.

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You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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I. it turns out the road was never really ours
in fact, it was never there at all

I laid down the bricks in jest
in haste, in desperation

now each piece is loose,
gaps widening, crumbling apart

soon a new road will come to form
a different image, another story.

II. and so I did run away with you
that night – – and the nights after that

I made you catch your breath many times
and held your heaving lungs against mine

I wanted so much to escape
that night – – and the nights after that

but, it just happened
we just happened.

III. yes, you just so happened
to be there – see,

when I reached out to grab another
my hand found yours – you

just happened to be there,
too

that’s all
really that’s all and will be.

IV. on my train, the sights
sounds and taste,

sheer pleasure and stark honesty
I booked the trip for two

I conjured you up and all else for amusement
to keep me from jumping off the tracks

but did you really get on with me?
and did you have to get off so fucking fast?

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You and me. We’re like a hot, bright firework.

It doesn’t matter that the hot part is over, and was over more than 10 years ago now. The hot part where we just shot into the sky and fucking exploded and fell in love way too quick and both got really scared about how intense it was. How we were saying it to each other wide-eyed and incredulous, writing it to each other on paper making it real. We would get in your bed and stay up literally all night making out. We couldn’t stop. We’d fall asleep for a couple hours with our faces pressed together and our hearts and eyelids fluttering and our tattoos smushing together into new designs and our breathing in rhythm all too-perfect-like. I’ve kissed a lot of boys and I still remember your kisses. If they hadn’t been so vivid and volcanic and all over me and impossible the next part might not have happened.

That’s the part where the firework is still happening but it’s losing its heat. It’s still sparkling and shimmering and still there…but the real explosion is over. All the little stars are moving away from each other but the idea of what was there still exists, filling out the shape. That’s the part that happened after you smashed my heart. You got more scared than me. You moved thousands of miles away. But then you came back. And you kept coming back into my life for years. We kept going through the motions as much as other relationships and life would allow. Sometimes we’d see each other every day. Our bands played shows together. For a while we were even neighbors. I never stopped wanting to kiss your face. Every single second we spent together getting coffee, watching movies, lounging around outside, talking about stupid shit like robots and our bands and our lives and relationships and how we wanted everything and nothing and were never satisfied…I could barely look at your neutron star eyes that I kept falling into for years. We both knew it and didn’t know it. You apologized for everything from forever ago. Said you were wrong, scared. Our hearts were both bloody on our sleeves but we didn’t want to ruin each other’s lives…though we came so close so many times…every time you threw pebbles at my window or put your head in my lap when we were sitting on a bench or showed up drenched in a rain storm at my door. Every time we hugged so tight and so long when we parted, your face buried in my long hair, your eyelashes flicking my cheek. I think you held me like that to keep our lips as far apart as they could reasonably be in an embrace. My heart would pound so hard I thought it might knock you over. We shimmered and sparkled around and outside ourselves.

I got married. And that’s the part where we turned to ash. You told me once you thought we’d have ended up together for good if I’d never met my husband and I still agree. We’re grown up now. The universe still keeps cleverly throwing our daily orbits together, over and over again. But it’s cool now. I run into you often. I don’t have a heart attack anymore. I’m just happy I still get to see your face while the ash whirls and falls around us and quietly settles on our cheeks and eyelashes, in our hair, on our hands, on the ground.

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