Lust



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.