(a bit inspired by a previous blog post)
When I was on a road trip vacation in 2015 I found myself sitting in a small bar in Ennis, Montana. I had walked up the street from the little motel cabin I was staying in for the night in search of a beer, something to eat, and maybe a little social interaction. I had been sitting there for a little while when a very cute, cowboy hat-wearing lady about 20 years my junior sat down on the bar stool next to me. We talked about this and that, and after about a half hour of interesting and flirty conversation she floored me with a question I wasn't prepared for. Or maybe it was the direct delivery I didn't see coming.
"Did you ever meet someone and just want to fuck her?"
I almost did the classic "drink spew," and after trying to gather my chin off the floor, gave her a long, drawn-out beer-laced answer that was apparently not what she wanted to hear. What she probably wanted to hear was something like, "You mean like I do right now?" Anyway, after a few minutes more of talking between us, she turned her attention to another nearby patron and I was brushed aside. Whew. I dodged a bullet.Wait--What? "Dodged a bullet?!" Why would I think that way? Why didn't I want sex? Because I was on the road? No, that's probably the most perfect scenario for cheap sex you can possibly imagine. You both know you will never see each other again afterward. It's perfect. So again--why would I think that way? Because it's just not my style, that's why. It's not me. Guys are always stereotyped as the wham-bam, immediate gratification gender. Does that mean I'm broken if I don't express the same shallow, animal desire that guys are supposed to feel when they see an attractive woman? To clarify, I do feel the animal desire and attraction, but I think it's the shallow part that I have trouble with. I am also not a "take charge" type of person.
I know I'm broken to a certain extent. I've mentioned previously how unique my family was growing up, with neither of my parents having siblings. That is likely why I grew up missing out on what might be considered normal interaction between the sexes. There wasn't any open embracing, kissing, or loving touch between my parents. I'm sure they did (after all--they had five kids!), but we were apparently shielded from seeing it. That probably should not have happened. I think people should be immersed in love, surrounded by love, and taught how to express and share their feelings, not hide them. They should learn how to communicate, whether good or bad. I never really learned that. I have finally figured out that I just don't coexist with others very well. I'm best at being solitary. I seem to have a strong desire to be selfish with my time and be able to switch gears instantly when something is not going the way I want it to go. Also, because I have a strong--almost overwhelming sometimes--desire to avoid confrontation I tend to avoid getting myself into situations that create mental stress. I am too thoughtful and sensitive to deal with it well.
I have love inside me that it sometimes just screams to escape. I like to snuggle, I like to hug, and I like to intertwine bodies. I'm a very flirty person, but my flirting is generally without any plan or direction of any kind. Part of me means for it to be superficial, but another part of me hopes that someone I'm flirting with calls me on it and takes matters into her own hands. It's probably like going fishing without a hook on your line because you don't want to be faced with what to do with one if you do catch it.
I used to think sex was the goal. That's what we boys always joked and boasted about while growing up. The one-dimensional immediate gratification of sex. Honestly, I don't know if I have never met someone that filled me with the simple, animal desire to fuck her. To me that just seems cheap. What I do feel is the desire to be enveloped by her embrace. I want to both hug and be hugged. I want to touch her as I would wish to be touched myself. I want to undress her, run my hands over every inch of her body. I want to massage her, to celebrate her, to share her thoughts and feelings. But cheap sex doesn't work well with me. I think I'm afraid of too many things. Maybe I worry about performance or technique, or what happens after. That's it: The after. Do I want an "after?" Should there even be an "after?" What if only one of us wants an "after?" I guess besides the potential for failure, awkwardness, and embarrassment, sex also has a sense of finality for me. When it's over it usually feels over.
I hope the girl with the cowboy hat got what she was after that evening. Me? I guess I'm just an aimless fisherman who fishes without a hook.
