After a nine-year hiatus I’m dating again.
I have seven brothers. So, hanging with brothers from other mothers is easy.
Until I feel erotic attraction. Then all hell breaks loose.
I’m either blissful, buoyed by sense memory of life with boyz, or I’m freaking.
And occasionally I feel the urge to spar, like that one time in college when I sparred with H.
We were at a party, beer in our bellies, and all evolved, especially after H showed me his Calvin and Hobbes tattoo, in the neighborhood of his pelvic crest….
But in general I suppress this desire for fear that sparring might be mistaken for savagery.
Recently I went out with D.
Mutually shy, we circled each other for hours; the way animals do in the seconds before they hump.
After a while he spoke about his on-going study of talking to women. He went on forever.
And while I was engaged, the average human mind wanders into sexual fantasy after seven minutes of continuous listening. And mine is no exception.
I found myself holding his gaze; then watching his mouth.
I imagined our bodies closer and moved in ever so slightly.
Then he stopped talking, and I choked.
Breathlessly I filled the air with a synopsis of the dang French Feminist theories.
I started in on phallogocentrism and how ‘…our minds are colonized by patriarchies; therefore our masculine, action driven society represses feminine principled space an-‘…
The moment shattered.
My six syllable words came too soon, too swiftly. And, mildly emasculated, he started to text.
I wished I’d let his soliloquy land before I became ‘I-know-all-about-this-topic’ woman. After all we were not talking, we were circling one another; sensing, smelling.
I’m not certain where my big mouth took him; I just know that our ‘date’ lost its frisson in a heartbeat.
C’est la vie. I’ll get a do-over, maybe even with D; as the tide pulls so it returns.
Next time may Eros keep me in my body, out of my nerves, and in the animal dance.