Lust

I had dinner with Mr. Big sometime back. We still hang out sometimes, although not much these days. He has his life and I have mine, and it was good to have spent all that time with him, but things have faded out pretty much these days. I won’t use fade away though, because I don’t believe in that. In my life, people I really get to know somehow just don’t do that, and I quite like it this way.

I’d been telling him about my New Year’s exploits, and I must have said something about how I went out with every intention of scoring. He gave a sharp laugh, shook his head as in half- disbelief (only half, because he knows that’s I’m perfectly capable of thinking in such a manner) and said I was behaving like I had a dick. A stud then, I thought. Maybe that’s where the difference lies; slut kinda has a passive connotation to it. Guys come by and you choose, nothing wrong with that of course, but it’s a lot more fun doing the hunting.

I realized a few days ago that I’m quite incapable of looking at a guy I find attractive in some way and not wanting to posses him. And usually for a few, very select reasons, and how physically attractive they are, especially in the conventional sense, is not one of them. As long as they look pleasant enough, I won’t let it come in the way of …how shall I put it… taking pleasure in a fascinating dish.

There is nothing more attractive then a guy with a good sense of humour and an ability to express himself easily and comfortably. They’ve got to have a character that I feel like I’d want to make love to. And I suppose if I really do, then I’ll not refuse myself the pleasure. There never is any urgency though, I think the most fascinating sort of sex is with people you think you know, and never slept with, but fantasize about often. Then sleeping with them would be like finding out if you’re any good at metaphysics (in this case, I’d be referring to divination).

Now there is this one person… But he’s always busy…

***

On a note contrary to that, I’d left the G-Spot this afternoon earlier then I though (he got busy, but promised he’d make time for me this Thursday. I begged him to wean me off for his leave-taking this weekend. *sigh* I might actually miss the privilege to call him out at awkward time slots, and I will definitely miss the absurd stories. He’s the only one that can beat me when it comes to weird shit happening to an individual. Beauty does attract adventure).

Went to the little café in the bookstore and sat there for a good long while reading a pointless novel that was partially inspired by de Sade, but written with a lot more compassion. The story isn’t really about anything aside from the city and the people that exist within it. Pages upon pages of romantic, nostalgic discourse deconstructing the soul. Exactly like the sort of novel I’d like to write someday, altogether very poetic. And I felt myself thinking many times, that I actually missed just being with one person. That I’m not faithful is not part of the equation, I just kinda miss seeing one person often, over a substantial period of time. I’d start waxing nonsense about getting used to that one particular individual and all like I actually know how it would feel like. I don’t, it’s been a long time since I’d done anything like it. Mr. Big may come close, but I never really started feeling very comfortable with him until much more recently. Personality clash, I don’t know actually. I think I’d just expected too much then, and gotten too little.

Well, I’ll be spending one entire month with Ethan, no one else and everyday. I know it’ll be a lot of fun, just because I’ve never done anything like it before. That same someone for every second lived, for a whole month. Of course one would presume one month = fun, one year = not too pleasant and ah, what about one lifetime then? Obsessive? Romantic? Too profound for the English language perhaps?

xoxox