Sex. The word that as a young boy my ears would perk up to, has since formed into a past time fueled as a way to quell up some self confidence.
Why is it easier for me to take off my shirt and pants, whisk off my underwear, and then do things with a stranger than it is to sit across from them and make idle chat about our lives? It’s not that I’m in the least bit not a romantic or fear relationships, I just hate the build up. I see the comfort that comes months and years later and I’m attracted to that, not the nonsense that comes with explaining what I do for a living and who’s in my [insert month here] playlist. It’s exhausting and while I’m afraid it’s made me a little bitter and reluctant to meeting people for dating, I just really fucking love sex. I don’t however like that moment after you come when everything sets in. You open your eyes and you notice your surroundings, smells, sounds, light all come into focus and you get a glimpse of what you may have settled for or what insecurities you have in spite of this. I think of this way too often. The was a movie I saw once based off a book that I can’t recall where the lead female character would read a medical journal and look at photos of STD’s and STI’s and as I’m currently in the backseat of a taxi to meet a guy on the other side of town, I hope
As soon as you come your senses come back one by one almost instantaneously. I feel the cold of the wall that my face has been bumping against. I smell a combination of the burnt out candle in the living room, the cheap booze that gave us confidence to get here, the dreadful combination of lube and condoms, but mostly sweat. He finishes seconds after me, on me and collapses with his head on my shoulder and starts to laugh. “Sorry!” He says out of breath noticing the confusion on my face. “I usually laugh after I come for some reason, that was great, still down for food?” He gets up and starts putting on his underwear and pants as I try and shimmy off the bed as to not let his load on me spill onto the bed. “Oh yeah, let me help you with that” he says as he wipes himself off of me and licks the spot where it once was. “We taste delicious together.” And he heads into his bathroom to wash his hands and throw the soiled towel into the hamper. My eyes have adjusted to the light
I look up from my notebook and realize how furiously I was writing everything down. My words were sprawled out in an almost illegible manner.
My left hand was being forced into the table and holding my body steady as I wrote furiously with my right. My chest was heaving and I couldn’t quite catch my breath. I look up even further and notice that the barista was standing in front of me holding a large green mug. “I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked like you were on a roll.” I thank her and she stays standing still after she sets down my drink. “ May I ask what you’re writing about? You looked so intense and almost as if you didn’t have any control of your hands as you wrote. It was quite fascinating actually.” She asked this in such a deeply curious way I couldn’t help but tell her. “ I was writing about a dream I had last night. It was unlike any dream I’ve ever had and I’ve never written anything down like that before. I honestly can’t account for my body during those few minutes.” She looked as if she was going to ask what it was about but then by the twitch if her mouth decided against it. “ I know my dreams always feel less personal when I share what they’re about or what I feel they mean so I’m not going to ask. Enjoy your hot chocolate.” She then hurried back over behind the counter and the moment ended. Done.
I start to sip my hot chocolate and look around the shop. I look at the chess table in between two green couches on the wood coffee table. I then watch the two college ages guy and girl playing. The girl is biting her lip and focusing hard on her pieces and the boy is much more relaxed out stretching his hand and making a move that makes her visibly more upset. I actually find it quite humorous that she’s getting so upset and I scope even further around the room. I see an older man with a reporters hat reading the newspaper and ripping apart his muffin with his hand without looking at it. He clears his throat and uncrosses his left leg and recrosses his right over it. I then look even further down the room to notice a few people scattered over a few tables.
There’s a girl in a faded purple t-shirt talking enthusiastically with her hands about someone I’d assume to be her boyfriend (or soon to be ex boyfriend) to her friend who visibly and audibly can’t believe that David said that either. I notice a man with salt and pepper hair and a thick black sweater and blue jeans leaving the restroom. There’s a person facing the wall on a computer and I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, but whoever they are they’re really into whatever they’re reading or watching because I haven’t seen them move in a few moments. There’s a boy with a maroon hoodie and dark brown hair swashed about as if he just got out of bed and knicked his neck to the right and his hair just stayed there. It was nice actually. He was holding a black notebook and had a book on the table next to him.
I look around and notice a short line forming at the register and start to realize just how busy this place is starting to get. I happen to look back at the boy with the maroon hoodie and notice he’s staring right at me. Of course anytime you people watch you’re bound to catch someone’s eye, but this wasn’t by chance, he was intently watching me. When I didn’t let our gaze go I noticed he started to smile but he never looked away. So neither did I.
I wake up with my eyes closed. I’ve always wanted to be able to do it and I finally was able to sucessfully. Albeit, without trying. I wake up and keep them closed for the sole purpose of I dont really care what happens today.
I dont need the sun to put a smile on my face. I dont care if it’s over seventy degrees outside and clear skies are a blazin. Its another day. Wednesday I’m sure and I don’t have anythign good to look forward to. I hear my neighbors in the hallway getting their mail and I hear birds chirping outside and I heard a few cars drive by. I guess its true what they say about other senses being heightened when one is taken away. I lay on my back for what seems ike hours but with my luck is most likly eleven minutes, and don’t get the urge to get up. Why? Why get up to another boring day and do the same mundane actions I’ve been doing for the past six months? I live in a bullshit town in a bullshit state living a bullshit life of complete and utter bullshit. That sounds edgy right? That makes me alluring and damaged and somewhat of an elusive catch to some doesn’t it? I can hear what they’d say about me. He’s so smart, he’s tall, doesn’t make peope shriek when they look at him, he isn’t overly skinny and he knows when to put a cupcake down. He doesnt drink alcohol too often and he doesn’t curse too much. He’s the initiator of a thousand smiles, but he’s quiet. His silence makes him a cautionary tale. It makes him feared. But he’s damaged and I can’t be around that.
The quiet ones are no longer ignoed. The quiet ones are ramshackled and jusged more quickly. People are paying attention now. It only took a few school shootings, a disgusting amout of teenage suicide, and a re run episode of degrassi for the wolrd to fear the quiet ones. Though I’m not quiet because I’m suicidal. I’m not angry or lonely or plotting anything. I’m quiet because I don’t have much to say. I dont have much to say because I on’t much on my mind. Ok, that’s a lie. I have too much on my mind. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to say I have everything on my mind. I get fixated on things. Things people say, things people didnt say, things people should’ve said according to me, things I should’ve said in order to proke them to say what they weren’t saying. I have years of situations in my mind of what I should’ve said. I’d be lighter. My brain would be less convoluted. I’d like to assume I’d be happier. I’d also like to assume that with a lighter mind I could focus on other things. Like friendships and that thing people are always rattylingh off about…what was it called? Oh yes, personal growth. Any personal growth I have is handled immediately into a tissue and disposed of immediately after.