The sound of an incoming text startled me. It was 3:40 am and except for my close friends, few know that I was often up writing at that hour.
I looked at the text in confusion; it was the picture of a prick with an erection, and one I had never seen before - the end curved as if it had decided to make a u-turn was new to me.
For fuck’s sake, I thought pressing delete.
Another text startled me. “Whadda ya think?”
“Who is this?” I responded.
“What do you mean, who is this? It’s Phillip,”
“From Jen’s dinner party?” I asked.
“Why are you acting like you don’t remember me?”
“How did you get my number?” I asked running through my recollection of the evening that I thought went on way too long.
After a long day and two glasses of wine, weariness settled into my bones; I said my good nights around mid-night and wandered off to Jen's guest room.
“You gave it to me,” Phillip said.
I didn't remember giving him my number, but being a little drunk, it was possible.
“I thought we had a nice time at the party,” he said
“We had a conversation,” I said.
“Yeah, and you rocked that little black dress,”
“Why did you send me that picture?” I asked.
“I thought I’d show you what you would be getting if you go out with me.”
Was there ever a time when I dated a man because of the look of his penis? I wondered. I am certain the answer is no, not even as a teen coming into my sexuality and mad from raging hormones.
“I’m not interested, Phillip. But thanks for the visual,” I said.
He didn't text back right away, and I went back to writing, hoping that was the end of it.
“I thought we made a connection,” he text again after a long while.
“You sent me a picture of your cock before you even ask me out to dinner. What kind of connection did we make except that you've decided you’d like to penetrate me?”
I find myself these days a bit taken aback that many of the men I meet, in their late 30’s to mid-50’s seems to lack what it takes to be in a healthy relationship. They are damaged by past affairs, scared to take a chance on love, lonely – some seem clueless about women and lacks common sense entirely. Small, medium, large, curved cocks seem to be pointing at me from every direction. Yet, I get very little chance to know the men who have them or for them to know me.
My friends say that I have grown too critical. Have I?
There was Marc who tried to kidnap me, I think.
Marc introduced me to hot yoga, and we became yoga friends. He said he was divorced, I found out that he was separated. His hungry stare at my breasts in yoga made it clear that he was interested in sex; I made it clear that yoga was my only interest. He seemed nice enough, but I was not attracted to him, and there’s not much that one can do about attraction, it's not a decision that one makes – it’s a mystery buried deep in our DNA.
He picked me up for yoga one evening and brought his little terrier. En route, he said he wanted to stop at his house and drop off the dog.
“And you can see my place, and we can have a drink and talk,” he said.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to go straight to yoga," I said.
"Don't you want to see where I live and have a drink - something different besides yoga?"
"No. Please take me back home, and I will drive myself since you have errands to run,” I said.
"Why are you making a big deal of this?" he asked flashing me a frustrated look and continued driving towards his house.
I insisted, having to repeat myself three times. I don’t like when rules change in the middle of a game. And my little Kitten intuition set off an alarm so loudly my body felt like an electric field, every cell awakened sending me into full survival mode - in seconds running through different scenarios, outcomes and a strategy to survive.
He must have noticed my fingers clutching the lever to open the door ready to jump out at first stop, or while moving if necessary.
"Fine. I'll take you home. I didn't mean to scare you," he said.
He text me for days telling me he was lonely and longed to be with a woman.
What the fuck?
Not to say I won’t indulge in a casual affair now and again, I will and I do. There was my passionate fling with Sully that still makes me blush. And I still mount Clark, my gentle giant when I get horny, but I have made it clear to him that hanging out in the woods not knowing if we will ever come upon a stream to take a bath is not a place that I plan to stay much longer. He says I ask too many questions when I ask about his life, thoughts, fears, desires….
“And you answer none of them,” I said. “How can I know you if you will share nothing of yourself with me except your cock?”
I understood that cock was all he had to give and have learned not to hold on to anything or anyone. I don’t believe that anything can be forced, not even love - especially love. Maya Angelou said, “A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”
If love has torn Clark to shreds and he cannot get back up again, I can extend him a hand, share my kisses, lay naked with and hold him in my sweetest surrender, but he will move only if forces that he may not even understand compels him. I've told him that I wanted more than sex from him - I wanted to know him - but his heart was locked away like a criminal trapped behind prison bars.
I didn't dare expect more than what he could afford to give me. I accepted us for what we were and left the door wide open for him to go or stay. Despite his struggle to not get seriously involved, I was certain that he like me too - beyond his need to penetrate me. The way he touched and kissed and fucked me felt like love. The way he held me while he slept - the feel of his arms weren't those of a man who just wanted to penetrate me.
“Another one soon to be left in the dust, eh Kit?” Ally said staring at me for the longest time when I told her that Clark and I may be coming to the end of whatever journey we are on for I will not rest my head or place my heart in the hurt and pain of his past.
“Why is it so hard for you to find someone?” she asked.
“It’s not hard at all,” I said. “I can say I have a boyfriend in Clark who cannot let me into his life, and cannot decide whether to stay or go - yet he runs to my arms every chance he gets. But what kind of boyfriend is that?
I can find many someone like Phillip and Marc and the many others I've come across who are not a good fit. And I can have a miserable existence with them filled with lies and deceit and disrespect, while claiming that I’m in a relationship. But I will not settle for such a life. There are approximately 3 billion men on earth – I believe that the only probability of not meeting someone who compliments me, is if I settle for someone who does not,”
She laughed. “My god, are you mad, Kitten?”
“Quite mad, yes,” I said smiling.
“No relationship is easy, Kitten,”
I have never claimed that relationships are easy. What I have always said is that I want a love affair that is respectful and kind and passionate – free of cruelty, lies and deceit – one that values me beyond the need to penetrate me. If all that comes to a man’s mind is sex when he thinks of me… he has missed me entirely. I cannot be invisible to a man I call a friend, confidant - life partner.
"I keep wondering how many boyfriends you plan on having,” She said.
“As many as it takes. I have never understood, Ally, why you settle for so little,”
"A bizarre sensation pervades a relationship of pretense. No truth seems true. A simple morning's greeting and response appear loaded with innuendo and fraught with implications. Each nicety becomes more sterile and each withdrawal more permanent."
~ Maya Angelou~