The One That Got Away came over last night for a brief visit. It’s been over a year since another man has been in my apartment. It’s been a long time since I even let a man so close to me and feeling my skin next to his. It made me nervous but I couldn’t show it. Showing it would have made me even more vulnerable. And by being vulnerable I mean tearing off my panties. I don’t remember the last time my lady parts were so moist. Nothing sexual or romantic happened. It was just casual and friendly conversation.
I wanted to smell him but I kept a safe distance. I traced his lips with my eyes. When he kissed me on the cheek, I yearned to inch my mouth closer to his lips. There were many platonic touches in between. Platonic gestures that felt so intense for me. What is wrong with me? Am I seeking carnal satisfaction through little things? Perhaps. It’s much safer than releasing oxytocin by fucking another unavailable man. My vibrator and index finger can only do so much. I am allowed to fantasize.
He admires my choice to be celibate but doesn’t mind breaking the seal if I ever change my mind. How silly is that? You can’t congratulate me and dangle that proposition at the same time. He finds my celibacy sexy and I find it sexy that he thinks it’s sexy. Men love to hunt–to grasp the unattainable. If I would have known this earlier, I would have been elusive, mysterious, and a complicated prey from the start.
I did have a free love mentality. I do regret some aspects of my promiscuity. I used it at times for a substitution for love, lust, revenge, a relationship, escape, pity, fun, etc. Now that I’m 30, I don’t want it to substitute anything that it does not represent.