Older Man #3
The low moans of the pipe organ vibrate through the small, humid sanctuary.
“You are welcome inside this place. This morning we have a special musical guest.”
The man begins to croon, to sing from somewhere deeper than I am accustomed to on Sunday mornings.
“My body is a sanctuary….”
He closes his eyes and whispers harmonic expressions of ecstasy.
“My eyes are stained glass…. my heart is an altar…. my body is a sanctuary”
I can’t help but wonder what his more nerve-crowded appendage is… the pious worshipper? The obligatory visitor? The timid and curious passerby? The boisterous zealot? The casual drop-in? The succumber to guilt?
“My body is…”
A quick glance. One pew ahead, three scoots to the left. He is there and glancing. Is his mind wandering into any arched entrances?
The voice stops in the awkward silence of souls who secretly yearn to dive between sheets and explore other sanctuaries. Religious, faithful passion is too deeply intertwined with lust to speak of the body within these walls.
He approaches with more confidence this week. Meet and greet.
That same eager handshake, brightened smile, uncomfortable and unsure lingering. Waiting for a conversation to manifest itself but to frightened to do the conjuring. I am tiring of this game and my interest is fading.
This is not the one of my fantasies. This is not the one I will make quiver.
This is not him.
I have a visitor this afternoon. The only true visitor of this sacred place.
Exes
Safety nets.
Scabbed over scrapes on knobby knees.
Midnight munchies.
Illegal substances.
Favorite old pair of sneakers.
High calorie comfort food.
Not getting enough attention, feeling self-conscious, feel like being bad, feel like playing with people.
Only when it’s dark out. Only when it’s time for aching parts to find their counterparts. Only when he’s not here to share my bed.
Only when we’re exes.
Interludes with the Boss
When I interviewed with him, I was immediately attracted. Mid-40s, partner at a law firm, the winning smile of a high school quarterback. Impossible to resist.
I immediately embraced the roll of new, young law clerk. Pencil skirts and pumps. Fuck me glasses. As weeks went by all interactions were strictly platonic.
Except for once. The office was deserted, we were the only ones left. I quickly left his office to pull a file, eager to go home. “I’ll be right back with that file for you.” As I breeze into his office, door wide open, my eyes focus on unmistakable images on the humming computer screen. His back turned to me, I clear my throat, burning a whole with my eyes in the file in my hands. I feel my fair skin tingle, flushed and embarrassed. My eyes quickly glance at his lap, a reflex. Everything’s zipped and hidden. I’m strangely dissappointed. I’ve forgotten why I’m there, what I was going to say.
“The document… client’s… I found the brief, phone number. Here’s that file so I’m going to head out, see you Monday. Bye!” I grab my coat and purse as I rush out of the office and into my car, where I can’t help but burst out in laughter. I’m strangely exhilerated.
We recoverd, awkwardness only lingered for a day or two. And then…
Today.
“Come here and take a look at what I want you to work on.” He waves me behind his desk. To that screen. I stand in new territory, uncomfortable but my interest piqued. I’ve done this before, this task he’s assigned me. I don’t need a show and tell and he knows that.
He pulls up documents, scrolls through them. I’ve seen all this before. Minimizes one to pull up another, and there on his screen… “Want to bring sexy back? How to re-introduce intimacy…” That’s all I could read before more legalese swoops across the screen. Three times. He knows I can see the online brochure, he knows I’m right behind him staring over his shoulder. Just like he knew I was coming right back last time.
It occurs to me. He wants this. He wants me to see this. I stay in his office for thirty minutes, pretending to question him on the background of a certain case – I know what he wants. I play the innocent naive law student, begging to share his knowledge. I play with the pen in my hands, roll it across my lips as I giggle at his jokes, tap it on my collar bone.
Perhaps that older man fantasy has landed right in my lap.
I’m interested to see where this goes.
Older Man #2
Another Sunday, only different. She’s in town this weekend. She’s with me. The model, actress… tall, leggy blonde. Conventional jaw-dropper. We shuffle into my pew, running a little late. I glance around and he’s not there. Strange.
The warmhearted voice of love and peace welcomes all and makes announcements. Egg hunt next week, etc, etc.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a familiar figure edging along the aisles, coming in this direction. I don’t have to look. I know.
“And now if you will join me in prayer.” Eyes closed, head bowed. The suspense is killing me. Where will he be when I open my eyes?
One pew ahead, three scoots to the left. Closer than before. I peripherally catch him staring. At me? At her? I’m in high school again. I assume it is her. They always stare at her. I don’t want to look.
I look.
No, it’s me. We catch each others’ eyes. I wryly smile and glance down.
Later, during the sermon. He’s staring again, but I can tell without even looking it isn’t me this time. It’s definitely her. It was bound to happen. Perhaps I brought her with me as a kind of test, but it wasn’t very fair of me. All men are taught to melt for her kind of beauty from the day they are born. Tall leggy blonde always wins over the quirky red head.
My heart sinks.
Meet and greet. He doesn’t even approach. Doesn’t even look as though he wants to approach. Interesting he wouldn’t want to meet her. Intimidated maybe. They usually are. Only the assholes approach her. No conversation today.
We leave. I’m secretly dissappointed. He’ll probably think of her this week, wonder if I’ll bring her back. Oh well… maybe another one will step into the shoes of the older man fantasy. Another one will be the hands that gently guide me towards that final shutter and sigh as I fall into a deep sleep.
Muffled Moans
Shadows, corners, dark hidden places. Something about being wrong. Being bad. Draws me further down the rabbit hole. It’s become an addiction really, the darkness of it all. So much comes out in those moments, I feel more in those moments than any other. Guilt, rage, carnal desire, sadness, disgust, pride, excitement, fear, rebellion, satisfaction, hunger. So much feeling all at once. Highly addictive. Dangerously addictive.
And I’m craving it now more than ever. The cravings come and go, but when they come I’m like a cat in heat. I lock myself up and refuse to allow myself contact with any friend who might be made victim to my intense wanting.
Desparation. Flashes of scratching, biting, slapping, pulling hair, drawing blood…
My heart races.
But I’ve learned to control myself. I have a history of taking advantage of those who have made themselves vulnerable, exposed their innocent curiousities. I am a destroyer in these moments. I destroy attachments. They misunderstand my passion, assume it is something more than that single moment. And when I get what I want I walk away silently.
Without turning around or explaining myself. The phone rings. The message box fills up. The guilt sets in. Another number deleted. Another fire tamed until I neglectfully allow it to lose control again.
Again.
I’m ready for again.
I want to leave marks on somebody. On some unfamiliar body. Not his. Someone strange to me.
Earl Grey
I see my reflection in the cup….
Snow and chaos are one in the same here. Inside are frantic, nervous molecules bouncing off each other, contained in this small flourescent space which is surrounded by chilly clouded fluff.
Outside are vauge figures shrowded in silencing flakes. “Quit your complaining” mother nature says. Snow muffles the groans and gasps at the biting spats of wind across eyelashes.
I fog my reflection with a drop of milk and a drizzle of honey.
Inside now is silent and calm. The warm glow of one single dancing flame. The relaxing hum of the refrigerator, the only cold thing in this place. One solitary molecule, resting tired eyes, ears readjusting to quiet. No blanket of snow in here to turn the volume down.
I glance down. An empty teacup. Empty.
An empty apartment. An empty bed.
Grasp for the remote so meaningless shadows and murmurs can fill the spaces.
Soul Mate
Conversation over sushi.
Her friend: Do you think soulmates really do exist? Because I’m starting to think we just find what works the best and make due.
His friend: I think we trick ourselves into believing we’ve found a soulmate because we’re too in denial to admit we’re just settling.
Him: I’ve found my soulmate, but life just won’t allow us to be together.
Her heart sank 10,000 leagues under the sea. Her ears popped from the change in pressure. A cinder block of guilt was tied around her. Soulmate. No she was not his soulmate. He thinks she’s not with him because life won’t allow it. Because she’s committed and happy. The truth is, even if she were single she wouldn’t want to be with him. If only this summer hadn’t happened. If only she’d exercised some self-control. If only she didn’t cherish the way it felt when he stroked her ego. The reflection of herself in his eyes, that was all she came even close to loving about him. And now his soulmate. How disgustingly sad for him.
She shoved a rainbow roll in her mouth so she didn’t have to speak. The conversation turned by the time she swallowed. Soulmate. She excused herself, went outside, and called hers. He didn’t know he was there.
Older Man #1
In church, two pews forward, a couple scoots to the left. There he was. Quick glance at his left hand as he brushes something off his shoulder. No ring. Exactly what she’d craved since that silly tv show. She’d never thought about it before, other than the cliche professor fantasy in college. An older man. A man. At least thirty, preferrably closer to 40. Grey. At least some. Settled, employed, professional, but vulnerable. A father figure. In church. How appropriate.
Eye contact, glances. Nothing more than that. For months. A handshake during the meet and greet, but always that eye contact. She caught him looking the third week she came. Barely. It wasn’t a casual glance. There was something there – curiousity? He lingered just enough to throw some kindle on her growing interest. Alone. He is always alone. Who does he remind her of? From a movie… American Beauty! Kevin Spacey’s character. In his eyes, that same insecurity and curiousity.
Nothing more than eye contact and lingering glances for months. Over 6 now.
An unseasonably warm Sunday in February. Up to 75 in bipolar St.Louis. Something in the air. Something different about him today. The glance. He notices I’m here. Meet and greet… the handshake lingers. He lingers, stands there awkwardly after “Good Morning, nice to see you.” He wants to say something. I want him to say something. I want to be bold but I don’t want to scare him away, he’s always seemed a bit skiddish. Nothing. What a shame, I could’ve sworn I sensed something different today.
My eyes ache adjusting to the strangely bright warmth as I step outside. Someone is rushed behind me, so I shuffle to the side as I push aside receipts and used packs of gum in an attempt to find my keys in the oversized white hobo bag. Expecting a shoulder to brush past me I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me. “Enjoying the nice weather today?” I turn. Smile. I knew I sensed something different. “Yes, but the weather here can be such a tease. It’s supposed to snow tomorrow.” I use the word “tease” on purpose. A naughty word for the church steps. I hope he notices the inuendo. Nothing too obvious, just enough for him to wonder. Not another word. We walk. Awkwardly. I’m one step ahead, he lingers one step behind. Our paths diverge. I say “Enjoy the day” he smiles “you too.” Strange how I could feel that change coming. We’ve made progress. That was almost a conversation.
In my car I notice in my mirror that he is turning at the stop sign. My direction. I pull out. He is right behind me. Again. He knows it’s me. My windows are down. He stays behind me. I see a coffee shop… wonder. We’ll see. I pull to the right and park in front. He drives past, but taps his break lights. He considered it. I hope he thinks about me for the next 6 days.
