Monday, November 24, 2008

the 6th sense

Okay. The feedback that I’ve received from my last blog is that I should have went for mines, gone in, got me some, went in…or whatever apt, colorful phrase you could think of. On the one hand, I am a gentleman with gentlemanly ways. But on the other hand, I’m a man, dammit. So don’t, for one minute, think that I didn’t want to go for mines, go in and get me some. The very basis of animal attraction dictates that I should have that desire (And I did mainly because I’m a man, dammit.). But what separates man from beast is our brain and ability to think. That, and the fact that we have rooms and receptacles equipped with plumbing designated for relieving our bowels.

“When a man gets a hard on, you know where the blood comes from, right? His head and his feet. So A, he’s stupid and B, he can’t run.”

- ‘Savon Garrison’, Love Jones

Over the years, through trial and error, I’ve kinda worked on honing my senses. Hindsight is 20/20 and to be honest, I don’t have the time for it all. I figure I’ve done and been through enough to fill a small pocket handbook of the do’s and don’ts of life. Now, what I choose to do with the pertinent information contained in those pages is solely up to me.

For example, Chapter Three: Be Cool tells me to weather through the storm (a.k.a. the whirlwind of emotions) of the initial connection. There is SO much involved in the beginning. You have to let it die down before you can see.

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way”

- Johnny Nash

At the same time, we (and when I say we, I refer to all men) are all human and more than likely, have gotten caught up. For me to say that I haven’t or even attempt to give you the impression that I never have would be a disservice to you all and the point of my writing. Hell, I could get caught up tomorrow. Anything is possible.

I didn’t always write about things that I’ve been through. But I did do a decent job of remembering with adequate detail, my accomplishments and my mistakes.

If any of what I’m about to tell you all can apply to women then, by all means, tell me…because I’m curious. I’ll always want to learn from women.

Lately, I’ve been making a conscious effort to discern the difference between all the different levels of excitement…for a lack of a better word. For me…now…there’s a difference between the rush I get from driving in excess of 100 miles per hr and the rush I get from an attractive woman in my presence revealing her “self” for the first time to me in the most intimate of moments. Five, six, seven plus years ago? No difference. It was just heart pounding and deep breathing across the board. I recognize the similarity between waiting for her to pick up the phone when I make that first, crucially important phone call and waiting to see her reaction when I surprise her with something. Then there’s the difference between lust and intense infatuation and deep desire. I wish I could actually describe these things but I can’t. For one, I’m not that good and two, everyone is different.

Now back to my situation…

I knew exactly what I was feeling. It took about a minute but I successfully settled into Chapter Three and got my wits about me. The first time I visited, I stayed the night. The second time, I stayed the night and awoke to her laying next to me in her t-shirt and panties. I tend to play things down and told myself that it was natural for someone to get too hot in the middle of the night and uncover themselves. That’s what I told myself when I went to bathroom. I didn’t have an explanation for when I came out and found her ironing in the same (very short) t-shirt and panties. I mean, I stared for a few seconds and still, nothing came to me. Not an explanation, anyway.

Moving on…

In a perfect world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman, give her something incredible to reminisce about during the week that lies ahead and not have a reason to think about the repercussions of feelings, wrong impressions and attachment. But, I’m not Hank Moody. No, in my world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman and be stopped dead in my tracks with explicit instructions to point my thing elsewhere or I can bring us to the point of speechlessness, shortness of breath and ultimate exertion only to be told afterwards that she doesn’t “just sleep around” so naturally, she thought [you fill in the rest].

With that said, I feel like I have to think beyond it all. And since I don’t see it coming, I miss the opportunity to devote thought to it in advance. Instead, I’m in the starters block, poised and ready to go…but essentially blindfolded until the gun goes off. It’s either a straight 100 meter dash or it’s the 110 meter hurdles…and we’ve all seen that hurdles can be a btch to clear.

It’s become increasingly difficult to argue the point made by my boys (and some women, mind you) that I’m grown and any woman that I’m dealing with is grown as well…so they know full well what’s going on when it’s going on. That’s absolutely true. As long as there isn’t any leading on then I’m good to go. Right?

Thursday, November 13, 2008

the love below

I was cool with this one chick. I didn't know her well enough to say anything on the contrary of her being cool. We hung out one time months before the story I'm telling you now. We got a bite to eat. Got some drinks. Had conversation. Exchanged background info and chuckled and laughed all the while. Good times. From that time to this story we ran into each other at the gym at least once a week. Nothing different happened from my perspective that could explain a change in the course of events so any insight on that would have to come from her. What I do know is I got a text from her asking if I wanted to come by her spot and watch this documentary on TV once I left the gym. I accepted the invite and asked her if there was anything I should bring. She suggested a bottle of wine. Cool was the response I gave but nervousness was the feeling once we disconnected. Not because I was going over her place, but because I didn't know anything about picking wines. (Hell, I don't really know much more now than I did then.)

Anyone that knows me, may or may not be aware that I tend to play things down in regards to 'matters of the heart'. And it for that very reason that when I ended up staying the night (per her suggestion since it was very late) I assumed I was going to crash on the couch. And it was still for that same reason that when I ended up laying in her bed (again, per her suggestion), it never crossed my mind that something would 'go down' (no pun intended).

Now, as I write this, I have to ponder on the possibility that maybe she was really clever with hers. Before I got into the bed with her, she insisted that I remove my shorts and shirt because I wore them to the gym and that would be unsanitary. So…yours truly was in his boxers while she lay in her tank top and shorts. I know...I know. She had me stripped down to my essentials like she was running things. What did I do? Uh…nothing.

Me and her. We were cool. There weren't enough 'signs' for me to even think about making a move. Was I going to show her that I only had sex on my mind and was incapable of laying besides an attractive woman without making a pass at her? Absolutely not.

Fast forward.

A week and some goes by. She's at my place. We're watching 'Breakin'' commenting on the homo-erotic undertone of the movie. We're drinking wine again. Buggin' out. Pointing out different things. The combination of the libations and the long week had her knocked…out. The tables turn and she's staying the night (per my invitation). I tell her it's time for to get in the bed. She feigns reluctance, albeit unconvincingly. I give her a shirt to change into, leave the room to put things away and turn things off. I get back and she's already found her way under the covers…fast asleep. Ten minutes later, I find myself following suit.

Skip ahead a couple of hours and we're at the part where I wake up from her backing herself into me slightly. As fast as I open my eyes, I close them. Move ahead some more and she's done it again but with emphasis. A certain level of comfort has been reached now so I put my hand on her waist/hip area. My eyes stay open this time because she's pantyless. Yes, sans cullote.

Now, I'm confused, shocked, puzzled and yes…a little flustered. I'm lying. A LOT flustered. She, up against me. Shirt, up around her waist. And as a result, I was up too. (I'm a man, dammit. Don't judge me.)

"Maybe I'll just roll over and lay on her booty. Yeah. Naw naw naw. Now just lay here and be cool, Ice Cold."

Andre 3000 - Where are my Panties? from The Love Below.

Long story made slightly shorter. I didn't come on to her. Not because she scared the sht out of me when she woke up that morning and immediately asked (with a serious tone) where her panties were. She thought it was funny. I didn't. Not at first. 10 minutes later? Maybe. I didn't make that move because my sixth sense advised against it.


Yes, men have a sixth sense when it comes to you all. I'll explain next time…