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It was brought to my attention a few times that my previous post is a bit sensual.

That isn't the impression I was trying to give, although now I know I can successfully continue my path towards erotica fiction, my ultimate dream!

I suppose I was trying, in a way, to show my emotions for someone who I find to be extraordinary, but who is also completely and totally unattainable, as are most of the men who I find to be swoon-worthy in this city. Every man who has unknowingly won me over is at least 31 and engaged.

But they are also always successful (this doesn't mean wealthy), motivated, driven people. They are intelligent and well-spoken. They make me laugh. They knew what they wanted out of life and they went after it. They are also involved in engagements, which one, a certain Mr. Killa, as he will be called, is obviously not too committed. What business is that of mine, anyway? As long as you're just flirting, then running out in a frenzy and never looking my direction again, you're in the safe, Mr. Killa. But thanks for leading me on, asking me to drinks twice and playing some mean games of footsie and eye-sex. It was fun while it lasted.

I guess what I was primarily trying to get across in the previous post is the placebo of human touch. How everyone needs someone to rub their back, let them release without judgment and offer them false motivation with their hands or voice in order to make them feel better. This doesn't mean that his words are lies. It means his medicine is not real. He uses his touch, his hands, to help others. Human touch is extremely powerful, and most of us don't even understand the effect it can have on the mind.

This all sounds a bit bizarre, and maybe it is, but I just wanted to get a few things across. I am not having an affair with my chiropractor. I am not picturing him undressing me as he cracks my back in three different places, and I am certainly not acting on any comment or touch that is discreetly (or indiscreetly) made. And that is that.

So now, let me rant for a minute about the kind of men that are attainable for me. The kind of men who have shown an interest and failed miserably to sweep me off my feet. Two, to be specific, recently.

First, let's discuss BSD. This is how he will be known, for a specific reason which some of you will understand, some of you won't. But for the sake of his privacy and feelings, which I do care about, he will be left anonymous.
BSD strolled into my life one rainy New York evening. I was out with biffles Brittany and Jenny. We attended a birthday party for a girl we don't know at a sports bar near Union Square. The bar had a dress code, we had a fifth of rum which we were shooting in the bathroom. Classy gals, we are. Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do in this city to survive, it's just the way it works.
I digress.
Once back in home sweet Brooklyn, me and Brittany said our adieu's and part ways, as she needed to get back to the Southside, and I needed to bypass Polish judgement in Greenpoint before it got too late. I decided to wait on the bus this particular evening, as it was raining and I had, at this point, swiveled down one-too-many shots of cheap, knock off Captain Morgan. And you thought college were the glory days...
Again, I digress.
As I reached into my gigantic bag, a staple of life here, I grabbed my Marlboro Lights and fished around for my lighter. I'm willing to bet it was green but let's not place bets here. I hear someone to my left, "You waiting for the bus?" I look over, smile and nod.
"Yes, obviously I am waiting for the bus, here at the bus stop, sir." Let's be honest, I didn't say this, but I thought it with a vengeance.
I'm not going to drag this out in detail any longer than I must. We had a nice conversation for about 30 minutes (the bus was really late that night, surprise surprise), shared a couple of cigarettes and jokes. We exchanged numbers, and he offered to walk me home in the rain quite a few times. He seemed nice enough, he was pretty funny albeit obviously nervous, and I gave him props for approaching someone he was attracted to, by himself, not in a bar.
The bus finally arrived, and as I stepped up to swipe my metrocard, he asked if he could kiss me.
Of course, I said no, gave him a hug, and said he could call me if he wanted.
He didn't call.
So, I called him. And he came to the bar I frequent, and I had a couple of friends with me as back-up. One gave me the thumbs up, the other gave me a partial thumb but, to be quite honest, her opinion matters to me less than the 2 foot rat which I'm watching scampering around my backyard. Needless to say, her track record is less than flawless.
I'm going to speed things up and bit and just say, he tried to kiss me that night, I said no. Understandable, as I was sandwiched between him and at least 100 other bar-goers who happen to enjoy karaoke Wednesdays at Matchless just as much as myself.
He also tried to kiss me the third time we hung out, sans bar and sans friends (who all met him at this pointand all loved him) and again I said no. This time, I don't know why, and it ended up being the demise of me and BSD.

The funny thing is, I did like him. And I still think about him, a month later. Post his month-long European tour with his band, post his repeatedly texting me that he was going to call, and not following through, post my wishy-washy "he's a shrimp with no goals other than guitar... but he makes me laugh" mentatlity, which I believe is what kept me from the kiss.

It's funny how we constantly complain about what we don't have. We loathe in our turmoil and become bitter, stating that it's their fault it didn't work out. "He didn't call me when he said he would." was my ultimate reason for being "so over him." But that doesn't explain why I still hope to run into him every time I go out. It doesn't explain why every time my phone beeps, alarming me of an incoming text, I get my hopes up that maybe it'll be him, wanting to buy me dinner, or just wanting to hang out. I let my insecurites with myself get in the way of letting him like me, and for the second time in my life (and hopefully the last), I sincerely regret it.

I guess it's true, when you can have him, you don't want him, and when he's gone, it consumes you...you need him for the first time, and he doesn't need you.

I'm saving boy #2, who will be known as JT, for another posting... obviously, this has gone on long enough, and I must keep you on your toes.

xxM