Desire and Despair

Desire and Despair

Desire and Despair

She didn’t look that sexy, pretty yes, but not that extra something that would tell me how she would be in the sack.  But we walked along the Art Walk, occasionally stopping into look at and comment on the exhibits on display.  She wasn’t one of those women who can’t stop talking.  I was grateful.  I never know what to say to women like that. Not that it would matter, really. But she was not like that.  She was quiet.

What am I doing with this guy? A few weeks ago, a friend had introduced us at a gallery opening and I found him informative and charming.  Earlier today, I had met him to discuss a project I wanted to do. His tech skills would be crucial to how this project played out.  We had a fun lunch and had a few moments where we talked about ourselves.   A kind man, with soft eyes and an earthy touch.

Later, he e-mailed me about an event he was going to that night…an Art Walk.  I thought it was an invitation.  I say “thought” because now I am walking with him, I am not quite sure.

“Are you hungry?” he asks me.

What do I say?  Yes and we are then obliged to stop, go into one of the many restaurants we have passed and sit together and eat for another hour?  He doesn’t seem like he really wants me with him.  Does he?

“Well, not really, I could eat but I am not starving.” I suggest. Is that equivocated enough?  Does that leave him wiggle room?

“I’m not hungry either, I ate earlier.”  Ok.  And he is looking at the street map for the next block for us to peruse.  Questions answered.

I am wondering why I asked her to join me on this Art Walk.  Just impulsive attraction but no real desire? We pass a cat being fed and a big dog that I reach to pet and I ask her if she likes animals.  She says she has no affinity for them.  How can anyone not like animals?

“But if I had to choose, I would prefer a dog over a cat.”  She’s trying to redeem herself.  I talk about the dog I am taking care of for a friend.  She seems to enjoy the story.  She doesn’t give me much. Maybe she thinks this is a date?
Then as I pass our reflection in a store window, I notice how long her legs look. Umm…

Where is he coming from? This whole art walk is, at best, disappointing.  The artwork is mediocre and yet he is more interested in it than me.  We pass an exhibit where they are passing out red roses to the ladies.  He asks if I want one.  I am stymied.
“No thanks.  I don’t want to carry it.” I mumble as we continue to walk.  What was I supposed to say? Yes?  And then what does that mean?  

She is hard to read.  Most women would love a rose.  She seems so shy with me now.  I wonder if I should say something.  Somehow make it clear that this is not a date. But, then she smiles at me…she likes me. I stop walking so fast to give her time to catch up with me. I turn to her.  She really is quite pretty.

“Sophia, I am sorry that I keep moving so fast but I have this need to see it all.  So I move quickly.”  She is smiling again…

“It’s ok. I am shorter than you and you take longer strides.  And I don’t mind being the side car right now.”


Did I just say that?  How old am I right now?  I am in high school all over again.  Damn.

He smiles back at me and we make contact for the first time tonight. Maybe there is something there, maybe he is attracted to me….

I can hardly return his look and yet I want to….somehow, I know he knows that and he holds me in his look for a few more seconds before turning back to the street.

Now what am I supposed to do?  Is this turning in to a date?  Or am I so needy that I will take a tiny tender moment and interpret it as epic desire.  We continue to walk at break neck speed.  I continue to try and stay next to him as the crowds and the animals navigate all around us.

The sky is slowly shifting into its many shades of shining blue to deep blue.  Sophia and I are on a shuttle to the next stop. The woman on the other side of me is flirting with me.  I play along, it’s just fun.  Sophia is quiet.

Maybe if I looked at him the way she does, that would turn this around.  But do I want to make this date?  I am not sure anymore. Other than that one moment where he actually looked at me, smiling at me, he has been marginally attentive, at best.

I can’t stand this. I am going to take action. No matter what happens.  If he isn’t going to take charge than I will have to.

We are off that shuttle and walking along the perimeter of a festive makeshift beer garden.  It is getting late. It is now or never.

“Hey, isn’t this about to close down in 20 minutes?”  I hint to him.

“I think they are open later tonight.  Did you want to go home?” He asks me.

I continue walking with him and wonder if I do want to go home.  I definitely want to go home if this is what the rest of the night is going to be like.  It’s now or never.

“Can we stop just for a minute?  I want to ask you something and it is hard to do while we are walking so fast.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Lawrence, this has been fun and I enjoy spending the time with you. But I am feeling like there is something that I am missing here.  Do you have that sense?”

He looks at me with a question mark on his face.  I just continue smiling at him, looking directly at his eyes except for the occasional look to his mouth.  I vow not to say a word until he responds.  I am not making this easy for him…or me.

His quizzical look drifts a bit to my mouth and then he, while still looking at my eyes, reaches for my hand.  He takes it and kisses it, he takes the kissed hand and pulls it around his waist and then rests his other arm on my shoulder, pointing both of our bodies in the direction of the beer garden.

I don’t know how I did this but I stopped him for a moment and reached for his face with my free hand. I sensually ran my fingers over his lips. He automatically closed his eyes and leaned his head back ever so slightly.

After a few seconds of looking at each other, I pushed forward into the crowd.  The next step was his….


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Categories: Quickies, Romance

Sophia L

Wonderfully surprising, terribly concerned and overwhelmingly grateful.

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