I have discovered something new. Late night chatting conjures up different meanings depending on the reader and what they desire as the clock strikes twelve. For some, it is harmless banter while for others it is only one thing - an invite to fuck.
I … never … knew.
Let me illustrate.
A long time ago, I met a man who I was quite smitten by. He played the keyboard with long elegant fingers, spoke Spanish with luscious lips and passionately debated gender rights with darting, intense dark eyes. He is also likely to read this very post so I suspect his ego has now burst.
I was caught in the world of a crush. I did what any sane woman would do. I Facebook stalked him. His girlfriend was the most gorgeous beast I had ever seen. She blew his beauty out of the water. Golden skin and flowing blonde locks, crisp green glinting eyes, a smile to die for and a PhD being completed. Oh sigh! Here was brilliance and beauty that was well and truly beyond me.
As with most of the amazing, beautiful men I meet, he left the country. Through the grapevine, I heard he was in Latin America, teaching impoverished children English and playing in a funk band. He was single, sharing his brooding dark looks and sexual intensity with the female latino population. Lucky lasses.
A little while ago he returned suddenly to Melbourne and we started chatting online. Late at night when I was about to go to bed I would flick him a ‘hey, hows it goin’ via the facebook chatbox. I thought it pretty harmless. I was misled.
The Crush: ‘So I guess you want to sleep with me?’
Sierra: ‘Im sorry??’
The Crush: ‘All these late night messages are a clear indication that you are interested in something physical. Why else would you contact me at night?’
What??.... What?? .. What??
I clarified it for him. I was merely being friendly. Where was the misinterpretation? He apologised and the conversation halted. A night or two later he was back, this time with some game tactics in play.
The Crush: ‘I am an excellent lover’
Sierra: ‘That is all very well but…’
The Crush: ‘I am willing to satisfy for hours’.
A vision of those luscious lips and elegant fingers lept into my mind.
(Sierra pauses, contemplates, bites her lip)
He described the love making tactics he would use on me, to put me at ease, to make me feel like a goddess. He started describing his anatomy … in detail .. and even considered sending a photographic examination to prove his point. (Sadly the evidence never arrived. I would have opened it out of curiosity).
(Sierra rejects the offer)
Now, I know what you are thinking, ladies. Sierra, have you lost your mind! How can you be rejecting this brilliant, luscious Romeo who is willing to satisfy your every wish? All around this city, the rest of the female race are starving of men and here you are sacrificing a juicy-chunk-of-meat man while they all try and make the most of limp-green-bean boys?
But ladies, I just can’t pre-plan a sexual advance via the internet. Sure, I can chat about common interests. Yes, I can organise a date. But defining and detailing the way two lovers’ bodies will intermingle. Well, this is beyond me.
Dear man of oh-sweet-longing, I have to let you slide.
A formulated fuck is not the luck that I want to transpire.
It saddens me to let you go but let you go I must.
I can not pre-plan the way my lips will kiss, the way my hips will thrust.
You may be oh-so-perfect.
Dark, daring, dashing.
But I shall be saving all my loving days.
For an unexpected act of passion.
Until next time,