So, About Last Night...
Last night my leg rested against hers. I sat down next to her. Our legs met. And stayed. Was it purposeful? Any of it? Did I intend for my leg to rest against hers? We could probably argue that yes, yes I did, though the action - the sitting, the resting against - wasn't planned. It happened. Happenstance. Kismet, luck perhaps.
The greater consideration, from where I sit at least, is her leg. When my leg came to rest against it - ever so gently, I might add - she didn't move. Not an inch. In either direction. I think that's important to note (if one tends to overthink as I do). She neither leaned in nor did she move away. She simply let it be.
Did she not notice the magnetism and electricity between us? That part could certainly have been all me, given my vast imagination. And then there's the whole wishful thinking thing that I am insanely good at. Because...well, because...let's just leave it right there before plausible deniability ends up in a messy pile on the floor. The part of me that's unabashedly realistic knows (KNOWS!) that she has zero recollection of me even sitting down next to her. At all. I'm quite certain of what I bring...and women (especially straight women) noticing me ain't it.
Or.....
Did she not move because she felt everything I felt? And like me, didn't want to press the point - make obvious the point - that our bodies were finally touching. And she liked it. To lean in would have given away a myriad of secrets, acknowledged perhaps too much. I was content with the merest of touches. Her leg, my leg - our legs - resting against each other. So simple and nearly (possibly?) unnoticeable, and yet...perhaps...maybe a sliver of a beginning.
~
Ok, ok... I know. I wrote about involvement with married women (Right. She's not just straight. She's married. I might have omitted that part above) and PTSD a couple months back (a nifty little blog post called "A Mere 18 Pages"). The great thing about putting even your most embarrassing private thoughts in writing and posting them in a blog is that those words never die. Ever. You can't suck them back in or deny them. Because they're out there. Forever. Unless the whole Internet shuts down.
"Today, though, the thought of adultery - being with a married woman - brings it all back, makes it all real again. It's been four and a half years. Almost half a decade. Maybe that's my karma. Maybe that PSTD-like feeling means I'll never do it again."
Look, I don't want her to be married. Jesus, it's not like I sought this out consciously. I would love it if she was unmarried and not straight. And interested. In me. Probably just in theory, though. Because fuck, the idea that I might actually have to pursue something - someone - scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Because if she's married, I can fall back on my "rules."
The greater consideration, from where I sit at least, is her leg. When my leg came to rest against it - ever so gently, I might add - she didn't move. Not an inch. In either direction. I think that's important to note (if one tends to overthink as I do). She neither leaned in nor did she move away. She simply let it be.
Did she not notice the magnetism and electricity between us? That part could certainly have been all me, given my vast imagination. And then there's the whole wishful thinking thing that I am insanely good at. Because...well, because...let's just leave it right there before plausible deniability ends up in a messy pile on the floor. The part of me that's unabashedly realistic knows (KNOWS!) that she has zero recollection of me even sitting down next to her. At all. I'm quite certain of what I bring...and women (especially straight women) noticing me ain't it.
Or.....
Did she not move because she felt everything I felt? And like me, didn't want to press the point - make obvious the point - that our bodies were finally touching. And she liked it. To lean in would have given away a myriad of secrets, acknowledged perhaps too much. I was content with the merest of touches. Her leg, my leg - our legs - resting against each other. So simple and nearly (possibly?) unnoticeable, and yet...perhaps...maybe a sliver of a beginning.
~
Ok, ok... I know. I wrote about involvement with married women (Right. She's not just straight. She's married. I might have omitted that part above) and PTSD a couple months back (a nifty little blog post called "A Mere 18 Pages"). The great thing about putting even your most embarrassing private thoughts in writing and posting them in a blog is that those words never die. Ever. You can't suck them back in or deny them. Because they're out there. Forever. Unless the whole Internet shuts down.
"Today, though, the thought of adultery - being with a married woman - brings it all back, makes it all real again. It's been four and a half years. Almost half a decade. Maybe that's my karma. Maybe that PSTD-like feeling means I'll never do it again."
Look, I don't want her to be married. Jesus, it's not like I sought this out consciously. I would love it if she was unmarried and not straight. And interested. In me. Probably just in theory, though. Because fuck, the idea that I might actually have to pursue something - someone - scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Because if she's married, I can fall back on my "rules."
- Rule 1: She has to pursue me because I do not (openly) pursue married women.
- Rule 2: She has to make the first first move. See Rule #1.
If she was gay and single, I'd have to pursue her and more than likely have to make the first move What's the issue with that? I don't have the foggiest idea how to do any of that. I can't recall ever pursuing anyone (married, single, straight, lesbian). Not that I'm trying to toot my own horn, so to speak. I've spent the majority of my adult life single for a reason. For that exact reason. Historically, I've tended to bury myself in unattainable women who I will never pursue (see rules above) and who will never pursue me. Luckily, I enjoy own company immensely.
~
So, about last night... I didn't make the first move, if that's what you're thinking. I sat down. Period. My leg just so happened to rest against hers. In my defense, the space I had to squeeze myself into to sit next to her was kind of small. So small our legs resting against each other was nearly inevitable if I was going to sit next to her. Oh wait...
I see what you mean. There actually were other places to sit or stand. I didn't have to sit right next to her in a place so small that touching each other was bound to happen. She planned it that way? Nope. She had no idea I'd be joining the conversation. She sat where she sat. I did the squeezing and initiated the touching. Depending on how you do the math, I broke both my rules last night. Fuck.
But Jesus, it was nice. In a small and potentially creepy way. I realize this, all of this. Which is why I have rules. That I usually follow. Most of the time. Historically anyway. Being a lesbian in the straight world ain't as easy as it looks, folks.
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