Sitting on the porch, sharing a cigarette, and I made a decision that I couldn't. It was so nice, but I couldn't because of somebody else.
It's been about two years since that took place, and it still came to the front of my mind, the second I saw him...fresh out of the shower, standing in a towel. Not a good start.
There aren't people like him, out there. None that I know. It's such an injustice to society! He is the guy that opens doors for you, helps you with your coat, buys your drinks, holds your hand when you're crossing the street...he's a gentleman.
I knew it would happen. That i'd get the complete moral war inside my body. My mind always wins. It won two years ago, and it won again this weekend. Be sensible, because if you're not...bad things could come of it. Sensibility sucks.
And after a few drinks, he stands just a little too close, and puts his hands on you in a way that he probably shouldn't. Hands on my waist, while i'm standing there, and talking in my ear, from behind me. I ask him, sarcastically "Could you stand any closer?" and he presses up against my body. I can smell his cologne, and nothing else in my crowded environment.
On the way home, we're sitting in a cab, and he ends up pressed against me in the back seat. Hand on my leg, arm around me. We stop for food "after you" he says, as he holds the door. The strong wall is starting to crack. Many, many, many drinks i've had and it's becoming harder to remember why I can't, or even think about can or cannot anymore.
He holds my arm as we walk home, and I feel safe.
We sit on the couch together, legs entwined and talk about anything. It's easy and I feel better. No stress. We drink a beer. And then...somehow...we're lying down beside each other. His legs over one of mine, and his hand on my other knee. My hands rest on his arms, and I know i'm in trouble. I put my cold beer against his skin, and the biting starts. (What is it with me and biters?!)
I start to pull on the short sleeve of his shirt, as i'm internally fighting myself. It distracts me from the almost overpowering desire, to grab his hand, which is now rubbing my leg. and then my hands move that couple inches from his sleeve, to his bicep, and i've nothing left to distract me. I sit there and watch as he rubs my leg, until we both fall asleep. Saved by a boring movie!
I wake up with my hand still on his arm. He snores a little, and is impossible to wake, so I lay there helpless, as he's on my leg, and let him sleep. It makes me laugh. Finally I wake him. He mumbles something, nibbles my ear, then says "i'll be right back" (famous last words.) I feel disappointed when he doesn't return, though I know it's better.
In the morning, he comes out with a pair of gym shorts, a jacket and a hat, chest exposed. I don't understand, but it makes me laugh. Everything is back to how it should be, and I made it through.
But now I torture myself with thoughts of not controlling myself, and wonder how far does that go? How awful would that be?
It's funny. Two years ago, I couldn't because of somebody else, and even now, I can't because of somebody else. A conscience isn't a bad thing, but why do I have to be the one to have it? I'm always the one that does the right thing. You have no idea how hard it is...