I’ve taken to calling him ‘holy-fuck-beautiful-eyes’ (in honour of the fabulously articulate email I sent him on a whim), which is the worst nickname EVER but it makes me smile every time I use it.
He’s not a match for me (he agrees with this), and I am unlikely to meet him (I’ve told him this), and yet, there is that elusive ‘something’ there that draws me in and I love it and I hate it.
He’s local, a little younger than me, a singer, a writer, a film maker, a hippy environmentalist with longish curly hair and holy fuck, those eyes; pale clear blue, piercing, hypnotic. A gorgeous face photographed in a few different ways, but in his main photo, he is wearing a cheeky half-smirk. He’s 6’5, in a wheelchair.
I don’t even know him, our emails have been largely superficial, but there’s that something, that elusive thing. He feels it also.
He writes, “…I can tune into you. It’s not that hard to do. There is already a connection.”
Why isn’t he a match? He’s not submissive. Which is enough. Been there, done that, and there’s a reason I seek out submissive men. But added to that, there’s the fact that he would like to have kids, and his idea of a fun night out sounds completely hellish to me. Fundamental incompatibilities.
And yet, he is taking up this head space, swimming around in there, trying to find purchase. He would be happy to explore this just to see what it is. I’m tempted. Sorely tempted. But I don’t do casual well: it seems like a fine idea on the surface, but it generally ends up making me feel some combination of hurt/bad/sad/lonely, and for me, it’s just not worth it.
What I would like, though, is to meet him and not talk. Meet, go to his place, undress each other, lie in bed, and see how this strange connection translates into touch. I like the thought of him blindfolded, but more than I want the blindfold, I want to look into those holy-fuck-beautiful-eyes.
Stroking, petting, kissing: yes.
Talking, fucking, orgasms: no.
I wonder if he’d go for that.