moral laxity

After my improv class last week, a person who had been making lusty eyes at me asked me for my number and suggested that we go on a date. Let us call him Tattoos, because he has several visible tattoos, one of Africa on his left bicep, one of a dark undefined shape on his wrist, and the Arabesque names of his twin 8 year-old daughters on his neck. The last one is a warning sign that reads: carrier of hepatitis. I judge like this, I do.

I gave him my number, and avoided his "c u later" and ":-)" heavy text messages while Olympia and I were cycling slowly north over the weekend. He also texted during the week, and called me "sweetheart," and I avoided these also.

Last night he was at improv, and he continued to give me lusty eyes. (Also, the 24 year-old boy who wears shirts covered in Chinese characters and who brought Japanese chocolate snacks from an Asian mart to share with the class this week is giving my slanty eyes his googly eyes. My class, fifteen men and five women, is a heterosexual meat market. This is fascinating, flattering, gross, and totally hilarious! I'll write more about this at some later time.) After class, Tattoos walked me to my vehicle and stood off to the side as I strapped on my helmet, blinky lights, reflective pants-clinching slap anklet, and Kryponite chain.

We sat down for a few minutes on a sidewalk planter, and then he spoke at me for about ten minutes, saying things like, "I would make a really good boyfriend. I'm really sweet, but not clingy. I can be loving." I thought it was interesting how literal he was being. Why do people feel compelled to advertise themselves in this way?

Soon his literal descriptions turned physical, and he described how he was attracted to the way I looked, and then the physical actions he wanted his body to do to mine, etc. I found this all very distasteful, the lack of metaphor, of filter, of finesse, of understanding, and the obvious desire for sex. I think I am more conservative than I admit to being; maybe this explains why I am so uncomfortable when the limber Russian 20 year-old girl in my improv class announces to the to the fifteen salivating men watching her, "I love porn!", or how when the petite 21 year-old Northwestern junior tries to fill our improv vocalization scene with sexy "Ooohs," I respond with rooster and goat noises.

Tattoo kissed me, and then I stopped his roving hands from their exploration of the Great Plains. Something was happening to his face where his eyes got half-lidded and his jaw slackened. Seeing somebody else's lust when you don't feel the same way is somewhat repulsive, I have learned. Is it old-fashioned to want symmetry of desire? How'd I get to be so old and so unable to distinguish between experiences that are interesting to have and experiences that are good to have? Now I must find avoid his texts and looks for the last two weeks of my improv class.

Well, this is all TMI. The moral of this story is that I should spend more time reading.