Taut wire

Strange days. How did Adam flee and where did he go when I woke up that morning and heard the melancholy Charlie Brown Christmas song? I have no idea, but he hasn't come back in full since. He visited once. But now it seems I'm back to the standard firey buzz that fills my body, instead of the manic rage of Adam.

I felt it yesterday after our travels for the final school project. I woke late and couldn't concentrate. My dreams waking me with cravings in my Cookie Monster underwear.

Before moving to Paris, I remember hearing "Whole Wide World" by Wreckless Eric (featured in "Stranger Than Fiction") and thinking that I'd find my Daddy Dom here. I'd find a man who wanted me in my Cookie Monster undies, crawling on the floor, eating out of a dog bowl, getting spanked and fucked from behind as my face pressed against the hardwood floor. This has not realized itself. Not for lack of trying either. I'm not complaining for the lack of adventure and fun, because I've definitely had moments of elation and pieces of that dream. But I truly thought I'd find a more whole package in Paris. Land of lights, home of sex, streets of dirty Henry.

And, so, for the past couple of months I've felt odd. Out of sorts. Unattractive, confused, finding bits with one person but feeling loss throughout.

But the intense feelings come back. I don't feel as stably strong and magnetic, but I feel as I have before, like a taut wire ready to explode with any touch. This does not help when going for a late afternoon tea with a man who wears a purity ring and says "Praise God" as he ends his sentences. A gorgeous fucking man with perfectly white teeth and slight tan, muscular legs through his pants, and a generous demeanor. I met him last fall as he came to attend the student conference I put on. During my manic running around while I was managing the event, he came up (1 of like 120 students) and stood inches from me and wanted to talk. Something about the "me" then... I had such enormous confidence from the eagle eye focus I had on the conference planning. It must have emanated out of me like a siren's magic call from the sea.

This time we were meeting to discuss a project spawning from the conference. He was in town from his school in Asia. I met him at a cafe and we decided to head to another for tea. He grabbed my arm to direct me across the street and, in my mind, I turned him, mid-street and started making on him. In realizing that my hormones are on fire and in remembering how fucking hot this man is, I even tried to quell the explosions by masturbating before leaving the house. Still, as he grabbed my arm to lead me across the street I could tell this meeting was not going to be easy. He's a touchy-feely person and reached out to touch my shoulder in emphasis of something, would touch my hands across the table. And all I wanted to do was scream, "Stop touching me you freak tease!" Of course, he can do this. He's got the ring of god on his finger reminding him to behave and focus and thus, can take all the liberties in the world to rile up women all over. He's got "Praise God" on his lips so he can remind himself not to get a hardon, while I'm trying to stop twisting my hair around my finger in dumb passion. So, I finally had to cross my legs tightly under the table and withdraw my hands from his reach. It was just too much. A taut wire connected to a ton of dynamite. Touch me in even a nonchalant way and I'm ready to explode. Tear off your clothes, tear off mine, get on my knees and suck your cock til you stop thinking of baseball statistics in order to postpone cumming.

Trouble.

Easy enough, right? Just go call up one of the men in the black book. Ugh. The TV Producer told me he's dating someone, but maybe we could see each other next week. Somehow this would seem very wrong to me - not to mention torturous to my psyche. The Filmmaker is now more of a professional colleague than a sex partner. The rest all seem to not meet what I want. And what I don't want right now is a repeat. I'd rather someone new and closer to what I desire. Sigh. Cloistering myself up in the Rapunzel tower isn't helping, but I'm reaching tentacles out there. Delicious, sensuous signals. Sending tiny, pulsating satellites across the rooftops. Inching out bits of invitation to touch the wire, finger it, vibrate it, and hopefully someone will take the bait and trip it entirely.