My head is spinning. Left to right, I don’t know where to look first. I can tell you things that will redden your cheeks without even putting any effort into it, but when it comes to the single life (Oh it’s called the single life now, is it??), I’m the one who is hopelessly naive. When talking to my friends or colleagues about it, they start explaining things to me like they are talking to a 7 year old. And what’s worse, I am actually listening. Thing is you see, every kid went through all this in puberty. It’s as easy as tap water, but I am completely oblivious to it. And I’m not (only) talking about getting laid, either. Hell, just keeping your head straight without someone sweet enough to hold it for you all damn day, is proving hard enough.
Only making things more difficult, is that I have a disadvantage that they do not. I’m distracted. I still miss her too much. Way, too much. The sound of her voice, her humor ("Forgetting to call is for bum fuckers!"),… And call me shallow or sexist, but what I miss most of all are the touches. And that is exactly one of my weakest points: I hate being touched. It makes me paranoid. Hugs, kisses, pats on the shoulder, you won’t notice but I can do without. Lately, every now and then this pattern is broken by a sudden urge to do such, myself. Just… grab the person in front of you (preferably a female, but thanks) and steal a hug. So I don’t, because before you know it they turned it into a habit. Freaks.
I can hold my hands open, palms facing each other, and before the next moment I can feel her between them so vividly that my eyes fly open. It’s that easy. Her feel is embedded into my mind like the groove in a record. With clothes, but preferably without. When she was sitting, standing, preferably laying down. What’s more, I can even analyze to the detail how I felt her. Usually I wouldn’t use my hands as much, those were for clutching and holding. It’s actually my lower arm that registered the supple skin, feeling her curves from the wrist up. Not that I would start rubbing my arms on her like a retard, of course, but try it: when you’re holding someone, think how and where you are feeling him/her. Hands can only cover so much, and in the case of a girl it would be a dead shame to rely solely on them.
They just don’t know, do they. Today, boys and girls, "They" will refer to the latter of you. The women. You don’t know. You think you do, but you don’t. If you did, you would stop calling men weak. The endless rolling of eyes and patronizing when stared, or occasionally whistled at would cease this instant if you would all just sit down and get your head around what you look like.
A man is only that, no one gives a damn. Hell even the opposite sex hardly does. A woman, on the other hand, can turn any one’s head. For once and for all, when you’re parading past us with your head set on tonight’s groceries or whatever, you haven’t got the slightest what kind of effect you’re having. Since you’re stuck being mildly interested in men, you can’t even grasp how powerful this image can be. It can hit us like a train, distract, fold us open like a book and expose our weaknesses. It will turn us melancholic, improvising poetry while staring at you from the construction site.
Get this into your head: When we are around you, we are constantly and always restraining ourselves. Sexist comment, over-the-top attempts towards flirting and macho behavior are nothing more than the failure to suppress our Tarzan complex. We’re Sorry, alright? We just want to be liked by you. Our ego depends on you, goddamnit. Give us a break here.
Right, anyway. So yeah, recently we got a few girls with the crew. Pretty, bouncy little things in a world of macho’ism and hairy chests. You should see the reaction on some of the guys, it’s just hysterical. Not that I am above it, but watching their behavior you would swear that they have never seen a woman before. I am ashamed in their place when they bolt forward to help them with the most easy of tasks, making broad shoulders with a sheepish grin when ‘they’ pulled it off with a manly grunt. Or, take to calling them "babe" at every single inopportune moment. For the sake of keeping my aggravation in check, I assume that the girls are giggling with them, rather than at them. Not that they would notice the difference.
I bet you can imagine by now where my mind is. So sue me, I think my virginity is growing back. The good news is, that I’m not too desperate about it. No, really. With all the crap I am wading through at the moment, getting my rocks off isn’t too high on my list. Not that any offer towards most forms of how’s-your-father wouldn’t be met with an obedient nod. (HINT HINT call me HINT)
But yeah. No. Not desperate.