Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more. [It can be a fiction.]
Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.
He was the sexiest man in jeans I had ever seen.
Sex. On. Legs.
As I looked at him in the spotlight in front of me, I stopped breathing.
The second time that happened to me, I was watching Thor and it was Chris Helmsworth. No a single woman in that theater appeared to breathe because we all gasped for air in unison, a couple of minutes after. There were a lot of nerd boyfriends sinking into their chairs, mortified. There was nothing personal about it, except for the shared awareness that that was a hot man on screen. I’m pretty sure I could have started a new community of like-minded feminists from the raw sexual arousal in the room. We want sex the way we want it…and NOW…
The first time it happened to me, I was young and he was young. We were in a group of fellow students It felt like the most important thing that had happened to me.
He and his jeans sauntered to the front of the room of nervous students. Cocky and insecure, he checked out his audience. He both thought we were enraptured with him, yet was certain we were already over him. I missed it.
All I could see was his hazel eyes, and then his mouth, with its full lips. A patchy bit of dark brown hair covered his cheeks. Broad shoulders that tapered into narrow hips and powerful thighs. He had hands like a pianist’s hands, soft and gentle, but squared off like the son of a workman. His knuckles and forearms were dusted with dark hair, like my dad. I couldn’t breathe.
Out tumbled a voice like whiskey and honey, filled with warmth. He was a singer, he said. He had a ska band in college. He referenced Star Wars with confidence. His ska band was called Atreyu. You could hear how good his voice was just from speaking.
“If someone had said describe your dream man, dude, he’s it,” the unguarded thought occurred to me. A recognition settled into the pit of my stomach. I was going to do more than crush on this man. I was in deep shit.
Quickly, maybe even desperately, I skimmed up and down his body, looking for perfection. “The perfect man, the unattainable man, that’s what will save me now.” Instead, I saw flaws. His ears stuck out and his nose flared out too widely for his features. These were deeply humanizing flaws.
The recognition expanded and became a dead weight in my center.
He looked like the sexy boy next door and smirked like he thought he was getting one over on us. I didn’t notice. I was too bowled over by his charisma to read it. A couple of years of maturity on me and I would have seen him for the truth: he was the kind of man that thinks he’s a CEO, when he’s really a mid-level manager shunted into a position where he can do the least harm to the company.
It didn’t matter to me. I knew. I would lose my heart to this boy; and he would be disgusted with the gift.
Photo: Mike Mozart