In mere days I will be in the most romantic city in the world. It is a city of narrow winding streets that hide beautiful treasures just beyond every curve in the road. It is a city to get lost in. It is a city that you can visit innumerable times and never see it in quite the same way. It is a city to never get bored of. It is my favorite city.
And who will I be visiting this city with? My partner! And who will I see while I am there? KJ! And who is KJ there to see? His girlfriend! I am equal parts thrilled and terrified at this most convoluted of situations. What I will find most difficult is not effusing with warm desire towards and making the biggest of googly eyes at KJ. I will have to keep my hands to myself. I know that this will pierce my heart to act neutral around him, but it surely won’t hurt as much as if I have to meet his probably perfect girlfriend.
All of this drama makes me wonder if it would be better to just not see him at all. Why stir the pot when I am settling into my grey mundane life after I said goodbye to him over a month ago? But then can I count on ever seeing him again? No, I can’t. He lives in an unusual, far-away place and one I have no desire to visit again except to see his spun gold locks shine in the sun.
I also entertain fantasies of setting it off while walking across one of the most beautiful bridges in the world. Or whilst walking down a cobbled alleyway. Or over a loud pub conversation in which our group of mutual friends are all yelling at one another over the din. To say, “to hell with it!” and put my hand on his leg, to put my arm around him, to look deep into his eyes, and to let him know that I cannot let him slip through my fingers yet again.
I have enough knickers to get me through about 2.5 – 3 weeks without wearing the same pair. I recently came upon the pair I wore on my last night with KJ, remembering how desperately I hoped that he would see them. I’ve never seen a pair like them, so romantically unusual they are. If I had to use just one adjective to describe them, I would say Renaissance. I have not worn them since that wondrous yet disastrous night. They sit in my drawer staring back at me, reminding me of what could have been. I am going out of town again and will wear them while I am free to do what I want. Let’s see what blessings or curses they bring me then.
I once got spectacularly lucky with a pair of knickers that tied together with satin ties on the sides. I wore them that night because I just knew something was going to happen with this lucky fellow. We pretended to sleep for a while, denying each other’s hot bodies right next to each other. I couldn’t take it anymore and bent over to kiss him in the dark. Things progressed from there, and we finally had sex with one another after months of unbearable tension. The best part of the night undoubtedly was when I lay back and presented him with my satin stringed knickers to undo.
I used to have a rather large crush on a card-carrying Communist. We were going to meet each other for the first time, though both of us had partners. However, we flirted outrageously with each other online and we both knew we fancied the pants off of one another. I had a delicious fantasy of seducing him in his kitchen, undoing my dress to reveal that I was wearing hammer and sickle pants and bra. This scenario was nearly impossible to make happen and so it hasn’t, but I wouldn’t say it couldn’t in future.
Said Communist once said to me something about goths making the most raunchy, mind-blowing, breathtaking shags and asked if I agreed. I went through my mental address book of all whom I have slept with and had to embarrassingly admit that I had never slept with a bona fide goth, even though I nearly exclusively hung out with a group of them from ages 17-18. Is one ever too old to seduce a goth?
