One kiss from me and you’ll be overjoyed and overawed

For a month-and-a-half, PF and I have been emailing regularly. He is a Professor and is very gifted with the written word, but sometimes he infuriates me with his completely impersonal but really, really lengthy responses. I know he loves nothing more than to write and write. He does it in academics and he does it in pop songs and he does it in emails. But trying to read between all those sentences is frustrating. What is he feeling? Does he fancy me? Does he like me as a friend? Does he think I’m smart? Am I interesting enough for him? How incredibly insecure of me. But then again, I read and reread the emails I write to him, and check a thesaurus for new and interesting adjectives. What am I doing?

I regret not speaking to him more when we had four days together at the music festival in June. I had my eye on him from the very start of it. After he performed, I remember walking past him leaning rather dramatically outside the restroom, waiting for the door to open. He is very tall and so brings a striking element to visualizations. As mentioned in my previous entry about him, it wasn’t until the last night when I finally spoke to him and I was completely and utterly charmed. I still hold onto the way he looked at me, with such kindness and warmth in his eyes, though the feeling in that memory has faded slightly.

And now we have been emailing regularly but what are we saying? I think sometimes I am just propping up his ego, though it’s not as obvious as that. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, he lives by himself, and – as a Professor – he’s not teaching this summer. He’s alone a lot. He responds to my emails quickly but with such long treatises, the length and substance of which I’ve never received before. I often find them interesting, other times infuriating, but mostly intriguing.

Still, there are occasional nods to sex, romance, and attraction in his words. And it is one of those from yesterday that’s set me off. Many years ago, he broke his collarbone by falling off his bike. He said:

That is about the end of the story, save that my collarbone has been visibly disjointed ever since for anyone who cares to look (I remember the guitarist I was in a band with at the time, already a father of two teenagers, speculating that this would make me attractive to girls: not only fanciful at best, not to say false, this theory, but probably even more immediately flawed by the fact that no-one can see my collarbone most of the time)…

The eroticism that inspired in me, he may never know. Ever since last night, my heart has been flipping up into my throat the way it does when lusty, blushing desire rushes through me in hopes of turning a fantasy into reality. I’m seeing PF in a week or two, hopefully more than once, and with some time alone god willing. I know that I am going to be fixated on his collarbone, the glimpses I may get.

I fantasize about the night growing later, more drinks being consumed, us in a crowded room. Everyone moves around us but we are in slow motion. We talk and laugh and stare at one another, careful not to draw curious attention to ourselves. I cannot help but stare at his collarbone peaking out from the rim of his shirt, desperate to touch it with my fingers and mouth. He fixes his gaze on me, knowing what I want to do. Sitting close to him, I reach over and trace his collarbone slowly with my fingers until I find the slight bend where it was once broken. The feeling of warm honey races through my veins and I desperately want to run my tongue along his break (much like Vellini rushes into the room to lick the blood off the suitor she had her husband shoot in The Last Mistress). His eyes are locked to mine and it’s like we are fully enjoined with just my fingers and his neck.

Slowly but steadily I get up to go outside, around the corner, anywhere away from this crowd. He follows but a minute behind me. We find a small space between buildings and he bends down and grabs my face and kisses me. How I long to fight with his wonderfully protruding nose. His whole elegant body envelopes me and I not only taste his lips but finally trace a path down his neck and lick his clavicle in long lashes.

The Boys of Summer No. 4

Then there was BP. I had had casual, online, and mail (mail!) contact with him over the past few years. He’s involved in our scene quite a bit and puts heartfelt things together, lovingly sending me free copies of hand-touched pieces. I had just received a wonderful package from him about a week prior to our meeting. I couldn’t wait to thank him in person. Somehow, I had his visual image confused with someone else and when I met him in person I couldn’t quite fix that mix-up in my mind for a whole night. But fix it I did eventually and I came to admire him even more and carry a romantic fondness for him.

He is quite a bit older than the majority of our group of friends, and active people in this scene. His hair is completely grey, though it’s still quite thick and lustrous. His skin may be dry and lined, but he smiles a lot, almost as much as his eyes do. His eyes are a watery blue. Not watery as in bearing itchy tears, but pale, shining blue like a pure ocean. He is just taller than me and gives the most incredible warm hugs.

We talked so much over the weekend. He is utterly easy to talk to and get along with. He has a lot to say and much to brag about, being a part of a fiercely iconic music scene some twenty years ago and currently in a much loved band. But brag he does not. He speaks carefully and directly to you, and then asks thoughtful questions of you. It is impossible to overstate how attractive this is.

He only recently put his thoughts together on the long weekend we all spent together. All of us were taken with his words but me especially so. He mentioned me three times on three things I remember distinctly, him making me out as a beautiful, interesting, multi-faceted person. He made my insides burn with desire and appreciation. I hope to let him know more when I’m near him next month.

The Boys of Summer No. 3

CR is from a South American country and resides in our country’s biggest Latino paradise. I missed out on meeting him when I was in his sizzling city in March as we had just casually started introductions online. A shame because when I met him at this festival, I was smitten.

Tall – very tall – slender, caramel colored skin, thick black hair and thick black spectacle frames to match, the classiest of t-shirts advertising his favorite bands, and spanking new white converse trainers. He came bearing gifts, too. He gave me a brilliant seven inch from his amazing record label. I swooned.

I spoke with him here and there over the weekend. Honestly, it was sometimes difficult to hold a conversation with him as his accent is so thick. But I kept going for it because his sense of humor and unparalleled confidence was insane. He has worked with so many bands and even if he hadn’t put their single out, they all seemed to know one another. Set lists were dedicated to him. Gifts were bestowed upon him.

He was always chewing gum. He always stood head and shoulders above everyone else in the tightly-knit crowds. He always had a tote bag of records and other goodies with him. He always had facts and opinions to readily offer in the sweetest way. I ached.

If my life circumstances do not change, I will be seeing him in September. We’ve been exchanging emails about this and both seem to be equally thrilled about the prospect. My fantasies have been raging like wildfires through me since this has come to light. I’ve no idea what he would be up for but I hope it will be adventurous and true.