Fuck or Be Fucked
My mind literally says this is a fuck or be fucked situation. I tap my foot with a phone pressed against my ear. Having unknowns is not something I ever intentionally do. I may be getting myself into a sticky situation. There’s quiet on the other side of the phone as I weigh my options.
“You know that I don’t know the variables in this situation. And it’s disconcerting,” I admit into my phone.
A boyish chuckle greets my ears and I pause with my workout. I’m planning on driving almost fifty miles to meet up with a man I hardly know. He’s intellectual, geeky, highly perceptive and a general Unicorn of a man. One of the most intriguing people I’ve ever had the chancing to meet.
I get lost easily in a paper bag. I like to have full control of situations and all the factors of how, why, what and when of a situation. I don’t know any of these, except for an address he just sent to me.
“I can understand that,” he replies.
He’s easy to read in one sense, and impossible in others. A plethora of interesting that I want to crack open and dive into. I sense from our one, brief hug that he’s like me with being uncomfortable with public embraces.
But, from my perception feelers he’s probably a sexual match for me on a level that is scary. I don’t know how I know this, only that I don’t ask him to prove his capabilities.
He still touts that he can more than stand up to his sexual proficiency. We talk sex and giggle at all of our double entendres. His sense of humor, and incredibly dirty mind matches my own. That is a feat never accomplished with another human being.
And I’m going to his house. To ride his motorcycle, this shit just sounds funny. Also, stupidly ridiculous, but I haven’t been on one since I was a teenager with my father. It was one of many things I loved to do with my Dad. Roller coasters, motorcycle riding, bowling, fishing, and the list goes on.
When he mentioned that he owned a Yamaha I was happy it was over the phone. Because that excitement I felt in that moment caused me to bounce a little.
He’s my physical superior, and every part of me hates admitting that. He has lanky, powerful legs and his profession dictates he can beat me on a number of things. No one is my physical superior, except for my one friend who is a crazy specimen of a human being. Even with our one, chance meeting I already know that my usual ways of rough housing will be pointless.
“Just give me a heads up when you come
on over. I still need to shower and clean up. I’m a guy, so the place is a mess.”
“I’m always wallowing in my own pig sty.”
It’s a fact that I’m in a perpetual state of cleaning and fucking up said cleaning. Nothing stays organized, and I swear dirty dishes breed with each other during the night. I take a shower and get prepared to make the trek to see him.
I drive to meet him and feel oddly calm, and excited. I get there in record time and it doesn’t feel like fifty miles but right down the street from me. I call him up when I can’t find his apartment. I walk the entire area and find myself lost by the replicas of apartment buildings.
“Take a left and you’ll be right there. Look for the motorcycle. I kind of am drying off from my shower right now.”
“Well get some damn clothes on your body and get your ass out here,” I tell him.
He ends up over by my car and it turns out I parked perfectly close to his location. I just took a right instead of a left. My hands wring my face.
“I don’t know my left from my right. This is a legit problem.”
We hug and I do a quick once over of him. He’s just as cute as the last time I saw him. Tall, dark, handsome, with that incredibly boyish face. He has a slight beard which doesn’t age him in the least. And kind, brown eyes that say everything and nothing at the same time.
I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not a woman who finds that attraction is a check list. I’ve heard some women say that only men over a certain height, with or without a beard, or whatever other characteristics are a must or no go for attraction. I knew from the moment he opened his mouth that I found him to be a complexity.
His eyes and smile are my favorite qualities about him. He’s got this smirk that is a carbon copy of my own. There’s something about his eyes that makes me innately trust him. A bright intelligence, calmness, and something intrinsic I can’t quite decipher. He has a few inches on me. I find this to be an interesting challenge. I’m used to shorter men where I can use my height to an advantage.
We embrace for the second time since we first met a week ago. I’ve had hugs where they take my breath away. His is always like he’s reframing a part of himself. Like he feels more comfortable in a private place, behind closed doors, touching.
I file this away in my brain and go upstairs with him. My nerves catch up with me and I remind myself I innately trust this guy. And that is a weird, strange, and unlikely occurrence. He lets me into his apartment and it’s messier than I imagined. I don’t mind it though since it reminds me of my own habit to keep a place picked up, but still looking like a tornado flew by.
He’s an animal person to the extreme and this is something I admire. There is one dog and several cats. I greet them all and talk to them in my soft, sweet animal voice. I love cats and dogs are something I’ve come to love certain individuals over the years.
“I do believe my animals approve of you because she’s extremely shy. Come sit down,” he comments.
I smile at a calico and find all the favorite spots I know they love. Behind the ears, cheeks, and I can hear the low purring.
My eyes dart to him as I shift my weight to one leg. I know he’s analyzing every move I make. It’s something he’s trained to do, but also just a habit that is a part of him. I do the same and can tell he’s more comfortable in this space than outside. I would guess he has two personas, the one for being outside in the world and this inner one where he can shed that second skin.
I tend to be the same, I’m forcibly more outgoing in the world. Yet, within a home space I’m quieter, more reflective, but also incredibly awkward if it’s someone’s personal home.
“I don’t feel comfortable sitting. Power exchange habit, I like to be above people,” I admit.
His dog jumps up onto the couch next to him and I smile. She flops down next to him and he affectionately rubs her.
“Anything I do to make you uncomfortable just tell me. I feel like you’re just waiting for me to do something I didn’t tell you I’d do,” he comments.
Taking a deep breath I sit down toward the far edge of the couch eyeballing him slightly. I’m too used to people pushing my buttons and watching. I don’t think he’ll do this, but I’m obviously cautious.
“So, what’s the game plan, you?”
His laughter greets my ears like a musical sound that puts me at ease.
“I haven’t got a clue to be honest. We can go to dinner since I haven’t eaten all day. Then afterwards we can go for a ride on my motorcycle with some of the trails around here,” he says with a laugh.
“Alright, sounds good. Where or what are you feeling like eating?”
“Food? You know when you’re hungry and it totally doesn’t matter.”
He names off places to eat and I know the usual suspects. I have this thought that what I’m going to propose next will get us trapped in this space for awhile. I look at his hands and then up to his face. I can’t deny my interest in knowing about something.
“I’m curious about your technique. I want you to work on me,” I watch his reaction.
“Hmmm, I’m okay with that.”
The way he says it is nonchalantly with a slight edge to his voice that I’m sure very few would pick up on. I suppress a smile and internally shake my head at myself.
