Softshock

I decided to watch a Youtube video tonight about Singaporean firefighters because I'm horny and I missed you. I clicked on the first one I saw: fan-made, but with nice production values.

You were in it.

Halfway through the video, you appeared on the screen out of nowhere, and I jumped several feet in my chair. You weren't supposed to be in it. You don't hear me complaining though.

Obviously, this brought a lot of things to the forefront.

*****

Your song, by the way, is "Softshock" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I listened to their It's Blitz! album during my week there, but this song reminds me of you the most. I should have spent more time writing about that whole experience, but similar to so many other hot-button people in my life (Old Geezer, Ex, Karen, Cat, etc.), I needed time for all of the feelings and thoughts to sit. Age. Mature. Complete. I think I'm ready now, or as ready as I'll ever be.

No white girl would look at you twice here. Let's get that out of the way first. You're not a tall, white man with money or a muscular, black man with a big penis. You're short, skinny, and wear glasses. In other words, just right for me. You go unnoticed so people like me can snatch you away. You're dorky and awkward around women, masking your insecurities with bravado and cockiness. I don't mind. It's endearing because I see right through it.

You changed the game forever. I mean, I knew someone would eventually come round to shake up my preconceived notions on romance and sex, but I didn't think it would happen so soon. But there you were, perched on the edge of that beach chair with a beer in hand and a smirk on your face while I described--with hand gestures--merely one of my many sexual fantasies. We had only met hours before, but I was telling you all of this anyway. Like we had known each other for the longest time.

The connection was instant, electrifying, and suddenly everything felt new and familiar. (Was it normal to experience such a heady rush?) I brushed my fingers over the muscles on your arm, giddy and restless with excitement. (Were we going too fast?) You grinned back, eyes lingering on my dress straps. (What if I was making a mistake?) The day dragged on until I finally led you back to my room at night, with my laptop screen as a stand-in for romantic candlelight. (fuck it, let's see where this goes.) And for the record, it wasn't perfect; nothing is. But it was so damn close.

Those five days existed in a pocket of time outside the life I've returned to. On some days, I don't believe they were ever real. On others, I know better. They either passed too slowly or too quickly, depending on what we were doing at the moment. I don't even remember who else I interacted with. Just you. We had more in common that I realized, or dare to hope. You saw my weirdness in all its naked glory and chose to stay. Whatever I proposed, your only answer was "yes." How could I not have grown fond of you? How could I not?

If only there had been more time to see what we could have evolved into. When I conjure up the image of us tangled in my sheets, sticky and sated, laughing at each other, the memory tastes sweet, dissolving like sugar on the tip of my tongue to savor and hold in my mouth until there is only the ghost-taste left as a nostalgic reminder. I recall the piggyback ride you gave me as we ran down an empty street at midnight. I remember the weight of you and smile to myself.

You made me believe. You made me doubt. You tumbled into my life and just as swiftly winked out. A softshock to my soft side.