I’ve heard it said before that life is like a dream, and this would be a lucid dream in my case. I don’t quite agree with the philosophy however my dating adventures of late seem to fit the bill as though the men I’ve been seeing are extensions of me.

SATURDAY, July 25th, 2009

Today the plan was to attend a concert in Palo Alto to meet up with girl friends, followed by a date with a filmmaker. That was until Sexy called me. We had met the night before while I was waiting for yet another date, Cine (sin-ey: as he writes scripts). Cine was late and as I waited, Sexy introduced himself and asked me for my number. Staring into his piercing green eyes I complied. When he called me the very next day and invited me to a BBQ with a live band, I knew I did not have the time, but I wanted to make it happen, and I told him I could stop by for an hour.

“I’ll be there at 3:30.” I said. I called again at four letting him know I wouldn’t be there until five….

When I showed up, he said he was surprised that I had made it. It was Five O’clock on the dot and here I was thinking that I was punctual.

He was sweet, poured me a beer from the keg and stood by me as we talked. I was mesmerized by his lips, his eyes, his muscular arms. I was salivating. He is a paramedic and fireman. He is twenty-four. He only dates older women. If we dated, he would be the most gorgeous man I’ve been with.

I love younger men because they have more energy, their bodies are in better shape, their skin is wrinkle free, teeth typically whiter, and they still have a full head of hair. I am a lover of beautiful things, and younger men certainly fit the bill. I have dated older men who looked at least a decade younger, and I loved their physical youth as well. I am a philocalist.

While I was enchanted by Sexy, I felt awkward, which is a rare experience of late. I stood there, wanting to feel independent yet I was in an environment where everyone knew him, and I was the stranger, his guest. The energy was lively; old friends, concrete families, a variety of ages all forming a solid network of lengthy allies. It was akin to be invited to a family function for a first date.

Staring at his chiseled, muscular frame, my own imperfections seemed blaring. The 10 pounds I need to lose from my tall, curvy frame (5’8”, 41” x 31” x 41”) to achieve my desired weight…. I felt fat. I think I’m sexy. I know I’m curvy, yet I love my body. However if I lost ten pounds, then there would be little doubt from the “world” whether I was sexy or not as well, because I would be considered thin (a size 4), which our society elevates. Although with my current physique, men who like thin girls just aren’t that into me. I have this theory that as I feel sexy or not depending on whom I’m with, that it is because I am seeing myself through their eyes. Call me sensitive, call me intuitive, or eschew; I believe it to be true. Thank you my lovely mother for infusing me with my obsession of physicality (sarc.).

Sexy’s young friend joined us and we all walked across the street to said friend’s studio for Sexy to have a shot of 1800. He wanted me to stay. I wasn’t going to bail on my proceeding two commitments. We talked. Conversation with Friend was much easier than with Sexy, and I found that interesting. I felt uncomfortable in this studio as we were sitting at a small table right next to the bed. The bed. Friend got up and left. The bed.

“I guess I should be going.” I said, masking my feeling of ineptitude as best I could.

He walked me down the driveway and asked me to call him after the concert. I said I would.

I walked to my car and all I could think about was sex. I wanted to take that young man and do wonderful things to him. I didn’t care if he thought I was a slut; I didn’t care if he thought at all; all I wanted to do was to have my way with him.

The drive to Palo Alto I was single mindedly continuing my departing thought process. I drafted a text: You are very handsome. I couldn’t stop staring at your eyes, lips, arms…. Perhaps I can cut my Palo Alto commitment short and meet you in Capitola later. Is there a bar/venue that you like? Too direct. Too descriptive. How do you hit on a 24 year old boy? Does he like forward women? Is he opposed to overtness? I revised: The BBQ was cool; perhaps I can cut Palo Alto short and meet in Capitola. Is there a place you like? Satisfied, I sent the text.

I wanted to talk to someone; to share my adventures with. I called half dozen friends and reached voicemail after voicemail. “Call me back.”

Finding the concert was difficult as it was located on a tiny street with the signage hardly visible. After driving around in circles I had to call and get clearer directions. Thank you Lance. Thank you Claire. I made it.

I was greeted by the tall and gorgeous Claire who I had taken a writing class with the winter before. Diana had invited us both as we were three Soul Food writing alumni. Diana hugged me warmly before rushing off to dance with a partner. It invigorated her and she loved the feeling of freedom within her body. Claire and I chatted; I told her of a few dating emprises. The first story she seemed to like while the second she was obviously patiently listening to without real interest. I asked her questions about herself, her life. I was trying to connect. Fail, fail, fail. She seemed to tolerate me and maybe she even thought I was okay, but she didn’t like me. Perhaps as an acquaintance, but not as a friend. You can’t win ‘em all over; oh well…. I personally really like Claire. I was disappointed not to feel a stronger connection. This in stark contrast to Diana who looks at me with liking and where you can feel her exuding loving compassion when she interacts with you. Like your boyfriend’s mom who really loves you; or a long-time, dear friend.

Baby Face started talking to me. He was quite tall, with a thick head of dark brown hair, glasses, pudgy face and engorged body. He looked to be around 18 although I guessed his age to be closer to 30 by his world travels and business experience. He was breathing down on me heavily, sour breath rancid. I limited my breathing to almost naught. I started to get sleepy from not having enough air. Why isn’t my alarm going off? Don’t I have another date soon? Can’t I leave now? No, it would be rude without a proper excuse. You can hold out a little longer…. Diana lost her purse. I felt bad for her and I was also glad to excuse myself and pursue a location search. I had to pee. I had to meet my date. What if the purse wasn’t found? When I stepped out of the bathroom Claire was there in line and informed me of the good news: Lost was Found! I hugged her and said my goodbye’s before heading over to congratulate and part with Diana, before seating myself in my car to head out.

I exited the driveway and pulled over to the curb to brush my teeth. Could have done this in the bathroom, I know, only I didn’t have my purse with me. Clean teeth, spearmint breathe, I was ready to go.

I pulled into a parking lot on the same block as the coffee shop where I was to meet Filmy. I exited my car, heard the loud beep of it electronically locking, and made my way one block along University Avenue.

He wasn’t as cute as his pictures, which weren’t that cute to begin with. He said he was 5’11” although I think he was at least an inch shorter. He was balding. His forehead was wrinkled from the excessive habit of raising his eyebrows and his skin showed sun damage. His teeth though, were white and straight. His body seemed soft. Not fat, but soft. His eyes were warm and green and they twinkled when he smiled. I liked him.

He already had finished his hot chocolate as he had arrived 15 minutes early. He walked to the counter where I ordered my tea and we both had our wallets out.

“I had planned on paying for you.” He said with a smile.

“Wow, I’m not used to this sort of treatment; thank you.” I loved it. That he had escorted me to the counter. That he had paid for my tea. I felt taken care of.

The barista needed a moment and we both sat down. I was prepared to sit on a chair however he gave me his cushioned bench seat which he had left nice and warm for me. He sat next to me and he told me about the movie that he had just finished filming and showed me the trailer. It was certainly independent quality, and you could tell that he had worked hard on it. The acting, dialogue, camera work, building up of suspense, all good. He paused for a moment, stood up and walked back to the barista, returning with my teapot and mug. I love men doing things for me! I am so independent that I hardly ever accept it, yet it was safe and comforting with him. As I poor my tea he continues on, telling me more about his film’s process as well as another screenplay he’s written. I am enthralled with what he is saying as well as terribly aware that this is a one-sided conversation. A little more balance please. I spoke up where and when I could, although he carried the discourse. I was tired. I had dealt with a number of personalities that day and after a full schedule I was ready for sleep, although Baby Face had especially worn me out. It was ten now and my biorhythm had been requesting sleep since nine. Filmy and I chatted for another forty-five minutes before I excused myself to the ladies room, took a deep breathe behind the closed door, and returned with a smile on my face suggesting that we get out of there.

“Where would you like to go? There are plenty of options….” He suggests.

“You know, it is past my bed-time. Even though I’ve been going out nearly every night this month, I’m usually home between ten and midnight.”

“Oh, I’d love to be on a schedule like that! I continually find myself staying awake as late as I possibly can.”

“Well, I feel guilty if I’ve slept much longer after the sun has risen, as though I’m wasting the day.” I explained.

“Me too, but I still can’t help staying up late and working on projects. I feel that I have to get things done and will keep going until I absolutely must stop.”

[Writer’s insert: Really, Naysa, is that the only dialogue you can come up with?!] :)

He walked me to my car and I offered him a ride to his. When we pulled up to his black sedan we hugged and I thanked him for the interesting conversation. He kissed my cheek although he had been aiming for my lips. I looked at him and we kissed again. His lips were soft and sweet. He got out of the car, mentioned something about doing this again, and I pulled back into traffic, heading home.

I checked my cell phone. Why hadn’t my friends returned my calls? Why hadn’t Sexy texted me back? I realized that I had forgotten to turn off call forwarding and that everything was being directed to my home phone. Without caller ID there, I had no idea who might have called. Did Sexy get my text and decide to phone me to take me up on my offer? Or did he think my request was slutty and lose interest? Only time will tell….

I like Sexy best out of the men that I am dating. I like him because of the passion; I can’t think of anything else other than screwing him when I see him. He represents pleasure, excitement, youth.

Next would be Fiery. He is a twenty-three year old engineer who makes fire art, is six-feet tall with big brown eyes, red hair, piercings, scars, tattoos, a split tongue, rockin’ body, brilliant mind, great sense of humor, and the most amazing sex that I have ever had in my life. He intimidates me because he is smarter than me, has more energy than I do, and is better at sex than I am. But I certainly do have a crush on him.

Coming in third is Filmy. He has a good job, he is actually pursuing his art and making things happen in his life. He is intelligent and interesting. I might be too liberal for him, and I will just have to wait and see….