more motorcycle boy

Just got an email from motorcycle boy, or someone who *claims* to be motorcycle boy. At this point my bullshit meter is totally pegged in the red zone, and I won't trust ANYTHING this guy says until I've actually confirmed it with my own two eyes.

The thing is, I don't usually think of myself as gullible, or a sucker. Overly trusting, yes; that seems to be my nature. I've *tried* being more suspicious, and it just feels like wearing a badly-fitting, very silly-looking, overcoat, like something one of those goofball detectives in a B movie might wear. Or maybe Peter Falk in that old TV show Columbo.

So I spent yet another hour with google, trying to find an address for the name in the 'from' line of the email. Which of course is NOT the same as the name motorcycle boy gave me.

Sigh. Why on EARTH would anybody contort themselves so much, convolute everything? It's like some kind of - maze, trying to figure out what's real and what's not. Maybe it's yet another kind of smoke screen, squid ink? Self-protection, keeping the other person out until you feel safe. But by the time you've actually gotten to KNOW this other person, you've already woven such a tangled web of lies that there's no HOPE of ever sorting it out or the other person trusting you again. I just don't get it.

***
I know it's ridiculous for me to still be putting energy and time into this, but it's just BUGGING me. I was trying to think of an explanation for why it mattered, and the best I could come up with is that it's like a picture on your wall that's hanging crooked - it just DRIVES YOU NUTS. You want to FIX it, to make it right.

And I'm sure if I had more going on right now it wouldn't occupy so much time - what's that saying about tasks expanding to fill the time available? I had actually forgotten about it, and now it's all stirred up again.

Sigh. I guess this demon needs a little more feeding. I wrote down an address that looks the closest to fitting all the 'clues' he gave me when we were talking. I guess I'll go take a look. Maybe :-)

***
One moment sticks in my mind from our walk, maybe I described it already.

We were walking across a long, concrete suspension bridge over the river, and about halfway, I stopped to look out, because it was so beautiful. I also wanted to see if he could hang with me in such a moment, without getting impatient or trying to touch me before I was ready.

I knew he wanted to touch me – he kept kind of leaning toward me, then veering away when I didn’t immediately respond (and THAT is attractive – that level of awareness and responsiveness). He had that kind of – LOOK that some guys get when they want to touch you but haven’t quite worked up the nerve. And he wasn’t sure whether it was ok. Thank GOD for someone, FINALLY, who actually can read my frickin’ BODY LANGUAGE, for fuck’s sake.

As we were standing there, I said something about wondering if we would get a moment of absolute silence (the planes from the flight path were pretty much constant) if we stood there for a moment. After a few seconds I started to worry that he was getting impatient, and said, “Looks like maybe not.”

And he said, leaning forward onto the railing in a way that I swear was CALCULATED to make me want to touch him, “Let’s just wait for a bit.” Swoon :-)

These are a few of my favorite things (channeling Sound of Music): Responsiveness. Sensitivity. Awareness. Maybe they’re all part and parcel of the same thing, a certain kind of ability to read another person’s signals.

The thing was, I never really wanted to kiss him. I enjoyed the snuggling; and I felt immediate liking, fondness and affection for him; but I never really found myself getting stirred up. The only times I found myself really moved were when he SAID something that got all my bells ringing :-), which he did several times. And also when something about his body movement reminded me of a broken bird.

Come to think of it, there was an odd contrast between the way he moved and the way he talked. His voice was quite deep and warm and confident, very furry and soothing. At one point I had my head on his chest and it was all I could do to pay attention to the actual words because the sound of his voice was lulling me into such deep relaxation.

But his movements seemed, somehow – protective? Not sure. As if he’d been hurt or something. And I did ask him at one point if he was limping (while we were still on the walk), and he said he was missing a toe. I took a wild guess and asked if it was his left foot, and he said it was.

So I felt protective of him at times, and comforted by him at others. Maybe that’s why I keep thinking of him: He has something I need, and I have something *he* seemed to need. Beyond sex, that is. Which I still contend is a WANT, not a need. And is quite often a displacement technique, a way of escaping uncomfortable feelings.



Random thought bubbling out of the welter of images and ideas:
My body is not a medium of exchange.