I'm really not sure what I was thinking.
I get dressed up because I feel sexy. Maybe a small percentage is to make the person I'm meeting feel good to be in my presence, but mostly I just want to feel like me, confident, in control.
But you, the person I spent my courage on, think that some how the way I dress speaks for me. You can't keep up with my discussion, with my stories. You interrupt me. And maybe you have had more experiences than myself, maybe you have had more extraordinary experiences than me. You think that the way I dress is somehow yours to make the most of. You at least let me say no, and scurry home. But it doesn't change the fact that you didn't pay attention to a word I said, and instead were thinking about having sex with me.
Perhaps if I had been uglier you would have paid more attention to my words, not the lips, tongue, and neck that they leapt from? I don't know anymore. I don't know if anyone is capable of seeing me, wanting my words, my thoughts, my energy, and then consider feeling me up after the words have dried from our throats. But no. I don't believe anymore.
I think there are so few people who can make me feel that special, that enjoy when I make them laugh more than the shape of my breasts and ass.
It's so lonely out here.
This makes me ache for you loneliness and sadness. And I know this feeling, all too well.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I will compliment you on your ability to write out how you are feeling and express it. Your ability to have someone understand what you mean when you write like this is nothing short of excellence.
To happier things for you to write about in your future, at least shortly.