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The Baton Rouge Visit

February 10, 2015

BR Guy wanted to cook for me. I was stung by Persian Guy’s revelation. I decided to go to Baton Rouge that Friday. I wanted to forget how perfect he was. How perfect he seemed to be. I wanted to try something else on for size. An available man who wanted me.

His house was adorable and just over the bridge. It was an easy drive. A pop over the Basin. I could see myself going there often. He was happy to see me. He was dressed nice. He told me I looked cute. He told me I was beautiful. Often. All the time in fact. It seemed like every 10 minutes he was telling me I was gorgeous. It became annoying. Like he was trying to convince me that he really liked me. To convince me of my own value.

I laughed when I saw the kitchen. It was a mess. The counters were littered with ingredients and cookbooks and bottles and utensils. It wasn’t a hoarder’s mess. The items had not been there long but were a part of an exchange, born of activity.

He won’t have any problem with my apartment, I thought.

He served me wine and talked about his day and his work. He made shrimp and bacon appetizers and a remarkably delicious Thai dish that was very close to Pad Se Ew. I was impressed.

We sat on his stuffed and disshelved sofa and watched Midnight in Paris. The sofa wanted for a coffee table and it was awkward getting comfortable. He’s a big guy. We kissed and he found ways to place his hands on my body. He was affectionate and tender. I allowed myself to receive his affection, hoping that some return of feeling would present itself.

But it didn’t. I saw the way he looked at me and I couldn’t return the earnestness of his gaze.

I slept with him in his bed, platonically at first. He was easy to be next to. He rubbed my back and said wonderful things to me.

Sometime in the middle of night, we tried to break the transition from affection to intimacy.

It was not a success. He suffered from “The Twin” problem. There were minutes with the beginnings of pleasure, abandoned when his body refused to cooperate. I was disappointed.

He was a light sleeper and a loud snorer. Every time I moved he woke up and started talking again. When I saw sunlight in the kitchen window I was frustrated by how little I had slept.

Well, it’s not a difficult drive. I’ll just caffeine up and go home. 

He made coffee and eggs and talked more about his life, his friends, his students and his work, reminding me all the while how beautiful he thought I was.

I thanked him for a pleasant visit and gathered my things and he walked me to my car.

“I guess it’s my turn to go to your hood,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said and kissed him goodbye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you back from Baton Rouge?” Persian texted me.

Coincidentally, he had gone to Baton Rouge with friends the same night. He was already back in Lafayette.

He wanted to see me, he said. When I was back in my apartment, I told him I needed to shower and eat and then I would be going for a walk. Maybe he could join me. He would meet me there.

There were barricades all over the streets for Mardi Gras parades so I walked to the park. We tried to find each other with confused results.

“I’m at the basketball court,” he said.

“Walk on the trail away from the tennis courts towards the university,” I instructed.

I didn’t see him. Suppressing my excitement at just seeing his face again was futile. I was smitten and there was nothing I could do about it. Except refuse to ever see him again. I knew I wouldn’t do that.

“Where are you?” I texted.

“Somewhere by a pond with people fishing.”

“Don’t move.”

I stopped by the pond. I didn’t see him.

“I’m wearing red,” he said.

Then I saw him on the sidewalk. In shorts and a t-shirt and cool shoes. He was adorably stylish.

He walked towards me and we hugged each other awkwardly and my heart skipped the way I want it to with someone I can have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is Mr. Moon. And he’s as inaccessible as a man on the moon.

I am royally fucked.

 

 

 

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