2005-03-26
Italian Chocolate
Last week I saw Ray, whom I haven't even seen in over a year. We made plans to go out this weekend, but somewhere during the week, something happened which changed my mind.
Today, I was asked out by the guy who works at Subway. I asked for a sandwhich and he asked for a date.
A gold, ribboned box of Italian chocolates was given to me by George--my 46 year-old Italian friend--for my birthday. He kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me.
"I want to be able to kiss you here," he says, lightly touching my lips with the tip of his index finger.
I blush immediately. Allowing him to kiss me on the cheek was daring enough. "No," I say, chuckling.
"Why not?"
"I have a boyfriend."
"I don't care."
"I do."
"Yes, my love...but I don't."
I stand there looking at him, holding the box of expensive chocolates (a very beautiful box) and not knowing what to say. "How's your son?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"I hope you haven't fallen in love with my son! You're supposed to be in love with me..." He smiles. I do too.
I thanked him and my face turns red and hot. I can't handle those of the opposite sex too well. I hyperventilate at the very thought of being in a situation in which I could possibly cheat on my boyfriend. Also, even imagining to be in any romantic or sexual situation with an older man--again--makes me nervous and disgusted with myself--I feel like a whore.
I have to pay for my mistakes by driving myself crazy each day, and allowing my conscience to tear at me, piece by piece. Sometimes, I've almost blurted everything out, but inside me, secrets refuse to come out.
This is such a stressful time for me, I feel. I feel exhausted, and I want to hide--to go unnoticed. Males become attracted to me and I become uncomfortable and inside, I feel as if I've done something wrong...I feel sullied, somewhat.
I can't handle being 19 and I hate being this age--I hate this fucking age. Everything about growing up absolutely revolts me--everything that has to do with becoming an adult...and what's worse, a woman.
Then, why is it that I can feel comfortable being a woman when lying naked next to Al...yet, feel horribly sluttish when a guy asks me out or offers me chocolates? Have I truly dived that deeply into the pool of monogamy?
I feel free with Al: I am a combination of both a carefree girl and "serious" woman--I can do anything, or so it feels. We make love without my giving so much as a backwards glance.
And I fear that my body has become so programmed, as to make love to him and only him. I just noticed that I can't see anyone else (save for the A&F models)...and I feel absolutely repulsed by the mere idea of making love to a stranger.
It concerns me. But I enjoy sex far too much to even think about it.