Monday, July 1, 2013

The power of a label


But what if brown eyed people are really (scientifically proven and by their very definition) stupid wastes of space?

Also, these were the good old days, before it was considered unethical to confront people with uncomfortable truths about themselves.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Interview with a seducee (part 3)

Then I just remember, what really sticks out is then at some point we were getting physical, I'm not sure, maybe it was on my bed or on my couch the first time, the second time it was on your bed. The second time was lot better. The first time you kept laughing it at me, well I interpreted it as laughing at me, which made me think I was bad, which is not something I normally think. That is not the way most people respond to me, otherwise that would have been enough to send me home crying for weeks. In retrospect it seemed like you were laughing at some situational awkwardness, I'm not sure entirely, but there was something that was worthy of a lot of laughter which also broke up an intensity, which made me realize how not gay you seem. With other people, kissing people seems to produce some sort of bodily physical chemistry reaction that makes it more intense over time, not more humorous over time, which led me to believe that we were in a sketch comedy, not a porno scene. The second time, I felt like things had massively improved, or that I was much more satisfied. There was a softer intimacy, this cute laying next to each other in bed holding your calloused hands as you ripped off pieces and chunks of dead skin that had started to peel away at the tips of your fingers.

Well before that there was some discussion about being punched or physical violence and strangulation. I don't know if it had segued from a conversation about different forms of bestiality or the control which partners have in sexual positions or just a conversation about physical violence. somehow we ended up on the topic of punching me, which you seemed to be all the more excited about doing, and I seemed to be all the more excited about having done to me. We were sitting in your car sitting behind another car waiting to exit to go back into your house. I think you slapped me first, and I think I was asking for it. I'm not sure. I mean, I know I asked for it. I'm not sure if you slapped me. And I'm pretty sure that whatever you did, it felt good, or good in a weird way, which made me think that it was quasi sexual in terms of relieving sexual tension, which was a relief to me that all of this build up could be relieved in this painful release, which made it seem appropriate. On the other hand, I didn't know you all that well, and we were in a dark car, and you're physically hurting me.

It was when you turned over and strangled me that I felt both that sensation of feeling out of control and feeling adored at the same time. I think I felt out of control because I knew that you were strong enough to really hurt me if you wanted to and I wondered if, how much, if I really tried I could stop you in that moment, but I also trusted that you wouldn't hurt me, and that made me feel adored. After which I felt physical pain, it had hurt my throat, whatever soft tissue we have around the delicate structure of our neck, and so I, obviously having never felt anything like that before, I felt very very small and I really wanted to be held and coddled in that moment, and that made me feel very distant from you because I felt like you wouldn't be able to give me that, emotionally or physically. Even if you would have been able to give me a hug, I felt like I needed to be held by someone who wanted to hold me and cared because I felt hurt. It was a physical hurt but there was definitely an emotional attachment to it, the same way that as a child you might want to look for your mom after getting hurt. That's when I realized that I was sitting in a dark car with a person who I had gone to a show with once, who I had dinner with twice, and who worked briefly in our office.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Interview with a seductee (part 2)

(cont.)
We hung out at the ballet a few weeks later. We went to that restaurant that looked like it came out of a kitsch catalogue and then we went to the show and you were going to go to a bbq with family and/or get ice cream and I set off for home, but it was otherwise a good conversational day compared to the one before. You noted that I seemed calmer with you, but also noted my incredible inability to understand you. I kept saying, that's your type of thing, and you would say, no no no, you don't get me at all, but much calmer and easy going this time around without that added pressure of being at my house.

And then I didn't talk to you. And then I was sitting in an airport in Miami months later with my current fling leaning against my arm in our layover to San Pedro Belize, I opened up my email (thanks to you getting the office interns to show me how), and happened upon a very interesting read from you. The word that stuck out the most from that particular email was the four letter word love and its frequent use. The heartfelt passion with which that email was written seemed to be from a different human. It invoked thoughts for me of an infatuation of an ex lover, not someone who had been a short term co-worker who had come over to dinner once and awkwardly discussed my personality disorders for me and my inability to communicate. So reading through it, there was some shock to be had. Honestly I read it as being very truthful, as being... the picture behind the font of the email in my mind was this delicate soul that had hidden behind everything, a facade of intelligence and background and family and had realized that this was what true love was and had to express it and let it shine through. Not only was this interpretation gratifying as a major ego boost, but it was also shocking from my prior experiences with this person, it was alarming to my current paramour who is leaning on my shoulder catching glimpses of the word love, tidbits of affection and nuances of the email with a sideways glance. I think I briefly typed out a response without responding later. In Belize, a day later, we had our first fight in four months of dating because my companion had silently, passively aggressively brewed for 24 hours, insulted that I hadn't discussed already how it was that i was going to extinguish the small flame you had for me by saying I was already taken. Because I had been asked, "what are you going to do with this" and I had replied honestly and confusedly "I don't know," we had to discuss in detail why i didn't know what I was going to do. Thus began the portrayal of you as someone who was oddly infatuated with me, but my interest in you was an intellectual pursuit and search for a dialogue that was otherwise missing in my current relationship. I still don't really understand fully -- why you wrote what you did, but it was effective at getting my attention because it certainly was shocking and surprising and exciting to read because ... I don't think for me there are many times in my lifetime that i will open up an email and read some of the things that you wrote in it. Whether they were just meant to pull me back into an odd conversation about my personal defects and how you could fix them, it was still a successful endeavor because it worked, I still came running back ready to hear about what was wrong with me.

Friday, June 28, 2013

Interview with a seductee (part 1)

I interviewed a seduction target to get the backstory. (I discussed this admittedly clumsy and mistake riddled seduction first here, then here, and finally here):
You came into the office for your little stint. You kept walking by my door, kept walking by my window. Then you would come sit down in my chair and you definitely sat in it with a very territorial type comfort and I would talk nonstop in a verbal diahrrea that only showed my sense of discomfort with the entire situation and more appropriately you. I really remember my interactions with other people about you. People seemed to notice that you had come around in talking to me. I remember one or more person asking about you, who you are, what your deal was, where you were coming from, whether you liked me, aka what was your sexuality. Because even though it was decidedly confirmed that you were trendy and hip, it was unconfirmed whether you were gay or not, so it became my duty to find out, not just for their sake but equally for mine. Then we went to lunch I think, I remember it being somewhat awkward. I drove. We went to the mexican restaurant. You didn't eat your food. You ordered it. You didn't eat it. I thought that was strange, that you had ordered it, not eaten it, and not taken it with you. But we had an interesting conversation about nothing and then we talked about the only thing that mattered to me, which was trying to find out which gender you were into. It started with something like whether you had been to a particular gay club, which you had been. I had determined that that had meant that you were either gay or bisexual, which meant that the possibility that you and I were pretty much in love was certain. And then you would go on cigarette breaks with me and we would talk about life's mysteries.

I like the way the way that you stand, by the way. When we were standing outside, I really like the way you stand. I don't know if it was a proximate distance thing or a confidence, standing at attention, straight back thing, but there was something.

Then we made plans to have dinner, which essentially was to have dinner at my place without many more specifics, but we set a date within that week. You were only working there for a week, and I was leaving on a trip, so it couldn't have been much longer than a couple days after the lunch that we arranged to have a dinner together. When discussing this with my cohorts, they had decided that we were going on a date, and since you were coming to my house it was more a date plus something else, which put me in the uncomfortable position of deciding whether or not I wanted this something else from you, despite the fact that we had not actually established what you sexuality was. Luckily for me, my house is always tidy, but I don't have any groceries, so when you and I had arranged to have the dinner, I was going to have to go buy it that day, this all felt like a lot of hoopla and I didn't know if I wanted to pursue this. This led to me backing out and you sitting there in my office staring at me. I tried to explain myself, which was met with by your cold stare of unacceptance, to my shock. I was waiting for you to go "of course, can't wait to try it sometime later or soon," or some other agreement for letting me off the hook easily, but you seemed that much more annoyed that I was not only trying to get out of it, but trying to explain why I was trying to get out of it. You said that this was a negative attribute of my personality. Then, feeling much worse about the whole arrangement than before, I reneged on my attempt to get out of dinner and instead went back to having dinner with you and decided that I would just have to leave work early to get dinner supplies. After dinner, you're just laying on my floor, there were a lot of silent pauses. The entire time I felt like you were so brilliantly twisted and of wild thoughts that I was both enamored by you but felt that I had to prove myself to you and not bore you with small talk. You said that normal conversation with normal people was about things like what is your favorite color, and I seemed to ask all of these either very direct or indirect questions. It didn't flow like having a cup of coffee and catching up the way that good siblings or even new acquaintances would laugh at shared experiences. We were two awkward ducks in a mucky murky pond. It was very strange to me the interaction. You flew out the door and I had no idea what had just happened. I saw you at work for the next three days and after that...
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