Saturday, Feb. 16, 2002 / 7:34 p.m.

~A Shout Out to Derek~

I don't know, Derek, I understand you being cynical, but it seems to me that the only people who don't enjoy the encounters experienced in clubs and bars are the people who don't have them. The last person I met in a club was extremely cool, too cool I suppose. He was a bike messenger, wore his bag around his neck and over one shoulder, all his clothes on at once, shirt, sweater, everything. Ready to ride, but inside to meet friends, friends who frequent the club, friends who work there.

A guy who knows everyone, has connections, a guy who is liked, and likes, is known and desires to be that way. An artist, a painter, a collaborator, a passionate, open minded, truly wonderful person. A guy I began to "fall" for. Someone I wanted to know, inside, oustide, every inch.

Was sex on our minds? We made eye contact, a spark ensued. You could see it, feel it in the air. He approached, the conversation was about how tall I might be when standing, why he had on so many clothes, and can he feel my legs under my jeans......mmmmmmm....love a woman who is natural......you're an artist? And a bike messenger?? Aren't you afraid riding on city streets?

And can you give me a ride, I don't live far, yes, your bike fits in my car. Can I have a hug? Can I kiss you?

Was sex on our minds? No. Not at first. Is it weird or wrong to meet in a bar or a club? How can we refuse any pleasure, no matter where it comes from? How can you say no when it's good? How can you turn and look the other way when someone is finding you? You can't.

Can you go looking? No. Yes. You can, but you won't find if you look, only something fleeting.

I saw him again, I wanted him with a passion, and he's the one who said it "snowballed".....too much. Too much. Too soon. An excuse, most likely, and he is in another state now, teaching art, creating art, his passions lie in art, he cannot focus on the needs of someone else. This, I understand.

And if he said, "I love your back. I love your hair, I want to paint you, naked." and I jokingly said, "So what should I wear?", even if, all of that, even if we came inches from a point that is close to beyond what it should've been, even if we stopped, wasn't it worth those moments?

It seems, always, those who complain about bars, or clubs, or meeting in meat markets, are those who don't do it. Those who it doesn't happen to, or for. If I go out, there will be someone, maybe no one, but usually some one, ONE, who will feel something, and so will I, and if it's sexual it is then, but it's often more than that, something much more than that.

I'm sorry your cynicism gets in the way of your enjoyment. I am cynical too. But eternally optimistic in spite of myself. And I was afraid of you, in a way. I didn't know what you wanted from me, I removed me from you, turned you away in turn. You left with ease. No looking back. But will you look now?

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