Trouble

I've really started using New York for all it's worth, including a multitude or pretty good-looking men of all races and backgrounds that feel just as stressed and lonely as I do.

But with that, I've become more secretive and that makes me worried. It makes me feel deceptive. It makes me feel like I'm the liar. It's as if I almost feel ashamed of what I'm doing. Maybe it's the Catholic upbringing, never mentioning sex and when it hit you right in genitals just denying it. Maybe it's that I've always thought of myself as a catch. You know, sure I'll make out with anyone, but to get the good stuff you have to be special.

But I've become frivolous with sex; I guess they call that promiscuous.

I walk into a bar with my mind on finding the most-attractive, most-interesting (opinion-based of course) man I can and then in a whirlwind of vodka and deep conversations say, "Hey, so wanna go back to my place?"
It was ingrained in me from kindergarten to twelfth grade that every time you have sex you will either get an incurable STD that will basically make you equivalent to a leper in the time of Jesus or get pregnant which will be completely shameful, so much so that you will then have to be a child bride. Granted, protection is the key here, but the mentions above, it seems, do not actually happen all that often.

What else doesn't happen?

You don't just jump into bed with someone and fall in love. But that's what I'm looking for... Because sex with a sociopath is so so good. Other people that have dated sociopaths say similar things.
That's really the only thing I miss...

Not even the other "good" parts, like throwing my leg over his lap and whispering about how good we look in those two-seater benches on the L train when the subway car goes underground and turns the window into a mirror; or him crossing his eyes and speaking in a Vietnamese accent, rambling about "your mathaaa" this and "duuuhhh, what so funnieeee" that, sending me into uncontrollable giggling; or even when we'd walk around the city holding hands in front of all those people he didn't want to know about me. None of that even remotely gets to me anymore. It's actually a tad sadistically funny that he will have to live with all he's done to hurt people for the rest of his pathetic life.

While everyone that's he's hurt is getting over it and moving on with people that love...

Now when I daydream of love, I think of that man there, leaning against the door of the 5 train at 8 am, or that one walking out of Grand Central, making eyes with me as he throws his hood over his head but not in time to keep the snowflakes from his brow, or him or him and them.

The thing that worries me though is that I expect to shack up with someone after one date and have the best sex of my life, have comparable sex to what I was having, which just isn't fair really. And if it isn't as ecstasy-inducing as it was  then that's what's wrong with them and I won't give them another chance.

I'm worried that I'll always be wanting them to do what he did when I'm fucking them.
But I'm rational...

It's out there. Every time I try another I'm getting closer to what I want...

There's Bharat, a sheltered Indian boy that had "smoked weed one time" and always asked me if he could kiss me. There's Jit, another Indian that had many interesting ideas about technology and liked hearing mine as well. There's Matt who got drunk off two dark and stormy's and then wanted to make out every ten steps. There's a group of them that use "u" instead of "you" and other shortcuts when texting me nice things. There's Andy who was so fascinated that I could be open about my sexuality that then everything I said was followed by "so tell me more about what you're into." There's the bro. There's the hipster. There's possibilities but they live states away.

I'm not alone. I'm not without kind words and free meals.

But I am so fucking tired of telling people that I'm from Missouri and I'm a writer and I like art and food and drinking and dancing and traveling and everything, just everything.

I want to lay in bed watching bootlegged movies with a friend and get to know each other slowly in between really sweaty sex. I want to look at someone and smile as we walk my sheets to the laundrymat for the fifth day in a row because no one knows what we know, no one sees what we see.

I want fast infatuation and slow romance. That's what I had with him.

This is what I'll always want, and hey it might lead me to trouble again but... I'm quite good at handling trouble.