This time the prompt was a beloved repeat: Similes and Metaphors. Click here for a link explaining that prompt.
The phrases I ended up choosing were:
Longing is lust
Sex is syrup
Hoping is loving more
What I wrote is below.
Let it come to you, I think, opening my heart chakra, clearing my expectations. Don’t think about it, let it come to you.
I’m talking about love, of course, and not brotherly or sisterly love: I have that, thank God, I have that. I’m talking about rosebud, Saturday morning breakfast, cuddle up on the couch, foot massage love. And Baby, I need it.
Calm down, I tell my lover self, my in-the-crotch, dirty mind, horny self. Calm down. When the hot Latin guy in a white tank top slides his muscular arm onto the open window of his big blue truck, and I feel that familiar longing and lust. Calm down, okay?
The higher self opens the rib cage, turns off the hot red light, asks, “Are you ready for love?” Because love is skydiving: a leap of faith and a long free-fall, before one of two things happens: your chute explodes and you float down in calm and bliss, or you barrel toward the hard earth. Splat!
But longing is lust, and if you’ve got that switch flipped all the time then you won’t find much else. And as a single gay man in San Francisco, you can find a lot of lust. A lot. Boys are hanging out in front of the 7-11 looking for it: capital IT. And I don’t mean a date, mate. Lust is everywhere here: in a bar at the corner of 19th and Collingwood, in the restaurant upstairs (and down), in the restroom at Macy’s (Hey, man! What are you looking at?).
Lust is free.
But weekends in the wine country and handholding in the movie theater? Dinner parties and airfare/hotel packages, five days in Key West? That’s harder to come by.
“The Universe responds to your intention,” friends more spiritual than I keep telling me. Yeah, right. But as much as I poo-poo that belief system, I know it’s all about staying focused and being mindful, and I’ve never been great at all that.
I want to focus on that moment when I decide to leap out of the plane, but instead I just focus on Mr. Right Now on the ground, breaking up old pavement with a jackhammer. I’m not fond of that sound, but it’s so familiar. So is the fantasy of fast, cheap, and fabulous. But in the end, it’s not what I really want.
It always leaves me wanting more, like trips to Umbria, or lunch outside on a sunny day. Sure, I could go to Magic Mountain, ride the crazy rollercoaster instead, but it always leaves me wanting more. It always leaves me wanting more.