I’m officially living vicariously through my reading, dang it. Reading The Piano Teacher by Janice Y.K. Lee has awakened my libido and suddenly I found myself thinking yesterday how nice it’d be to have an affair, not to be in love with anyone else but just to have a purely sexual and intellectual interaction, no strings attached (ah, what wishful thinking that is to assume it were possible, not to want more). In that moment, I wasn’t thinking of Frank or even of the complications of going to meet with anyone, but I wished that I could have sex with someone I never did get around to sleeping with, not that’s he’s interested anymore but a girl can dream.
So last night, that’s exactly what I did dream. I asked him if I could spend the night with him and he agreed with little protest but also little interest and, when we got to his apartment, he showed me the couch and gave me a selection of children’s movies to watch on the TV while he went out and came back late at night with another woman whom he fucked in his bedroom. Youch, that stung. In the morning, he delivered me back to my parents and they, in turn, sent me off to seventh grade, I suppose because that’s how foolish I was being, just a child with her fantasies. Next time, I’ll have to be more specific and ask if he’d be interested in fucking me.
Is it really so difficult to be taken as a sexual object these days? I know, I’m the one who forgets I can possibly be seen that way, that I too can be used. It seems too much to ask for now. But who says I can’t have fantasies? And isn’t it my flirting without considering the consequences and forgetting men would really take me up on my offer which got me in trouble in the first place? I just wish I’d offered myself to him while I was still available six years ago and gotten it out of my system (how sweet!). Pardon the anti-feminist tone of this post. I’m just disappointed in my dream: it was rather a blow to my self-image.
Who knew all this would come up from reading a book about a woman in Hong Kong? Who knew I was so desperate to be acknowledged as a physical being still? But all the delicately suggestive clothing I can wish for won’t equal an all-consuming night with someone I desire physically. Feeling this way is so unbecoming, I wish I could turn it off. Hopefully, it will return to hibernation soon.
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