Blue Eyed Stranger

The first thing that I remember from the night I met you was the way you looked at me. It was a gaze that was filled not only with lust, but with shame… And that intrigued me. No one had ever been shameful of lusting after me, in fact it was something that most people seemed to take pride in. So to find a man who found his desire as a source of shame rather than pride piqued my interest.

I remember walking over to my friend and pointing you out, commenting on how incredibly attractive you were. You looked at me, your eyes piercing through my soul, and I felt this magnetic pull towards you.

When my wingman walked up to you and obviously said something about me, you looked at me, smirked, and shook your head. I was insulted at first, and definitively confused. Why would you look at me like that, and then deny my advance? Perhaps I had been too forward, but I tend to have no patience with the silly courtship games that are played by the rest of my generation.

When my wingman persisted, as he was confused as well, you came up with an answer that crushed my hopes for the night.

“I’m taken.”, you’d said. Your firm was tone and decisive, but don’t think I didn’t notice the undercurrent of regret and wistfulness. I also noticed the way your eyes traveled up and down my form, hunger glinting and giving away what was truly in your drunken thoughts.

I took my leave then, as ungracefully as I possibly could have, and exited the tiny, loud garage we were all crammed into. As I breathed in the crisp fall air, I looked around. My heart beat fast in my ears, a side effect of your presence helped along by the overpowering liquor in my drink. I quickly went to find my friends, in need of their support and advice. I had just come off of a relationship with a boy that was as unhealthy for me as he was unfaithful, and I had never been in this position before.

I wanted you. That was the first and foremost thought in my mind. I desired to get to know you and the mind behind those soul piercing eyes, but I was not the type of person to break up any sort of relationship, having been on the opposite end of that equation. It only ever adds up to heartbreak and anger.

I got the advice I needed to hear from a dear friend, and I returned to the thick of the party, confident in my abilities to either avoid you or find another, more eligible bachelor. Lo and behold- the only other person who was even the slightest bit attractive to me seemed to be your friend. I decided to use that fact to my advantage and I sauntered up to both of you. I focused most of my attention on him but the presence I felt most was yours.

The night wore on, drinks were poured, conversation was made, and several highly inappropriate texts were exchanged between us. I could feel the tension every time you walked by me, or every time our eyes met across the crowded room.

We eventually ended up sitting in the main house, continuing a conversation about my artistic sensitivities. You were horribly insensitive and sarcastic, needling me and teasing me for my naive outlook. I, in turn, displayed a surprising amount of verbal wit for someone so intoxicated, and I get the distinct feeling that I impressed you, despite my earlier blunders. I showed you my writing and you read what I had written, and understood what I truly meant. You even commented on the message, expressing sympathy for my heartbreak. I, of course, brushed it off but something in the way you looked at me told me that you knew how deep it really cut.

When the conversation got too intimate, and the intoxication got to a level of judgement-blurring and line-crossing, I decided that enough was enough. Apparently you’d decided that too at the same point, for you rose, extended a hand to me, and helped me to my feet. We exchanged polite, if not wistful, “goodnights”, and I dared to plant a kiss on your cheek.

You thanked me for an eventful night of conversation,

and I cursed you for your self control.

To the stranger who, through firm rejection, taught me that good men still exist.


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