Wow; at a party I went to recently I think I found two girls’ “on” switches. 😄 I’ve never seen such expressions of happiness and excitement break free upon dancing with me like those two had on their faces, they had so much fun with me twirling them around the dance floor in thrilling fashion, all fast and jumping and kicking to hard-charging heart-pumping music (we had a live band, which helps a lot). Both of them were gushing over me the whole time after those dances we shared, saying it was great, I was amazing, and even, in one case, “that was unreal!”.
And as pretty and youthful girls with a wholesome amount of red-blooded femininity in them, all dolled up in their dresses, that made me feel really good, so good it left me to take away a sensation that maybe, just maybe, I have a chance in this cruel world at finding the love of my life, even if I am fast approaching the dread milestone of age thirty.
I often bemoan how I can’t really feel all that happy, and I’m even worse at expressing it; worse still, I almost completely lack the faculty of feeling excitement or enthusiasm, even when I am having what I’d think of as a good fun time. I just so wish I could feel happy and energetic and enthusiastic when I’m doing something I like and actually express it. When I have a genuine feeling of happiness I can smile alright, but outside those rare moments my smile is terrible; I just can’t turn it on even when I want to, and I so wish I could. Frankly, my smile kinda sucks even when I am genuinely happy and excited, let alone when I’m not. Now, Undead Odalisque (@EvilVizier on Twitter) says smiles are the most overrated expression anyway, but it still just bugs me.
The other night was one of the few times I wasn’t extremely dissatisfied with my level of enthusiasm and expressiveness, because I did have those happy feelings and expressions. I can do it, it just takes a lot to get it out of me. In that night’s case it was everything going perfectly for me at the venue, the venue itself possessing a beautiful ambiance, pumping myself up with corticosteriods that amount to the equivalent of 6 milligrams of prednisone, one Death Wish Coffee at home, two large-sized coffees on-site including one with a doubly large shot of espresso in it, hard-charging heart-pumping music that I actually liked, and being surrounded by attractive teenage girls who were good dancers.
Well, they weren’t all teenagers; one of the two girlies has a college degree and some sort of job she has to grub at (boo!), so I can only guess she’s at least 22 (doubt she’s much older than that; she looks very young). The other one is more typical of the crowd that night since she’s young enough to have to grub at a high school (blech!), so she’s most likely under 18 (judging by her looks not much under).
Age is just a number, though; what mattered is that they were young women who got to have some fun, which judging by the area they’re in (some of the stodgiest and most stultifying suburbs in the entire country) and what they’ve told me they do in their everyday lives (unscented candles and churchgoing families) is not something they get to experience that often. One can only hope they’ll get the chance to escape; they deserve to see the world and do so much better than what they’ve seen in life so far.
Maybe they got a preview of that from me; they certainly seemed enthusiastic, with the younger one doing a line dance and making a point to do exactly what I did and get as close to me as possible, breaking out into a smile any time our eyes made contact. Both of them from the first of those peppy dances I shared with each of them were deliriously happy and excited for the rest of the evening.
So much so that with the older one she was giving me such a look I honestly feel like I could have swept her off her feet, carted her off in my arms, and made love to her right then and there; she was so ready, in a rapture that frankly I’ve never seen before in person. Even hours after that, when she was still all gushy over me when we left the party, I showed quite a bit more physical affection than I usually do (more touch in more intimate places), and I could tell she just loved it.
The younger one wasn’t quite so “I’m ready to be taken!” as that older one, but I do think that if I wanted to mint both of them into girlfriends on the spot I probably could have.
Not that I would want to; my Twitter bio might say my location is “West of the 101”, but truth is, I’m well over a day’s drive east of the Pacific Coast Highway; I’m just planning to move there within the year. And I’ve always eschewed the very idea of becoming romantically attached to anyone in the local area I’ve lived in for my entire adult life so far, lest I be trapped there like my grandfather and my mother were before me. So no dates for me; certainly no girlfriends…
…Well, mostly no girlfriends. There was that Russian women who was already married to a husband who was hardly ever home, and she was not only my best friend but also very much like a girlfriend to me (a good girlfriend at that), but she has since moved a thousand miles away to the beach, so…meh.
And then there’s the one time my teacher got sick and the first thing she wanted to do after feeling better was take me out on a date…even though she too was already married, with a baby no less! We ended up not going through with it…but only because the venue she wanted to take me to happened to be closed that week (boo). The dance scene is wild, man…
But anyway, if I don’t want to have a local girlfriend, I want even less to do with having a girlfriend who’s already married. Even though married women are by far the flirtiest and the most attracted to me, for reasons that yet remain mysterious to me. So the other night was a welcome change of pace; as far as I know neither one of those girlies was attached. Yet we had some real chemistry in that delectably hot way that leads to the most intimate a man and a woman can be with each other.
Like I said, it gives me a sense that I really do have a chance with a really young and really pretty woman who I’d find utterly lovable; helps too that the girlies who had the hots for me were both fair-skinned brunettes with really cute and feminine facial features and expressions, which is just my type (they only lacked much luscious curves in their figures, rather being slender). So maybe I really could still find my dream girl.
Given how much more comfortable I find myself being around European women, maybe I’ll find her in Europe, perhaps even on my trip next April and May. To pre-empt my timeline for going ahead with a test-tube baby on my own, she’d have to fall in love and get married to me fast, but such things have been known to happen. It’s possible. And Californian women catch my eye too, with me being so much the type people there assume I’m a native; I get along well with them too. After I move to the beach in the southern part of the state, I might not have long to wait until I spot a dreamie girlie, hit it off well, and take her as my own.
I can’t help but suspect I might get along the best with some rich young artsy type on the beach in California who was from Europe originally, which sounds like trying to find a unicorn, but god knows there are people like that out there in significant numbers, and I am the sort of person such a character would gravitate towards.
And even if I don’t ever find anybody to be my soul mate, I can always enjoy the company of ladies of the night and start a family on my own. That is sort of the plan, actually; at this juncture in my life, I can’t afford to wait around any longer for some mystery person I may never meet. It’s just…I want to put myself out there enough to at least give me a chance of finding true love, starting before I begin the process of making my child, and continuing for the rest of my life, or at least the rest of my life while I still have some youthfulness left in me, even after I have a whole family of platinum-blonde California beach babies.
I would be so happy…maybe, just maybe, I still have a chance of making it happen.