Chet leaned across the restaurant table, looked deeply – and of course longingly – into my eyes and said, “I want to be your lover.” Then he kissed me.
This was our second date.
I knew from the moment I met him earlier in the evening that this was his intention, without his having to say a word.
Did I know it consciously? Could I have articulated this knowledge? Probably not.
But my body knew it. That carefully calibrated tuning fork made up of my skin, my blood and my nerves started vibrating as soon as I greeted him where he stood, waiting for me in the theater lobby.
What caused all that commotion, that furious vibrating? Waves. Waves of
testosterone. Aimed at me. Rolling over me, seeping into my pores. Addling my brain.