I was working in southern California yesterday. The day went very, very well and I headed back to the airport feeling confident and energized. The earliest flight I could get back home was 4 hours from then. Normally that would annoy me because airports are not my favorite place to hang out, but yesterday I was feeling good. I decided to enjoy the time, watch the people, and find a nice spot to watch the Texas-Baltimore game.
I knew I was in trouble when I got onto the rental car shuttle and sat down. I made eye contact with the businessman sitting right across from me and I felt that little twitch "down there." When business goes well for me, I get horny. Very horny. And this 40-something businessman with no luggage (just an iPad in his hand) and a disarming, polite smile triggered it. I actually gasped when I felt it because I knew that I'd be fighting the urge to find someone to fuck for the next several hours.
The worse part was that not only did I have desire, but I had opportunity. How easy it would be to find a lonely, anonymous traveler with a few hours to kill who would be interested in disappearing for an hour or two.
Of course, now the whole people watching dynamic was changed for me. Every man I saw would be assessed for that potential. As I negotiated the crowd in the terminal, I was scanning for men traveling alone. At one point I chuckled at myself out loud. This kind of pussy-driven predatory behavior is not my style, but I'll admit that there is something invigorating about the hunt, the pursuit, and the capture.
As I focused on men traveling alone, I realized that they were everywhere! I could easily eliminate the ones with too much luggage and the ones rushing through the terminal.
Halfway to my gate, I realized I was hungry, so I stopped at a sandwich shop and ordered something. I took a seat in the corner of the shop, facing the walkway. I started eating my sandwich while I checked email and, for a few minutes, my mind drifted away from my...uh...need, and my brain took over again, reminding me that it would be just silly to pick up a total stranger and head to a hotel. What was I thinking?
Then I heard a voice ask if he could join me. I looked up and the whole shop was full, but I was alone at a table for two. Standing in front of me was a very attractive 50-ish man holding only a computer case.
"Sure," I said. Am I sending out some signal? I wondered. But here's the honest truth. It would have been easy to snare that one. Heck, he's the fish who just jumped into my boat. Unfortunately for him, his timing sucked. Why? Because I had been on a strict, low-carb diet for the last six months, and at that exact moment, I was halfway through the most delicious, heavenly, high-carb, high fat sandwich I think I've ever had in my life (ok, that's an exaggeration, but you get the point, right?). Not only that, but that sandwich would probably be the only bread I'd eat for the next several months. His dick could not possibly be as satisfying as that carbo-fiesta in front of me. And he was annoying me by interrupting me and trying to ruin the moment.
Let me say here that I understand this is completely dysfunctional, but if you are surprised by this you haven't been reading PWK for very long. Which is worse, my obsession with men or my obsession with carbs? All I can tell you is that I pretty much stuck to my low carb diet perfectly for six months. The longest I've gone without sex with a man other than my husband has been...well....not nearly as long.
But I digress.....again.....
So, I finished my sandwich, making small talk with that guy and nursing my resentment for the interloper and got out of there as soon as I was done. I headed down the terminal, toward my gate. I noticed the baseball game on at one of the TVs I passed along the way. It was time to find a place near my gate to watch the game. Hopefully, there'd be a sports bar or someplace like that where I could relax comfortably.
As I walked, the twitch started coming back. I started noticing the men again. Damn, I thought, that carb high didn't last long.
I found a bar with the game on and looked around for a place to sit.
A woman experienced at traveling alone knows how to pick the right situation based on her mood. For example, when I don't want to talk to anyone or be bothered, I pick a table for two in the back or on the periphery of the place, open my computer or a book and relocate the second chair to another table. That, by the way, was the mistake I made at the sandwich place. I didn't move the empty chair away. That chair was an invitation for someone to join me. If I am open to some companionship, I leave the chair and turn it so it is facing out a bit, inviting someone to use it, and I won't pull out a book. If I want some one-on-one conversation, I sit at the bar. If I want some fun socialization, I either join a large table of people or sit alone at a large table, knowing that it will fill in as they place gets more crowded.
So, I noticed a large table right up front by the TV with 6 men sitting there. They didn't appear to be traveling together as they represented a range of ages, social status, and ethnicity. They had only two things in common - they were men and they were seriously into that baseball game. And there were two seats still available at that table. I walked up to the table and took one of those seats - without asking, of course. Two of the men stood up for me. How sweet. The others didn't even look away from the game. I ordered a soda and made myself comfortable.
Soon, I started jumping into the conversations that popped up about the game. The last seat at the table was taken quickly by another man. Within 30 minutes, the place was packed to standing room only and the cheers were louder, the boos were more vehement, and conversations were flying all over about what was going on in the game, player stats, and the stupid new 1 game wildcard playoff thing. Our little table of 8 had become a table of about 12 as several other guys pulled chairs up. Introductions were made all around.
This is one of the things I love about men. They can come together as strangers over something they have in common, get to know each other, and have a great time without any angst about the fact that they'll never see each other again or jealousy over what one is wearing or whatever. It's the purest form of human interaction and camaraderie that there is. Women can get together and socialize on the fly, but the feel is completely different. There's holding back. There's a note of distrust or the feeling that "you know you're not really my friend, right?" We're usually distracted by other thoughts - children, spouses, responsibilities, how we look. We have one hell of a hard time just enjoying the moment. In the bar, watching the game, was the perfect example of how men can totally enjoy a moment. I love that!
Then it hit me. I was the sole woman in a lair of men. I hadn't really noticed it before because I was just so completely comfortable. Ultimately, that was my tip off.
The guy sitting next to me asked what I was drinking and offered to buy me another. When I told him it was soda he laughed and tried to talk me into something stronger. I politely declined, thinking, Honey, I don't have to be drunk to fuck a stranger.
All of the conversation focused on the game. In between innings we all talked about happened at the St. Louis-Atlanta game. Smart phones and iPads came out, videos were queued up and shared. The debate about the appropriate application of the infield fly rule was on. I was amazed at how few of them really understood the rule so I stood up and outshouted them (because accuracy matters in a conversation about baseball) to tell them what the infield fly rule said, why it was created, and how it might and might not apply in this situation. A hush came over the table as 12 men were staring at me. Then one of them,looking down at his iPad, said, "Yeah, that's almost verbatim what the MLB says the rule is." I looked at him and smiled in a sense of mock disbelief that he would question me. "You're fuckin' right it is, " I said. We all laughed and then I sat down and turned toward the TV because the Baltimore game was back on.
I felt his stare from behind me about 8 feet away. I turned saw the guy from the sandwich shop. He smiled and waved. I returned his smile, but he wasn't the one I was feeling. Next to him was a guy in a suit, tie loosened, top button undone, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, beer in his hand. He looked like he was about 40, but it was hard to tell. He had black hair with just a little grey, and he wore a wedding ring. He lifted his glass about 2 inches and nodded his head very slightly as a greeting. It was such a contrast to Sandwich Shop Guy's enthusiastic wave. It was much more intriguing, more inviting. Guys, remember this - less is more, ok?
I turned back around to the game, laughed with my new found buddies, and let somebody else buy me another soda. Soon the game ended and we all stood to split up and go our separate ways. Since we were so close to my gate, I suspected that some of these guys would be on my plane. It turns out that four of them were.
As I walked out of the bar, I decided to find a restroom because I only had 30 minutes until it would be time to board. The closest restroom happened to be the one way down at the end of the terminal. It was late enough that that end of the terminal was empty. Clearly no more flights would be leaving from there so it was like walking through an empty terminal.
I heard someone walking behind me at a faster pace than I was walking, which was not surprising because I was meandering more than walking, but I didn't look back. I felt safe. There was no need to look back. Soon, the mystery man from the bar fell into step right next to me.
"Are you headed to XYZ, too?" he asked.
"Yes, I am," I answered, without elaboration.
"I was watching you in the bar," he said.
"You seem to know a lot about baseball." He smiled the most gorgeous big smile.
My internal dialogue kicked in. No, Kat! Don't do it! You made it through three and a half hours without giving in to that urge. Just walk away.
I replied, "I know lots of things."
Goddammit, Kat. Well, as long as you're here, you might as well do it.
"Oh?" he whispered.
I stopped and turned toward him and took a step closer, completely erasing that comfort distance that you keep between yourself and strangers. I looked up at him and said, "Yup."
"Any things that you could show me?" he asked.
I just nodded my head, maintaining eye contact.
He took a step back, clearly nervous and not prepared for the response he got. He introduced himself and pulled out his card, handing it to me. I didn't even look at it before I slipped it into my bag. I still didn't say anything. He asked my name and I handed him my card. He looked at it, and started talking nervously.
It was obvious to me that this guy wasn't going to be able to close the deal, so I turned and started walking toward the restroom again, this time moving faster. He kept up.
"So, tell me something you know," he said.
Two competing Kats were speaking up in my head:
Good girl Kat: I know that we're going to miss our flight if we don't hurry.
Bad girl Kat: I know that I'm really horny and I could use a quickie in one the stalls in this empty restroom.
Here's what came out of my mouth:
"I know that I'm really horny and I could use a quickie in one the stalls in this empty restroom, but I also know that we're going to miss our flight if we don't hurry." And I walked into the restroom.
He said, "Wait!" and took a step in after me, but then he stopped. I shook my head. I was right. He can't close the deal. Some men are just like that. They want to do the naughty, impulsive thing. They fantasize about doing it, but when the moment is actually there, they can't. They stop at the door and wait.
As I was "doing my business" in the restroom, I realized I was grateful that he couldn't do it. Why? Because my body wanted it, but my head really didn't. I know most of you guys can relate to that. Things are going great at home and I have another Sweetie in my life of whom I'm very fond. I don't want to screw any of that up. I have no time or real desire for another lover at this time and because this guy is local, it's likely that this wouldn't have been a one-time thing. Yes, I decided it was good thing that he couldn't or didn't want to go through with it.
I came out of the restroom (after washing my hands thoroughly, of course, with soap and hot water) and he was still there. That surprised me a little.
He said, "They called our flight."
"See?" I replied. "I told you we'd have to hurry."
He smiled and nodded and we made small talk as we made our way back to the gate.
I got in the boarding line with the other three baseball buddies from the bar. They were still talking about the game and the infield fly rule. One of them asked how I knew so much about the game. I explained how I grew up around baseball, raised with all brothers and male cousins, played for years....blah, blah, blah. Baseball, you see, is not just a game. It's a lifestyle, a life perspective, a metaphor for living, almost a spiritual journey. Some people get it. Some people don't.
I boarded the plane first and took a window seat. My wimpy "almost-got-a helluva-fuck-in-the-ladies-room" friend chose the aisle seat in my row, leaving the seat between us open. As the flight was boarding he leaned over and whispered, "Can I call you?"
"Sure," I said, fully aware that he probably won't, but now I'll own his mind for as long as he struggles with the dilemma and that thought gives me some pleasure. Yeah, I know. That's bad, huh?
The flight was quiet and uneventful. It was a late night flight, so there was little conversation. People were reading or sleeping.
When we got off the plane. I saw his wife greet him. He gave her a hug and then turned back to me and gave me that slight head nod again. Damn, that was so cool. He's definitely a very cool geek, I thought.
I have a soft spot for the geeky types.
As I started writing this post, I couldn't even remember his name. That's how I remembered that I had his card. I reached into my purse and dug it out. Then I stopped. This is one of those moments of decision. What do I want? Do I want this guy? Or am I happy with what I have in my life right now?
Instead of looking at his card, I just turned and slipped it into the shredder.