There’s a story that I’m itching to tell.
But I don’t want just anyone and everyone to be able to read it.
If I could limit the reading of it to what I will describe as married men “of a certain age,” I would. If there was a male equivalent of the Breast Stories publication, where men could share about their own bodies, not just penises, I would publish it there.
Of course, just as I once got sucked (no pun intended) into reading stories about boobs for hours one night, more women than men would likely read stories written by men about their penises in particular.
I researched if there is a way to limit who reads your stories once they are published on Medium and, alas and alack, there is none that I could find.
Therefore, I cannot limit who, why, or where this gets read. So be it.
That’s cool, I guess.
Since I, myself, am “of a certain age” and prone to forget things that would have been unthinkable for me to forget only three or four years ago, I thought that if I permanently recorded these thoughts, or at least for as long as Medium continues to exist and I can continue accessing it, I might as well share them.
Also, as the lyric goes:
“I’ve never been too good with names but I remember faces.”*
In this instance, I not only remember a face but other physical attributes including those of the aforementioned publication.
After writing this, I shall remember the name as well.
…
But first, let me ask a question. Rhetorical of course.
Have you ever, as a man or for that matter as a woman or a transgender or non-binary person, experienced a super-strong physical attraction to someone to who you would be better off not being so attracted?
Rhetorically of course.
I’ve been married — to a woman — for more than half of my life now.
But that doesn’t mean that I am completely immune to the charms of others of the fairer sex. Also, I categorically state that I have never acted upon anything although I was kinda sorta heading in that direction until I learned about a certain person’s political ideology.
More so since I began a regimen of testosterone supplements last year and even more so over the past twenty days since I read
Damian Clark’s recent story on — ahem — semen retention. A story that would be well-suited to the rhetorical men’s publication.
It all came to a head of sorts this afternoon when I finally struck up a conversation with such a person as described earlier. Someone who I have observed walking her dog around the City Hall neighborhood where I work for the past four or so years.
The reaction when I saw this person was much the same, only stronger, than previous times that I have seen her.
Here I share for all readers that I searched far and wide through stock photos that approximate this woman’s looks and physique, only to find far younger women than her and others heavier than her when I used terms like “curvaceous” and “voluptuous.” Two terms that well describe this lovely lady. The woman pictured in the main image is as close as I could find.
I would have most likely gone along minding my own business forever upon seeing her, but spending the remainder of my lunchtime walk alternatively fantasizing about her while my Jewish guilt complex tells me that it’s wrong and that I must banish her from my mind.
…
I do not know whether it is better for me to see this woman walking toward me or coming up behind her while her little dog whose name I now know and will share ambles along the sidewalk, sniffing things and going about his important business.
I have previously experienced a near-instantaneous physical reaction upon seeing this woman both coming and going. Quite a few times.
I probably would prefer coming up behind her so she could not see the horndog coming up behind her watching her buttocks jiggle back and forth a bit.
Also, when I typically pass by her in this manner, her dog typically yaps at me a bit, she mumbles some half-hearted apology or chastises her dog, and I continue my walk without her noticing my obvious physical reaction.
When the weather is nice and I see her coming my way, I am basically forced to look away. If I am carrying a water bottle, I nonchalantly hold it where she would not notice that I have taken notice of the way she bounces and jiggles as she heads toward me.
As I previously shared, I cannot help my reaction. It makes me feel like a high school or college guy again instead of a middle-aged man who now uses testosterone supplements.
Cathie and Carter
I truly hope that this woman does not read such stories on Medium.
It would embarrass the hell out of me or, who knows, perhaps she would find it flattering.
I suspect that it may be the latter because the first time that I said more than Hello to her was interesting, to say the least.
It was a cool but sunny early March day when I happened to see her and her little companion walking towards me. It was cool enough that we were both wearing jackets, so I was not treated to a stimulating view that would cause the physical reaction that I typically get when I see her head in my direction.
In retrospect, I now realize that I sent a few signals that a very married middle-aged man should not have.
But I also share that I was fully expecting to simply nod and continue walking since I try to get three miles in during my lunch hour most days.
This time when her little dog yapped at me, she directly remarked about it being a beautiful day for a walk in a friendly tone of voice.
I readily agreed and being the major dog-lover that I am, instead of ignoring her yappy little dog, I held my hand out for him to approach me and sniff it. Apparently liking what he smelled (my own dog? remnants of the sandwich I ate?) he started wagging his tail, prompting the woman to exclaim that he must like me.
I said the first thing that I shouldn’t have. It just came out of my mouth.
“I’ve seen you walking around here for years. I know that when I start seeing you and your dog, that spring is on its way.”
Not too creepy, I guess. But also obviously telling her that I have noticed her in the past.
Boy, have I!
She mentioned something or other that I cannot exactly recall, but it was positive. It was hard for me to concentrate on her words, although I was trying to. She undoubtedly does not know how infatuated I have been with her. Like a ten-year-old boy getting his first crush.
She said something about one of the new buildings going up downtown, snapping me out of my reverie.
That is when I mentioned something that I never had before unless someone asks, which typically only happens at a Chamber of Commerce or business-related event. Or at a social gathering.
“Yeah, I worked with them for years on that project. I’m the Economic Development Director for the City.”
That statement actually had the effect that I hoped it would.
She was impressed, or at least pretended to be, and said something like “Oh my” and then “what an interesting job I have,” which people frequently say. Only they don’t know — or care — about the thousands of hours of meetings, phone calls, emails, night meetings, and general pain that go into such projects. Nor should they. But they do see the end result.
Still petting her dog, I asked what his name is.
Listen up, guys!
If you want a lady to like you and she has a dog — her dog has to like you or you’re sunk! It’s obvious, but some guys may forget that.
She said again that her dog must like me and that his name is Carter. His tail was wagging furiously and he was licking my hand.
Furthermore, she added Carter’s last name, which I could only surmise is her own.
Figuring it polite, but also wanting to know the name of the woman who has so many times caused a nearly immediate and strong physical reaction to me as if she alone possesses whatever pheromones and magnetism most appeal to me, I asked for her name.
“Cathie.”
Because the new building that she mentioned going up will ultimately involve alcohol, as many of the businesses in our city do, I asked Cathy if she intended to frequent it.
“I’m more of a cocktail girl than a beer and wine girl,” she told me. She then told me what her favorite cocktail is, which I have since forgotten (but will ask her again).
I told her what my own favorite cocktail is — an old-fashioned — and described how I don’t really know much about cocktails but enjoy orange-colored and flavored foods and beverages.I noticed her stealing a glance at my left hand, realizing that it was yet another day that I left my wedding band in my side-table drawer.
I suppose that this was the moment when a single guy was supposed to ask if she wanted to join me for a drink sometime. But I work for a family-oriented town and most of the homes in the neighborhood are in the $400k and up range, so there are almost no single people at all around except for some divorcees and those whose spouses have passed away. Plus, I am married.
She asked my name, and I told her.
There’s no other way to put this, but she smiled at me in the nicest possible way and told me that she was very pleased to meet me, calling me by name. She was looking me directly in the eyes and her smile is even better up close than her other physical attributes are from further away.
Even while we were both wearing coats, I had to turn away. I cannot go gazing into the eyes and falling madly in love with the voluptuous woman named Cathie who I’ve seen walking for years the minute that I learn her name.
…
Every so often, when I find someone interesting on LinkedIn, Medium, Twitter, or another platform, I do some routine investigating. I do the same for most people who call me or want to meet with me at my job.
Doesn’t everyone?
My wife and daughter consider it a bit creepy and stalkerish and tell me so. But they don’t know what I have learned about some of the people who I do business with. In my opinion, it is better to know than not know.
Without sharing every single thing, I learned that Cathie is single, fifty years of age, and resides with her proud Marine veteran father. I learned this via Facebook and her mother’s obituary, which listed her siblings’ spouses and children’s names, but her name alone. Through LinkedIn, I learned that she is a nurse practitioner. Like me, she is a huge Cubs fan although, in my case, it’s more like a former Cubs fan.
I would be lying if I said that I have not contemplated several scenarios, none of which are G-rated for the kids. None of them are R-rated, either.
What will I say to her the next time that we run into one another?
Will I ask her to remind me of what her favorite cocktail is? Will I sheepishly offer to meet her “some time” and take her out for a cocktail or two?
It could not be downtown or anywhere else in the City where I work and she lives. Literally every single business owner there knows me and it is rare that I can go into a place of business without knowing someone else there.
“Who’s this?” they would ask. Others would exclaim, “So nice to finally meet your wife!” Others who have met my wife would wonder why I am walking in with the most voluptuous woman they have seen in quite a while.
There’s a seedier establishment on the edge of town where it is unlikely that either of us would know anyone.
But do I even want to ask such a wholesome-looking respectable woman to go with me to some country-style bar with a parking lot filled with pickup trucks with Trump propaganda on them? I have driven by the place daily for nearly eighteen years and have never stopped in.
Would she think me a total loser when she sees my car?
Is she thinking that she just met a nice-looking, well-spoken, relatively fit man about her age with a solid as Hell job who also happens to be single?
She would likely think me a scumbag, like you might, for even considering meeting her for a drink. What would be my motive for that, anyway?
To have my first illicit tryst with a woman who would likely make me explode immediately and embarrass myself? (I told you that I only want middle-aged men to read this!)
Then be guilt-ridden for years, to boot?
No thanks.
Maybe there is no endgame, but there is one thing that I have been wondering about ever since our brief conversation.
I realize that it may be hard to believe, but not only have I never really hit on another woman since getting married in June of 1996, but I have never even really paid a woman a major compliment. Many low-key ones, like telling a lady that her hair looks nice, but never something more than that.
In this day and age, I am scared of being accused of anything that could come back to haunt me.
My Goodness, how I want to tell this woman how freakin’ attractive she is to me!
For all I know, that may be something that would make her happy. While I have described her voluptuous nature several times already, she is not what one might consider a classic beauty. Besides her killer body, I also think that her hair, face, eyes, and pleasant demeanor are highly attractive.
For all I know, she has suffered through hard times like we all have and might want to know that at least one man finds her hot as Hell and has taken notice of her beauty.
I am certain that any man with any mojo at all who she has tended to as a nurse has taken notice of her attributes. It would be impossible not to.
What to do?
But now that I have written these words, I will share one last thought.
When I see her and her little dog coming my way in the future or see her in front of me, I will say to myself “Cathie and Carter,” vowing to get their names right, and will be as nice as it is humanly possible for me to be.
And if it ever seems like the right time, I will either creep her out and have to avoid her forevermore, later telling her friends “the economic development guy is such a creep! You wouldn’t believe what he said to me! And I found out that he’s married!” Or I might actually make her day and life a little bit better.
Life is short and I have had many — far too many — regrets.
Not telling Cathie that she is extremely attractive and supremely beautiful to me would be yet another.
…
“I’ve never been too good with names but I remember faces” lyric from It’s a Shame About Ray by the Lemonheads (1992)
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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