Creepy Sexy

I’ve always been drawn to sexy ugly. You know, the Mick Jagger, Sandra Bernhardt and John Turturro types. I like the ones that snag your eye from across the street. The ones that make you stare even though you know it’s rude. I remember having a crush on a boy in grade school who had a club foot. When he walked his whole body would fall jerkily over to one side like he had tripped and then slowly, with great effort, arch back the other way as he righted himself. He had a twin brother who was really hot (all the girls swooned for him). But I found his brother to be snide and full of conceit. They were both whip smart and sassy and funny as fuck, but I was just a sucker for the one with the swanky stride.

But I think I recently crossed the line into creepy sexy. And that just seems like asking for trouble.

A few weeks ago during yet another excruciating bout of middle of the night loneliness with empty in-boxes, I placed an ad on Craigslist:

Tying the Knot?

I want strings attached. Lengthy lengths of cord tethering me to your heels; thick ropes wrapped round and round our trunks; thin threads of tinsel dangling from our toes and fingers. Like seaweed floating in the sound. Like roots joining trees in a subterranean twine. Like nothing can cut us apart.

Amazingly most replies were still your typical “hi i’m bob you sound nice pic 4 pic” variety. One reply was from a sweet sounding artsy type, let’s call him Red, who sent a picture of himself standing at a campground. The picture was great because you could tell he was handsome and smiling despite the fact he had his hand over his face shielding himself from whoever was taking the picture. I like people who send pictures that tell a story. He and I wrote back and forth a bit, spoke on the phone once or twice, and ended up going out for sushi, after which we mutually acknowledged the lack of sparkiness and that was that. And the rest of the replies I deleted.

Well, all except for one:

like blackberry bushes, spreading, sinking roots, sending up shoots, even as thorns bite ?

Could it be that someone had actually picked up on my subtly suggested penchant for bondage? I knew it was subtle because I had even asked Red if he’d picked up on it. He said he hadn’t, and that despite the fact he had some experience with ropes.

Now generally I refuse to respond to people who don’t put much effort into their replies. But Mr. Thorns here had managed to do what no others had – match me. His reply was as cryptic as my post, and yet it put it all out there really. It was luscious and suggestive, and still mysterious. And, furthermore, it tapped into a thing I have for blackberry bushes. Tapped right into the very heart of the thing.

So I wrote him back. And, since it was anonymous and therefore whatthehell, I put it all out there. My kink that is. And my desires. Passion. Companionship. Paternity.

So he writes back, and I write back, and so on. Him not really telling me much, but pressing me for more. He tells me his procreation days are over. He tells me he’s a dom. Actually, he tells me he prefers sensualist, but he’s "been called master, dom, owner, yada yada yada. . ." It’s the yada yada yada that gets me.

Each time he writes I have this strong attraction/repulsion thing going on. The fact that he tells me so little about himself (and never shares a picture) and uses words so sparsely makes me suspect. I need extreme honesty and forthrightness. I can’t tell if he is just a man of few words or actually hiding things. And I tell him as much. At the same time the few words he does use hook me like a fish. Words like theology, wrists, honored, whips, fingertips, faith, desire, relentless, wanting giving taking.

Even now recalling his words puts me on that edge again. It was like each time he wrote I had these clashing compulsions to both tear away fast and to turn myself over without a struggle.

I was unusually cautious. Not giving out too much information. My location. My phone number. But I did share my first name. And I also shared a picture. Basically, with those two pieces of information, anyone who really wanted to find me could. It wouldn’t be hard. So I felt vulnerable and exposed. And yet still curious.

I was cutting blackberry vines again, a long green pliable tendril with thorns not quite hard yet made me think of your wrists and ankles

Of course it didnt take long to imagine that long vine pressing into your breasts, ................................ pressing between your thighs

So coffee is suggested and then I catch myself before saying yes and request a phone conversation first. I just needed to verify something. Anything. His phone number. His voice. His cadence in conversation. Something. I just needed more information. A sign he was safe.

So I pick up the phone and dialed.

He answered and without missing a beat he says “When we meet I want you to be wearing a skirt with nothing under it. Even if we don’t touch I want to know your body is as open as your mind.”

Gulp.

I had to admit that was a great line. And yet, it totally squicked me. I mean I’m a sub, but I’m not a plaything. A person has to know me and respect me and care for me, to be trustworthy and safe and loving, before they get to tell me what to do. So I backed off. I said I would probably wear jeans and a t-shirt. But there’s that damn curiosity so I don’t hang up. We talk for a bit. And I note he has a slight slur to his words. A stroke? Is he drunk? I don’t know. But I notice it. And the space between the words. And I notice he doesn’t tell me much more about himself, and yet he wants to know about me. Where I walk my dog. Where I grew up. It just doesn’t feel right, you know? The balance.

The thing about me is I will give and give and give. I will. And I will give happily. But, as I get older, and indeed wiser, I realize that those who take and take and take will just keeping taking. They will never give me what I really need. And now that I actually know what I need, well, I don’t think I can settle for less one more time.

So, I thanked him for his time and I hung up. But not before he reiterated “when we meet I want you to be wearing a skirt and nothing underneath. I want to know your body is as open as your mind.”

Fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing to say to a girl like me.