Introverted Stream of Consciousness

This is why I Stay Home...

Sober me is a bit of a prude. Sitting at the bar… actively engaging with the live music via the tapping of my foot… the scent of man enters my olfactory senses. My subconscious hunts for an odor that it craves. Dank masculine pheromones that turn my eyes white as they roll to the back of my skull… running my tongue across my upper teeth, I’m half expecting fangs to rip through my gums. Tonight feels like the perfect night to meet someone. Naïvety is prevalent in my romantic endeavors… Being introverted halts me from making eyes around the room. I want him to come to me. I want my energy to resonate like gravity and draw him into my sphere. Sandalwood stirs the air around me as people get up and down from their seats. A mysterious stranger seated in red seems to be looking in my direction… I don’t dare look at him for fear of being wrong. There is live music after all. This is why I don’t go out…my lack of regular physical contact feels like an involuntary halo of desperation. My wants and my needs bargain with each other to allow my ego just a taste of someone…An unfamiliar musk to satiate my Eros spirit. My tongue lashes out playfully licking my lips out of sexual hunger. Desire to sink my teeth into flesh and let my pleasure paint the air in moans becomes more permissible with each drink. Self control in these situations is the foundation of my pride. Right now all I want to do is rip that away. The scent of man is in my nose and it’s exactly what I crave god dammit… There is no resolution for me. Each sip of bourbon flavored citrus lowers my inhibitions. Allowing me to become more seduced. The possibilities surrounding me force my brain into a think tank. The path to my physical desires is more simple than I’m making it out to be and I know it. Why do I play this game with myself? To see if who I want wants me? Probably… The complexity of my basic desires is being reduced to wanting to make out. I need the safety of home. Away from strangers and possibility. The probability of a regrettable decision in this atmosphere is high. If I weren’t drinking it would be drastically lowered but then what would happen to my anxiety? Fuck…! What is it about the atmosphere of a bar that makes you hope someone will approach you… in the way you fantasized without consequence? Fuck cravings… fuck, cravings…

Five drinks later and bravery appears. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I casually survey the room around me. The electric guitar playing a soundtrack to my alcohol induced confidence. A couple sits next to me and the shrinking of space cools my desire. The want, burning through my clothes has been tamed by the constant puppy guarding of the neighboring male to his woman. I have no interest in her or him for that matter… I’ll soak back into the music… and go back to ignoring the desires of my flesh. Resolved to my fate of won’t… déjà vu settles across my shoulders as minor excitement attempts to recall what happens next. Fear tells me the feeling of déjà vu is all there is. Drunkenness softens the disappointment as I once again slide into the ambiance of the live music.

I haven’t figured out who I am socially. I like to be quiet and observe. I also like to engage and have deep thought provoking conversations… not with everyone. I haven’t mastered my presence and I’m not sure what that is…

Increased patronage takes away from the music. The decibel of conversation mutes the intricacies of the jazz being played. Distractions… as if an entity were going out of its way to remind me of my physical longings. I attempt to substitute my lust with saxophone solos unsuccessfully. A sip of water only adds weight to my bladder… I was trying to avoid the bathroom. Cagey, that’s how I feel. My jeans are too tight, this bar stool is too hard and wearing a t- shirt under this button down was too much. The frustration of unresolved desire is again front and center in my energy. Heavy female scent covers the wafts of masculine musk I was enjoying. I want a new seat but the bar is packed and moving means I’ll have to awkwardly stand for the next two hours… I’ll focus on the growing pressure in my bladder since I refuse to alleviate it. Consider it my last line of defense against my craving for flesh…

It’s the end of the second set and a quick glance behind me reveals several empty tables. I haven’t had a drink in the last half hour and it feels like I’m due one. The scent of sandalwood returns and I search for who it belongs to. A thick, scruffy, bartender seems a likely source. Insecurity or perhaps logic applies the brakes to my hunt. Actively pursuing anything in my brain right now will only result in humiliation. So I’ll wait until the band has finished their second set. I’ll take a piss and calm down until I can retreat to the safety of home.