Trigger Me

Trigger me.

He commented on the picture I posted of the food I had made...

“So the food looks as tasty as you do.”

The meaning of his statement blossomed in my mind, and the shift within my core brought authentic, aching desire. I blushed as easily as a young girl with a big crush. Damn.

As my blood pressure pounded readily in private places, I thought to myself, 'When will I ever learn?'

I replied that he knew what he was doing, thinking making a statement such as that had caused me to imagine being tasted, gently, driving nerve endings into a frenzy of urgency...hips shifting, pushing towards that needed violation for more.

No, though, this meal has many courses, each unfolding, served and eaten like artistic expression, until it would seem complete.

But, what is THIS?

Though many delights were shared, partaken, certain appetites addressed, the attendees find them fiercely, savagely in need of a meal on which they can gorge themselves, juices dripping, heaving from heightened lustful energies, wild desires met and fed repeatedly on the comfort food of unbridled love and passion. No place ignored, even the kinks of tongues and lips tasting, delivering powerful sensations where some dare not to go.

Yes.

Trigger me.

We began to have a conversation, albeit in a comment thread of my post in the one thing we shared...a group on Facebook.

I had thought groups were good because it was a place you could go to for socializing, talk about the given subject, which in this case was supposed to be unusual foods. Yet, here I was, chatting about a double meaning for things we say, and he was, in his own way, trying to find out my exact level of available, my official social status, a.k.a.'Does Cali have a man?'

More double speak from this man trying to find out if I have a man, and still within my own food post.

I teasingly asked if he was trying to find a woman that would be interested in unusual foods, and could find, prepare, and cook them.

His simple answer,”Yes.”

I didn't respond, but it was not because I was offended, it was because I was looking for someone, too, yet refused to admit it to anyone, even me, until that very moment. So, I only stuck in my own thoughts when he shot back, “What about you? Are you looking for someone, anyone?”

A few minutes passed, and I finally shared my own one word reply, “Yes.”

He immediately tried to message me, and I went back and forth in my mind, wanting so much to feel like I could be special for someone, and dreading the investment of myself, even in an online chat. It was exhausting trying to really get to know someone. The more honest ones that pour out their hearts are so in need, and as soon as you embark on the journey of many conversations with them, they cannot conceive that you had an existence before them. They want to occupy your mind when they are not available, and expect you to be available precisely when they finally have time to give. I am expected to be more attractive, and fill in all the blanks to their questions, while they pretend they have no truths to tell, no stories to share. This common scenario wore me down before the first word passes from he to me or me to he in a chat.

Oh yeah.

Trigger me.

Compliments. Flattery. Boasting. Testing the waters.

“Do you want a picture of how excited I am to be chatting with you?”

Trigger me.

But, HELL YES, I am a naughty girl, an emboldened older woman, an open-minded, overly eager female with a phallic fascination.

I DO want your pics, your sexy banter, your presence in my life briefly, letting me have a small fantasy that someone kind, and on the cusp of vulgarity, with an interesting mind, and a little time might actually want me.

Listen, or read, if you will. Tell me everything. It scares me when people hold back, because I never do. Don't hold back, let your words, petals and thorns, flow over me. Wet me with your truth, stranger, until you will never be a stranger again.

Trigger me.