I’ve been toying with the idea of meeting a reader. A male reader. Like a cat with a mouse I bat the thought back and forth between the paws of my mind. Sometimes I let it scurry off, feigning a loss in interest. But then, before it’s too out of reach, I nab it by the tail and drag in back into my clutches.
It’s not the first time this fantasy has played in prismatic Technicolor across my internal silver screen. In the almost two years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve discovered that very real and intense relationships can develop with people across the country, heck… across oceans! And while getting together with someone in person because of the blog (the incomparable Hyacinth – eat your hearts out y’all) is something I’ve done, crossing over into meeting one of the opposite sex is a whole other barrel of proverbial monkeys.
In the past, when I thought I had a trip coming up to Beatnik’s neck of the woods, I imagined waiting in a coffee shop, sipping on a carefully crafted latte, reading a book and waiting for him to walk through the door. He would glance around, still not sure whom he was looking for as I hadn’t shared a picture of my face. And then, at last, eye contact. And just like that, the hazy digital interaction would cross over into reality. But the trip never happened. And nor did the meeting.
I’m not part of the online dating community. And I’ve never been on a blind date. So this is very new territory for me. But because of how I am, who I am, and what I write, sex is a part of the equation. A major part. And quite frankly, it’s thrilling.
Tickets haven’t been purchased yet, but dates are being considered. Yes, of course, I’ve left myself an out. It’s understood that if either one of us doesn’t feel completely comfortable then the meeting will take a platonic course. However, if both parties are comfortable… oh the tales I will have to tell you then.