One aspect he could not get over was how mothers- single and happily married- were so perfectly fit; usually there may be one or two that caught his eye, but he was amazed by the influx of women were not only beautiful, but pulsating sexuality in every which way. Yet, he was set focused on one this evenin he had been eying for a long time.
Sure, he may have had impure thoughts and purposely lingered hopefully with her for the sole intent of being her knight in shining armor, her Romeo. He had not felt the urge to push any boundaries necessarily, though clearly did not feel the aridness of summer supplanted the joys of spring; the roses were still in bloom. He hoped his wiles would be met with a sudden jolt of spontaneity by her, a kind of knee-jerk reaction to the rustle-bustle craziness and superficial glances consuming his otherwise banal life. He longed to be with her in particular, this evening, this golden opportunity, and felt he would have to earn his stripes to achieve it. The forbidden seemed to be the possible, in his mind anyway. The perilous nature of his actions would mean less than fulfilling such a bold journey. Sex was merely a ruse, an end game anyway to his twisted logic.
All of mydesires, senses have been dried up, nothing makes sense to me anymore, he murmured to himself. The various distractions leading up to this rendezvous were unhelpful at best; from the snide bank tellers who refused to cash his checks to the travel agents who had lost his itineraries, and to the litany of sellers of all levels of social strata.
He felt so within his own thoughts, anyway, trapped by his own meaningless banter with himself and to his conscience. He was his own worst enemy, enslaved by his demons. He never experimented with drugs, hard ones anyway, didn't like to parlay with alcohol or to plaster tattoos. on his body either Fortunately, he was hardly a virgin, often finding his dalliances with those he would soon regrettably soon to forget; it made him even more melancholic than if he had none at all. He cynically convinced himself it was sex alone was what led people to succeed or maybe it was vice versa.
Either way, he always felt comforted by the sense he was in reasonably good health, he was young and that gave him the impetus to keep him optimistic. Whatever rut he was in, and there were grounds for feeling less than stellar, he knew he'd hope to find love in this arid of seasons. He was imprisoned yes, but certainly liberated by his sincerest visions and ideals, how ever cracked. Feeling stuffy internally made him ever more clear-sighted (than ever before, really) about his unchecked sexual desires. He was his own brand of a romantic, an intellectual renegade outlaw who hadn't a real place in contemporary culture when poetry is relegated to esoteric college classrooms. In his way, he felt helpless in the ugly face of oppression, for no matter how it sought change, he knew the price of his freedom. It was worth it. Often his freedom would be suppressed anyway, and yet he felt the reverse was true about his his sexual awakening, and this he hoped to achieve with this lover.
He adored her smooth, Mediterranean-tanned skin making him feel at peace and also curious about her own desires. Did she want him just as badly? He adored how she exuded confidence in the most self-effacing of ways; it was like she knew what she wanted, but kept it gracefully hidden. So, the anxiety of understanding she was married hardly phased him, if only in the subconscious. In reality, he was a wreck. Nonetheless, he was ready to make his move.