Attraction is Ephemeral

"I'm intrigued by you," he says. "You're beautiful. Beautiful."
"Thank-you," I say, wondering if this is just another line. Just another game. Wondering how much recent deception informs my reaction. We connected right from the start. You can't make this happen. You can't make this happen. Can you? Someone wouldn't be able to make this happen. It gets chilly. We step inside. I make more tea, plain tea. Cheap tea. He says, "I love a woman who adorns herself with jewelry. I like a woman who has lots of variation in her wardrobe. I love good shoes on a woman and beautiful lingerie." He suggests I visit a website of Austrian designed underwear. "It's expensive, but it's beautiful, it's beautiful," he says.
I stand there by the stove, in my slutty outfit, the total of which probably cost me $15, including my $1 panties and my Value Village bra.

"What do you wear during the day, when you're working here alone?" he asks.
"Old levis cords, a t-shirt, paint splattered hush puppies with holes in the soles." I guess I could have said, "Prada, darling."

Adornment. He's an architect of many things. He's going to bring his grand piano out of storage. In bed he tires to put the condom on. He curses. I try to see what he's doing, but I'm pinned under him. I hear him stretching the condom like he's making a balloon animal. He gives up and I lie there under him. Two hundred and thirty pounds. He says, "Am I crushing you?"
"Sort of," I say. He gets off of me. In his deep, sexy voice he says, "I want to please you."
"You do please me," I say, as one does.
"I mean really please you," he says.
"OK," I say, and then we both laugh, me 'til I cry.
He says, "We have time. Don't warn me. Don't warn me. Don't warn me about yourself."
"OK," I say.

Does that include not telling him that I'm too cheap to take the bus so I walk twenty minutes to get to the store and that I carry my groceries home in my packsack -- which is fine with me -- and I don't buy crackers and cheese and pickles and cookies because they are too expensive. I know the prices on almost everything in the little shops -- if oranges are 59 cents a pound here and the same ones 49 cents a pound across the street. I will cross the street to save whatever it is on my 2 oranges -- and brag about.

He says, "We have time. He's going to bring his grand piano out of storage.
We have time and you're beautiful and you're intriguing." And I say, "Thank you." Wondering if this is just another really long line, another really long and complicated line. He's the architect of another really long line. Another really long line.