What are your aphrodisiacs?
Some real things that turn me on include
A cute butt with visible panty line
Short skirt long socks
A girl on stage, especially rocking or being funny, it is far more intense than beer goggles.
Side boob or underneath cleavage
When she makes the moves
Watching someone paint/make art (actually this may be my biggest, it gives me shivers)
Having my back lightly rubbed or touched
Small boobs no bra in loose fitting tops
Boobs in button up tops
(On rare occasions) hippy chicks with no bras and underarm hair
Pubic hair (which I used to despise until it became so popular to remove, just never have a landing strip please, I fucking hate those things)
Youthful energy and spirit of discovery
The word 'moist'
Girls in Converse chuck taylors or all-stars, or other interesting shoe choice (sneakers are always way hotter than heels)
Lave (that feeling when you first see a stranger and are attracted to them in a way that is beyond lust, a feeling they are supposed to be in your life, some misdiagnose this as love at first sight, but Lave is a wonderment of desire, expectation, nervousness, suspense, warmth, hope and anticipation, and is too wonderful a thing to me passed off as love at first sight)
So Inspired by Michelle’s suggestion that I write about one of her favourite words ‘aphrodisiac’ here is a true story by Dave
I was around 26 at the time. I was still working a real job, making lots of money, spending frivolously, and being miserable as all hell.
I had just bought a magnificent apartment, with sweeping views over all of Sydney, which was going to be my dream pad. Everyone who saw it said the same thing to me “this is going to be a fucking chick magnet” (turned out to be completely false. And really do you want a girl who wants you because you have an awesome apartment? The answer is of course yes, as long as she wants you merely for sex, and then wants to tell her friends and acquaintances of the view they could see while I fucked them).
Anyway, this was enticing to me, because at this stage of my life my love history was fucking pitiful. I had had three short term girlfriends of less than two months, all equal parts unsatisfying and heartbreaking.
I still believed at this time that love would be my savior. I believed finding this elusive yet magical gift would be the inspiration and the support to finally climb my way out of the depression I had been wading through for more than a decade. (I was right too, only it wasn’t love for a girl which did it, it was love for art and being creative).
Was my new apartment going to be the thing that sealed the deal? Well in truth I had other things going for me now too. I had gotten fitter than I ever had been before, and was looking trim and athletic. I was wearing suits everyday, and to be honest looked fucking good in them. And for the first time in my adult life my face was not riddled with horrible acne. Quite frankly I was the most attractive I had ever been or probably ever will be. And girls seemed to be noticing. I still didn’t have the balls or the conversational skills to talk to them, but things were looking way better for me.
So on one fateful day, while on lunch from work, I am to meet my interior decorator at an up market furnishing shop. And there she was.
This was Lave in all its pure glory. I saw her from across the room, our eyes met, and we exchanged a longing glance and a warm smile. She was simply gorgeous, short, petite, with beautiful dark hair, and a cute all cheek and teeth smile, dressed all in black and stunning. Lave, the most powerful aphrodisiac outside of loneliness.
My decorator turned out to be very late, and for the next ten minutes or so as I looked around the store the two of us exchanged glances and smiles regularly.
I have no idea how to approach girls. I still don’t, but back then it was more fearful to me than standing with one foot off a cliff edge. I despise small talk, I don’t like partaking in it, I find it tediously boring, and even more than that when I am in the midst of it I ‘feel’ boring, and feel like I am being judged as boring, and I have always wanted nothing more to considered interesting.
Yet fun, fascinating, exciting, compelling conversation can’t be planned or directed, it has to come organically. It is one of life’s great cruelties along with the possibility love can exist in extremity even when unrequited, and the bullshit that life goes fast when you’re having fun, and slow when you are not. Fuck you life.
I have never known how to find a balance in this, the old just say ‘hello’ is bullshit, because if you don’t have anything after you come across as a fucking tool. Even to this day I can walk on a stage, ask for a suggestion of anything at all, and use that to almost immediately be funny, and maintain this for a thirty minute show, yet I have not the slightest idea how to be interesting to someone I have approached, without coming off as trying too hard, or pretensions, or sleazy.
This is all to say what happened next is just a phenomenon. We simply began talking. There was no one of us approaching the other, there was no awkward hellos and exchange of names, it was like the first few minutes of meeting a stranger had just been removed, and we moved right on to the enjoyable bit.
I have no idea what we talked about, just that I was enthralled, and then shattered when we both realised that we had been talking for around twenty minutes when it felt like seconds (fuck you life) and it suddenly occurred to her that this type of thing is what gets people fired.
A couple of days later I returned to the store. I bought a ridiculously overpriced cutlery set off her just for an excuse to talk to her again (see I am still trying too hard, and I STILL do this sort of thing, it really is hard being a guy), and we ended up talking for so long we both should have lost our jobs. As we parted I asked her out, something I am terrible at, and usually would panic over for days or weeks, before making a pathetic attempt at it (these days I usually use the self fulfilled prophecy of purposely doing it awfully, in drunken texts or emails, so that when they say no I can blame my pathetic approach rather than my looks or personality, it’s a lovely lose lose game I like to play with myself).
For the record in my entire life I have only ever asked out one girl in the proper traditional sense of being in person with her and saying ‘want to go out with me’ with said girl responding in the positive. I have had it in reverse once, and every other girl I have been with in anyway has begun with drunken hooks ups, and in a couple of rare cases successful drunken texts. Actually come to think of it, the one time this worked I had soberly gone up to a girl and asked for her number (only literally over two years after I first begun crushing on her, and with fifty or sixty times buying shit off her just to see her, why I think this will work I will never know), point is I asked this girl out and she said yes. Which was fucking brilliant.
We went out for dinner a couple of nights later. Making fun interesting conversation with her came more easily to me than with anyone else I have ever spoken to. We talked about all sorts of things, and in that way where we were both being entertaining and enlightening. She told me that she basically hadn’t been on a date in six years, and to someone like me, with such a pathetic dating history, she couldn’t have said anything sweeter.
How does a guy know he really truly likes a girl, that this could be love, that she could be the ‘one’? It is when he is with someone he is so attracted to that he doesn’t even think about having sex with her, because sex is actually of inconsequence to where his hopes are souring.
This was where I was. In all reality I had had such a strong and intense boner since we had been talking that I had pre-cum soaked into my jeans in what could have been a really fucking embarrassing ‘did you piss your pants’ way if I had not had a jacket to tie around my waste, yet I hadn’t thought of making love to her for even a second, I was too busy soaking in every wonderful bit of information which came out of her mouth.
We held hands as we walked to my car. Neither of us wanting the night to end we agreed to move on to my new, still completely unfurnished, hell yeah bachelor pad (fuck no furniture and I already have a girl back here, this really is going to be cool).
The fact that there was no furniture again didn’t bother me, because I had no intention of trying to get her into bed. I didn’t want to, I was thinking long, long term with this one, and sex could wait.
We had a drink, and starred into each others eyes. Spontaneously we hugged. She held me with a tight squeeze, and I felt at home. (I am a hug LOVER by the way, and I have had far too few). We held each other for a long time, just wanting to be close.
When we eventually pulled apart she had a strange look on her face.
“I have to tell you something” she whispered
“What” I replied, suddenly fearful
Some ums and ahhs, were exchanged until I said “just tell me”.
“What is the worst thing you’re thinking right now?” she asked
“That you already have kids” I eventually replied after a long silence (already having kids is a definite deal breaker for me)
She laughed, from the tension breaking surprise she found in my answer. Then she turned to sadness “it’s actually worse than that” she said
My mind started racing, what could be worse? All sorts of bizarre and twisted scenarios began to play in my mind; there was one obvious one though which I couldn’t even fathom.
“I already have a boyfriend” she eventually confessed.
I was crushed. I would rather she had have said “I was born a man and still have a penis” I would probably have offered back “I don’t like cock, but I am willing to try and learn for you”. But a boyfriend! This was non-negotiable.
This was the end of the road. I wanted to cry, I wanted to hold her, I wanted to escape, I wanted to erase the last few days from my memory, I wanted to do that superman dealy when you fly around the world fast enough to change shit. I wanted reality to not exist. But it did.
We hugged one more time, and she got a cab home, refusing my offer of a lift.
A few months later I received a random text message from her, and we hung out again, and became friends. In the end she played an integral part in my artistic awakening, and I will always love her for this. We still talk from time to time, she eventually broke up with that boyfriend, and found someone new and better than him, and for the first time in my life I was happy for someone I once wanted to have found love with someone other than me. And she is full of love and happiness for me having climbed out of my depression and my dedication and successes so far in my artistic pursuits.
Which is all to say, I miss Lave. I hope to meet you again soon.