The Ninteen Year Old

After a while, I forget how nice it is to be liked, to be wanted.

This past week I met a version of my first ex-boyfriend, 6 years younger and improved. This one was cuter, shared more of my interests, was pursuing an education, and wanted to move to an interesting city. (This as opposed to the older version I had, who had few interests, pursued hardly anything, and wanted to move nowhere.) This one, like the older version, was but a puppy of a man, eager, sincere, excitable and distractable.

And he liked me. This is how I knew:
He put on music he thought I’d like. He stood there chatting with me, almost unaware of all the work to be done. He sat so close behind me that my hair would brush his crossed arms, and extend them out on either side of me like in an embrace we’d pretend not to notice. He called me epic. (Epic!) He giggled and blushed. He brought me snacks and drinks. He squeezed in a chair so I could sit by him, and gave me his so I could see better. He very casually slipped his arm around my chair in the dark. He carefully leaned his arm against mine. He delicately plucked bits of fuzz from my bangs. When given a chance to work on my project, he concentrated harder than on anything else, as if he’d make his brain bust to do a good job. He checked me out when he thought I wasn’t looking. He tried to please me without looking like he was trying. It was cute.

And he made me feel like I was going to boil over in a fit of lust, of totally inappropriate lust. I wanted to take him backstage and do things I would normally never dream of doing in those circumstances. But of course, I didn’t, because I was only in town for a week, was staying with my friend his boss, and because, oh yes, he’s a teenager. But he was so cute, and seemed so sweet and harmless, and made me smile and laugh, and even if I couldn’t let myself do any of the things I wanted to do, I still let myself think them, if only because it was just so nice to have someone trying to please me.

And I’m letting him serve as a reminder of something I apparently need reminding of- that is, of how nice it is to have someone wanting to be nice to you, to please you, to see you, to touch you in little heart racing ways, to be sweet to you. I forget this, and I bend over backwards to do that for those who will not do that for me. I forget how nice it is to be on the receiving end. I forget that I deserve to be on the receiving end, that I oughtn’t have any time for those who wouldn’t give me that. Even if I like them- if they won’t give me that happiness, it’s they’re not worth it.

Reminder noted.


1 Comment

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One response to “The Ninteen Year Old

  1. zoot

    Haha, nice post. I am having a similar experience with a 19 year old boy (I’m 24), hence how I stumbled upon your blog. All that innocence and eager-to-please posturing is incredibly sexy. Very hard to resist!

    You’re quite insightful in how you recognise it is mostly just indicative of a general lack of love and attention in your life.

    Keep up the great blog 🙂

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