• Amy Jones

3 6 9 Research Day 28: The Orange Guy

Updated: Jun 26, 2019

He meets me in front of Whole Foods wearing an orange puffy jacket zipped to his neck and an orange beanie on his head.   Giving off the  very serious albeit mockingly funny vibe of George Costanza, I attempt to joke, "you like the orange, huh?"   "Yeah",  he swiftly replies.   He barely stops to greet me,  keeps walking with the expectation that I will follow.   And I do.    I know this behavior; the sensation and intimacy can get so high sometimes you just can’t  face it directly because it is really really uncomfortable to feel that much, to let your nervousness or your desire be that fully exposed.  I’ve been there.  So no big deal, we keep walking,  he leads us to a table.   Let’s not even get into the fact that we are meeting at a Whole Foods and that we don’t even buy something to drink.  It makes the intent of our meeting very clear.  And because it is not commonplace for me to meet strangers for the possibility of sex, I just go with it.

His lack of emotion also registers as familiar, a clear indication of someone who is guarding themselves,  uncertain how much to reveal, a sign that he has been hurt on numerous occasions and very clearly only reveals his cards when it seems absolutely safe, or he deems it worthwhile enough.   He has that all too familiar apathetic on top, tender underneath energy that I see so many men wear as their suit of armor.     Not that he would admit to being hurt or even caring about the numerous women who have hurt him, ignored him or not given him a second look.

We talk.  About him.  The. Entire. Time.

If there is anything I could impart to men, regardless of how nervous you feel on the date, stop talking about yourself the whole damn time.    Or at least tell a few damn jokes to grease the wheels.   Ask her about her, let your interest be felt without smothering her, let her know you’re interested in her too.  Believe, come time for sex, I feel a lot more relaxed and excited to jump into bed with someone who has paid me some attention than a guy who can’t get out of his own head long enough to ask about me.

He is attractive enough, but the conversation is so superficial that I’m getting bored.    And just as that happens, he launches into the last girl who broke his heart and what a crazy bitch she was.

He keeps the orange on the entire time.

Like it's too intimate or requires too much energy to relax and take the glaring traffic guard orange shield off.    He is guarded indeed.  But I like him underneath the guardedness.  I can see glimmers of a funny tender hearted guy.   I mean, of course I can,  it's what OM has trained my senses to do.  I see the thing underneath the presentation.   And his incessant talking, well I am a coach after all.  I am  pretty good at listening, at paying attention to someone.  In fact, I think maybe its quite disarming to have someone simply sit and listen and really really pay attention to you and how you feel.  No solving, no comparing war stories.  As though I have a big target that says, "I’m full and free and happy,  feel free to pour out your problems to me."  And so he does.  Good in a coaching client.  Maybe not so much in a guy I'm considering fucking.

Eventually we leave.  He wants to make out and duh, that is the entire reason I am there.  But there was ZERO flirtation in that hour of shooting the breeze and I am not sure if I am going to be able to get from zero to 60 very well.  But how little credit my mind gives my body and indeed, the make out ensues.

Like a sander on a rough 2 x4,  his hands on my body are going to rub out all the sensation that is present faster than his Audi can get to full speed.

I gently and playfully ask him to lighten up.  He does.  We make out a little more.  I ask him to lighten again.  He is going at it fast and furious.   Could you lighten a little bit more?   He does. I tell him in the kindest most man approving voice I have that my body is really sensitive and he can touch it a lot lighter and I will still be turned on.  Alas, since we are making out like 16 year olds in his car, we are haulted when another car pulls remarkably close to his.  So we stop.

He takes me to my car and I drive home a little buzzed from the make out, a little dumbfounded at the vast expanse of space between how I’ve had sex for the past 5 years and how  sex and relationships in the “real world” seem to be.   The stories of the girl that broke his heart were actually quite heartbreaking.

And I realize yet again, in stark relief:: people really are willing to deal with crazy things in the desire for connection and love.     I realize just how much I have and how much people are hungry for it.  I recognize that this is the kind of sex and touch and connection women have accepted for who knows how long simply because know one said "you know, it can be done another way."    There are few times I have been more certain and resolute in my purpose as a coach and messenger of the OM lifestyle.

I don’t hear from him after the make out.  I am pretty sure my  instructions were deflating, and I am grateful to be a woman who has the voice to ask for how she wants to be touched.  Grateful my body is so sensitized I can feel the nuances and the sutblety at the slightest touch, in the smallest gesture or expression of emotion.

Is it going to be like this with all muggles?    God help me if it is.

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