“Just because we’re having drinks,” she said, pausing. “Doesn’t mean anything is going to happen between
you and me.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I believe in delayed gratification.” The mistake started off in a pretty simple
manner. I felt smooth, like I had all the right thoughts, all the right words and a confidence that was seemingly undauntable. It was a seduction that always encountered resistance, but my ability to wait always rewarded me with the joy of a kiss, or something of that nature. The truth is what most consider
success was never important. It was just very natural, part of the sublime will to create, sexual energy, a beast inside of me that I have yet to conquer. Yet its energy for all its destructiveness made me feel like my pupils dialated and my heart was pumping, alive, connected to God’s universe.
Let me introduce myself . . . my name is Romeo. We’re all rather complex characters whose degree of imagination, intuition, clairvoyance, intelligence, charm varies and depends on a myriad of factors – the point being that we are likeable to some degree, but at other times our explorations into the
human mind and fantasy can be sort of . . . misleading. So while we may charm the hell out of a family because we’re polite, we’re not necessarily as we received as we genuinely behave.
What I would give to be able to follow tradition and be content with ordinary life and rituals. I’ve questioned and imagined too many things and perhaps my observations can save you from the misery I experienced with life and women, but no matter how hard you try . . . you have to go through it.
So she smiled, amazed, looking both ways. Her long-blonde hair swaying back and forth, adding a new dimension to her sex appeal. “You know,” she said. “You are one of the most persistent people I’ve ever met.” I didn’t say anything, but just looked into her pink, full lips struggling to articulate her
whirlwind of thoughts. “I don’t get you – life isn’t the way you think it is – you can’t always get what you
want.”
I waited another moment.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, knowing what she really meant. “You can’t always get what you want.” It was my self-efficacy that intrigued and disturbed her, nothing more. She could leave and I would be happy, she could lean over and kiss me and I would be happy just the same – really, this girl had me in
such a flow, nothing mattered but the fact that I was “here.” In the back of her mind, she anticipated the future more than I did. She was anxious and I was just “being.” She knew that eventually she would cave
and all it would take was our eyes locking -- and so they did and she said to me after the kiss, “I’m scared of you.” I didn’t ask her why because I knew she wasn’t afraid of me, but who I allowed her to be --
Herself in the purest form. With me, she was afraid because she knew she wanted to give in to her instinct and impulse . . . and the kiss we had just shared was beyond the mechanics she was used to – it was loving,
subtly passionate – she felt that I loved her and that she loved me. It was all so foreign to her that “scared”
is the only way she could describe it. All of this self-discovery was perhaps overwhelming for her
character and her world was built around restraint. Not a bad thing, a good thing even, but taken too far
and you have her, a neurotic gal – one incapable of an orgasm because her mind was so knotted. Her level of self-awareness was both sad and fascinating and only thousands of dollars and hours of therapy could
perhaps enlighten her, but even then, once the therapist was gone, she would step out of the light again and return to her patterns -- without orgasms, flow, self-knowledge and freedom.