It wasn’t my fault.  I know that it is petty, but it’s true–it wasn’t my fault.

He was an awkwardly splendid man.   I couldn’t call him shy, there may have been hesitation in him but not shyness.  He was tall and broad-shouldered.  He looked very proud of his Harley-Davidson motorcycle.  I for one dislike motorcycles, in my mind motorcycles are dangers. I had no temptation to ask for “a ride.”  However, I admired how he straddled the machine and I had wild ideas regarding him in a physical sense. Ideas which pretty young things run to the confessional regarding;  I don’t confess.

Yes, I looked at him.  Yes, I stopped to look at him.  No, I didn’t tell him to go away and yes; he knew how to shake hands with a woman in a way that was open and honest.  Irresistible.

Did he work at being open and honest?  Well, with me, I hope he had to work at it.  I hope he wanted to take my hand, pull me forward and wrap those big, fine, powerful arms around me and kiss me until my knees went weak.  

It still wasn’t my fault.  I did not play coy; I looked him in the eye and did my best to just keep walking whenever he happened past me.

I think men demand too much; I understand their need, and I understand the chase, but enough is enough.  A pity I didn’t walk away.  

Heaven above help me. Those narrow hips, those soft denim shirts and clean smell.  The tight t-shirts were a turnoff.  Total vanity.  Total.  When I saw the tight t-shirt, I could turn off the heart palpitations, and he didn’t get it.  He could sense it too–and I could sense his confusion.  The “what,” expression on a man is like a salient mark on a treasure map.

“Turn right at Mount Everest, you can’t miss it.”  That’s the “what,” expression on a man.  What?  Don’t you like it?  Do you know how I’ve worked for these arms, this chest, and hey, I’m not a youthful man!  On and on the “what,” expressions go.

So you can see, it wasn’t my fault.  I wasn’t out to distract him.  I wasn’t out to gain his attention.  I found him attractive, sure, but I didn’t flash my eyes at him and beg him to chase me down.  I’m just not that kind of… person.

Do you know a spider won’t eat its prey unless said prey is alive?

That’s how spider webs work, you know.  Invisibility and then trapped.  Spider webs work because so much of life doesn’t believe in death; especially their own.

He’s strong, he still twitches now and then, but it won’t be long until I must ignore another one and build yet another web.