Sex

I am sitting in a coffee shop in Boston trying to get some work done.

But it was warm this morning and it's raining now, so young women are coming in here with their spring outfits soaked through.  Spring outfits alone are revealing enough to distract me.  This is becoming a preoccupation. 

I have mixed feelings about sex-- or, I should say, about sexuality.  Sex itself is no problem.  In and of itself it is pleasurable and satisfying, and confined to isolated spaces of time.   But sexuality finds its way into everything.  I can hardly speak to a good-looking woman without sexuality overtaking my whole inside world.  I am sitting across the room from a wet, svelt girl about my age, maybe a little older.  I keep looking at her.  I'd like her to look at me.  I'm not getting any work done...

Even if I never plan to have sex with her (and I don't), it doesn't matter.  I want her to want me.  It would be fine with me if the desire were never even consummated, as long as she wants it-- if only I could be assured that, given the chance, she would.  Sexuality is half genitals / half ego.  The genitals are easily satisfied, at least for a time. It's the lust of the eyes and the ego that prove themselves insatiable.