Mysteries

I am not very good at things of a romantic nature. It seems like that part of my brain just isn’t quite wired up properly. It completely fails to be interested in anyone. I read with amusement on the Guardian’s site the other day the advice letter from a woman, which read “my mother is pressuring me to have sex [not with the mother – I think they phrased it like that for page views], but I’m just not interested in anyone”. I know how you feel. Except for the first bit.

Except occasionally that’s not true. I’ve said this before but it bears repeating. I do find myself attracted to people. Not many people, and THE WRONG PEOPLE. By my mother’s standards, and by practical standards. There’s an Australian lady on Flickr. I don’t know how old she is, but definitely older than me. Her weight fluctuates between average and slightly above average, but she’s one of those people whose proportions genuinely come alive in the ‘pleasantly plump’ region. She likes to show off her legs, which she seems to recognise are things of beauty. Apparently she’s got a shoe fetish and her taste is lovely. She also seems to have a hosiery fetish which is more something I associate with foreign men with questionable social maturity who used to contact me on ICQ and ask in broken English for pictures of me modelling tights/stockings and then getting very offended and abusive when I declined (I was cyber bullied before it was cool), but never mind, nobody’s perfect. Even if wearing tights in Australia’s climate does raise questions as to mental fitness.

I forget how I found her; it was years ago. I used to check her page for every week or two weeks or so. About a year ago she had some personal issues and deleted her account. I seem to remember realising that it could have taken me up to a month to notice, because at that point I wasn’t checking her page very often at all. She re-appeared about 6 months ago and since then I’ve been checking her page pretty much daily (even though she only posts new content every week or two, or three…). Somehow, as well as other, more understandable physiological reactions, she makes my heart speed up and my stomach turn into that unmistakable excitable blob of nervous anxiety that can only mean one thing…

So, to summarise:
1. Australian lady is special. Don’t know why.
2. Everybody else is uninteresting. Don’t know why.

My sexuality remains a mystery.

The cruel irony is that if I met her she would probably be nothing like how I imagine. She would probably turn out to be a violent alcoholic or something. Or a die-hard conservative. Or a recruitment consultant. The possibilities are terrifying.

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