Explaining myself

After dinner, the others proposed to head in the predictable direction, but we variously pleaded sickness or early morning departure; and found ourselves, sheepish, one on one, with the night still young. We settled on the beach – there was some rowdy celebration in progress – and there he had forced me to explain myself: why, if I am not gay, am I not interested in girly bars. Because, I said, I prefer to find a woman who represents something – education, brains, accomplishment, social position, style – and then use her. (The point that this is arguably more perverse than hiring pros in bars missed him; not surprisingly). But what if, he asked, you find yourself wanting sex and such a woman is not available? I puzzled over this one: this does not seem to happen to me; I seem always to desire a person, never the deed. It was his turn to puzzle. Yet, that flash in his eyes when we met was not general but -- specific desire. Don’t waste your time, I had said: I feel great sympathy for you, but I am not made that way, I can’t.