missed_my_cue jezabel they said that someone "cute" would be joining us at their place after work. i shrugged; i've seen their definition, and i'm very particular. they mentioned that he was also a tattoo artist. my ears perked up. he was indeed waiting for us by the door, and first glance failed to entrance; baseball hat and afterwork white tee, black pants; hard to take a lick of someone when clues are missing. the ink on the arm perked my ears, though; a flavor not often found in these parts. things settled in, the kitten was bloodythirsty but appeased, conversation ensued. no. talking ensued. gossip about work, rambling half-interesting stories. but there were things, clues, that came through. the shine in the eyes when the endurance of a five hour tattoo was retold. when i noticed that he had a knife in hand from the table, and was lightly tapping the point on his thigh, busy hands occupying the mind. he talked all night, about inanities, the way people do when they feel they should entertain, leaving no conversational paths for others to follow. the few points that did spark living discussions piqued my interest further. i had little desire to know him as a person. but i saw all the signs in him of someone who would be quite the challenge for a long night, who would be imminently satisfying. i engineered a ride home. we chatted on the way home with idle interest. he pulled into my driveway. friendly goodbyes were exchanged. i walked up to my door wishing i'd had the opportunity. and then i realized that i had. that i should have looked him dead in the eye and asked him if he would like to come tuck me in. but it simply hadn't occurred to me. anger and regret are battling right now. so many experiences slipping through my fingers, so many nearly close calls, so many wonderful alleys unexplored. i wonder if i have lost my touch, but it doesn't seem to be the case; it's almost always simple circumstance. but this missed opportunity of a potentially glorious night, the end to this ravenous quest, is such a blunt wound. there is the possibility of seeing him another night, but maybes are meaningless to me. alas, a lass lacks. grim patience wears me through. each day brings its own allotment of chance. all i can do is wait, and be ready. just like i wasn't this time. 030915 what's it to you? who go blather from