The End of Excitement As I Know It
“Your pussy looks delicious and I’m starving” reads that little blue text bubble. My body jolts with excitement and a high-pitched *AHH* leaves my body without warning. Carissa’s exchange with our smoking hot kickboxing instructor sounds more like erotic fiction than reality, the one-on-one training sessions Joe has set up this week oozing with so much sexual energy it would make an entire Atlanta strip joint blush. I reply with an army of all caps proclamations of excitement and stunned disbelief. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE,” my final soldier, storming the field of this gushing exchange. I wait for a response; my mind takes an unexpected tilt. Me and you ended your borderline euphoric visit with the decision to be exclusive. I wonder, does this mark the end of excitement for me?
The memory of Marcelo falls onto the forefront of my mind like the winds of longing blew it all the way there, just to spite me. Marcelo, the Brazilian man who I matched with on Tinder and proceeded to meet for the first time on the nude beach during my vacation in San Diego. Marcelo, the bronzed, bulking man that closer resembled a statue of a Greek god than his actual pictures. Marcelo, the man who joined his shadow with mine onto the white wall of his all white room, moving together next to the window of an electric blue sky, a burst of color after sunset almost radioactive.