Chemistry: A Bitch With A Twisted Sense of Humor

So, last night I had my second date with someone. We met at the movie theater, played Dance Dance Revolution and Ms. Pac Man (I really suck at DDR, by the way), then watched a scary movie (which allowed him to put his arms around me during the scary parts). Then he walked me to my car and kissed me goodnight…which turned into a 3o minute mini-make-out session (which caused a random person leaving the theater to call out “Get a room!”).

I feel like I’m 17 when I’m with him.

The problem is, I’m scared he might be a completely bad choice for me. He’s six years younger, has a troubled past that he’s working hard to overcome and may want babies at some point in the future.

What the hell am I thinking?

Well…that’s the problem. I’m afraid my vagina may be thinking for me.

What is it about sexual chemistry? Why do we feel it with some and not with others? Why can’t I feel it for a doctor with a boring past, a single well-behaved child and a vasectomy? Instead, this man who discusses Nietzsche and religion in one breath, then confesses the horror movie we’re watching will leave him terrified in the other (while giving me a sheepish, little boy grin), leaves me trembling with one kiss. Last night I drove home in a haze of pent-up sexual tension, smiling like an idiot the entire way. When he called today and left me a voicemail, I listened to it three times before telling myself to get a grip.

Out of the three men I’ve loved since my divorce, I’ve only felt this sort of sexual pull with one of them. I recently went to get a drink with the ex of which I speak and the tension was still there. Even with our completely screwed up, drama-filled history, it was still there. I was annoyed and somewhat amused.

Chemistry is a bitch with a wicked sense of humor.

So now I smile and blush like a school girl every time my newest suitor contacts me. I have flushed, hot, detailed fantasies of moving this teenage fantasy into a more adult reality. We’ve both agreed we won’t…for awhile. Yet part of me wonders if I’ll be able to make sensible, rational decisions until we do. The reckless, romantic side of me is reveling in this 17 year old feeling; The grown-up side of me is urging caution. Both sides tell me to let it play out and see what happens.

Damn you, Chemistry.

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