I Live a Sheltered Life

To venture off into the unknown had occurred to me, but it never happened. Either I never had the chance, or I let the chance stride by, petrified of the consequences.

This boy embodied the unknown. He was the sex I’d never had, he was the drugs I’d never tried, he was the dancer that I wished I could be.  And he was free. He was so incredibly free.

And I was not. I was stuck within my constrictions, too afraid to take that step into the dark, the beautiful night.

I followed my friend and her group to his house, where they drank. I chose not to. I was a sole outsider, looking in, experiencing something almost sacred in nature. The loosening of tongues and inhibitions with alcohol, the dance that led to bodies being touched, felt, lived. I felt like a voyeur, watching him dance with male and female alike, watching him laugh, watching as he looked into the eyes of his partners as their bodies got to know each other in ways my body did not understand.

It was the most curious of existences, they spoke to me, they included me. I was not one of them. I was laughing, and dancing, and asking, and existing in the presence of gods. And they were gods, in their own right. They transcended gender, they were not afraid of their sexuality. They were confident in who they were.

I watched, as he read a passage, from a book. I watched as he spoke words of sex, and I watched as a girl grabbed at his belt, pulled him in, reeled him in, and I watched him as he let her.

I spoke to him later, across a wide expanse of couch. His voice was smooth, kind. He was more than happy to hold a conversation, to cross the line that existed between my existence and theirs. He was intelligent, interesting, gentle, wild. Everything I wished I could be, but was too afraid to change about myself.

It was late, and I left with my friend, went back to the dorm, speaking of philosophy and privilege, and of beautiful men and women, and how they changed our lives.