Zsa zsa zsu

Thursday, May 15, 2014 Comments Off

It is alarmingly impressive of me to be able to find someone of my age attractive and impossibly handsome. For twenty years, I have always been attracted to older men with life experience or foreigners that have exciting stories to tell. For certain, there have been notable exceptions, but these special cases never last long or the person that I am after usually flies off somewhere to provide a better living for himself. These attractions I held towards those who are impossible to reach are often became a part of my life similar to how a commuter sees passerby—another organic being with their own stories and insecurities that would soon become strangers.

It changed overnight; it only took an impulsive decision of my part and a bizarre cosmic coincidence.

I saw him looking. It was not the same like he was noticing me, but I was. Noticing him, that is. It was impossible not to. To this day I can never understand my attraction to bearded men, usually it was towards older men or older foreign actors with biceps as big as my thighs, but that night my eyes were reserved to this guy. Sure, there were plenty of other men who appeared decidedly alluring with their wide arms and warm smiles—even though they all acted the same when they were trashed—yet, again, I kept my gaze on him.


It is not hard to describe this guy. Beard, short hair, wide chest, smelled exclusive, and exuded confidence that came along with power and dominance. Encased with black long shirt and washed-out jeans, he looked powerful and charismatic. The instant our eyes met, zsa zsa zsu washed over me like a smell of botanical garden in the summer. And as I strolled that garden, I couldn't help but feel relieved for being right there. Engulfed with the overpowering feeling of zsa zsa zsu and that exact moment.

Do not get me wrong, I did not act anything to quench the thirst of my running in the garden of zsa zsa zsu. I had never been drunk enough to do such thing, to drunkenly and publicly reach out for a total stranger. But for some reason, he did. He was tipsy, but I had no alcohol running in my veins to give me that extra little push. My sober friend actually almost pushed me to do something with him since he was practically sitting next to me, while keeping his stretched arms towards me. Even then the pull was strong. I almost gave in, but he gave up and asked his friend to accompany him to the toilet. I had to restrain myself or I would only be a foggy remembrance of something he would soon forget as soon as his head hit the pillow. Another event, another girl. Another event, another drunken stupor. Another event, another night to forget.

The next night, a friend of mine sent me a picture of him. Another friend recognised who he was—small world, no need to remind me—so she told me bits and pieces about him. I smiled at her, he was attractive. But that was it. A stranger for the night. A stranger to fall to for just one night. A stranger to kiss away the cold midnight air. A stranger to have small private moments with.

But, I have to admit, he had opened up my eyes.

Thank you for giving me zsa zsa zsu.

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