Broken Down

I have come undone. I have watched for the last year as my colleagues have packed their bags and said goodbye. And I was the grim reaper as I set the date and signed and sealed their fate. Friday I sat in the bathroom of my office as my best friend reminded me how to breathe. I watched as my hands tightened into these perfect right angles and yet I couldn’t shed a tear even as my heart pounded against my chest. I could have sworn I could see the pulse through my sweater. And as I lay in my panic stricken state, my colleague and friend questioned his relevance and began the process of ending his life.

I have sat through meeting after meeting all week long fully composed. The only difference is my usual attire of jeans and boots was replaced with blouses and heels. I think I thought I could mask my own inner turmoil in Donna Karan. Even under the brim of my vintage fedora I felt blinded by the weeks events. While I had planned to say goodbye to the latest round of casualties, I had no room for more.

I couldn’t seem to utilize my usual escape of total distraction through the company of friends’ as I stayed holed up in my home. It seems almost impossible that I came home each night after work. I reached out too in my usual way through cryptic emails asking for company yet never really saying what I really want. And as quickly as I made plans, I found excuses to negate them.

I am running. It’s in my dream and it’s the same street. Every night I am running down Market Street. It’s early morning and there are the suits and the cars and the buses and the cabs and I am just running by everyone. I don’t know where I am running to and I never seem to stop until the buzz of my alarm reminds me I am still in bed. And as I actually walk down Market each morning on my way to work, I can feel my legs burning. Begging me to just run. I look at the faces and begin to wonder what it would look like to just see me run in all my work clothes and my backpack bouncing up and down against my back.

In reality, I know exactly where I would go and how long it would take me to get there. It’s the same walk I used to take when I lived in San Francisco years before. I remember the first day it happened. I left work in the Tenderloin and hours later found myself on Ocean Beach. By the time I got there I felt calm and at ease. The day was behind me and I could finally breath.

The Naughty Drawer

Aww the naughty drawer…. Doesn’t everyone have one?

While having dinner with a friend she mentioned to me that she always hides the contents of her “naughty drawer” before bringing a “date” over. It kind of perplexed me that she would choose to hide anything. After all, don’t you want your date to know what’s available bedside? The last guy to see the contents of my naughty drawer simply smiled and said, “you got to love a girl who keeps her naughty drawer well stocked with batteries and condoms”. And as I was blushing, I couldn’t help but think I hadn’t even realized what someone else would see when that drawer was open wide.

I began to think about what make up the key ingredients of a well-stocked naughty drawer. Certainly sex and the singleton requires that every basic bedside cabinetry have condoms and lube. I think I first began the mantra that “lube is everyone’s best friend” back in college when I did presentations to other students on making safer sex fun. I remember once having a paramour who seemed nearly upset over the suggestion of lube and literally refused to entertain the incorporation of lube in the bedroom. I also remember leaving shortly after he made his opinion known.

I suspect that most women also have some sort of battery-operated device if not more than one. I remember the day the Sex and the City episode aired regarding the “rabbit”. I remember having dinner with friends and talking about the device and underlying all our thoughts was do any of us have one. Sure enough one of my friends did and the next bottle of wine was spent asking each other about our favorite toys and why we loved them. And having dated my share of douche bags, I also recall a conversation in which my date let me know in no uncertain terms, toys were tantamount to cheating. That was another short lasting meal.

I also would guess that most men and women have some sort of “porn”. Well I guess it’s called porn when it’s in the form of pictures and “erotica” when it’s some overtly descriptive book or anthology of stories. The internet may have changed this though. Most guys I know will freely discuss their favorite sites and have even been kind enough to share links with me with images and comments. This of course opens the Pandora’s box in the naughty drawer and can even become the “deal breaker” in dating.

Then there are the contents that don’t fit inside of the drawer. Suitcases of rope, a closet with handcuffs and a ball gag, the wall of whips and my personal fav, only due to the shock value, was the couple that had the metal-spiked gloves on their wall above their bed. Bless them for letting their entire birthday party know as we set our jackets down and noticed their wall o-fun, that this was one kinky couple.