All it took… was a fraction of an almost imperceptible glance, a stolen look at my plunging decoltée, to feel all his guilt, his wonder, his pleasure and his shameless… desire.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m such a shameless sinner. A cheeky, outrageous, impossible and despicable woman.
How do I dear show my clevage? How do I dare not be ashamed of the beauty, the plumpness and the gorgeous view my half-covered breasts offered to the world. How did I dare stare in the eyes of those who were not supposed to look? How did I dare?
My hair on my head stood up with the tension that I was perceiving in my whole body. My ears were buzzing. I almost stopped breathing. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be small and transparent. I wanted to apologize, maybe cover myself with a scarf… I do not wear scarves…
I hid behind the people sitting in front of me at the table (2 from 2 different tables). I kept watching my plate and continued my conversation awkwardly aware of the soft leaning to the side of the man in an attempt to lure at my chest.
We didn’t say anything to each other. Not a word.
I just giggled with the uneasy awareness that I felt bad, ugly and dirty.
A tall, handsome mid-life aged priest had seen me. From behind the shelter of his holy clothes and stiff appearance, his eyes were shouting at me: “You cannot do this because I like it!”
Suddenly I could no longer swallow my food. My glass of wine was empty. I poured some water and I allowed myself to perceive all those intensities in me and others. Like an electrical current that would fry your being.
Who did this shame that engulfed me belong to? Who’s energy had I been tapping into that indicated me what a bad person I was supposed to be?
Who taught me that when in the vicinity of a priest, I should be less of a woman, less of a flamboyant radiant happy being and more like a concrete corps? Who the fuck does this belong to? Where have I decided that being a desirable woman is a bad thing? How much of who I am have I divorced from just because ‘things are not done’? How much lust am I denying? How much am I ashamed of lusting? – he was a handsome man after all. How much have I made real that if I lusted about someone I’d have to proceed on my lust?
What have I decided about myself – that I don’t want to be seen like a whore? that I can choose who and how people will look at me? that I can be lusted after only by some, not by all, and not fully? – whose decisions, projections, judgements, conclusions are these?
How many times and how many of us have we ought the lie of being less than so that people around us can love us without any trouble? That we would belong, we would not make waves?
Desert arrived. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the luscious creamy sweet cheese pancakes. Lust is part of life. It’s what keeps us alive. It’s total. What if we stopped making it so ordinary, dull and pretended it doesn’t exist because we don’t know what to do with it? Should we send back to sender all of this? Would you allow yourself to be lusted after fully, intensly and to receive the lust of others and your own with no point of view? I wonder… what would that create?