A sixteen year old shyly avoided my gaze as I walked to office this morning. And that was definitive because I finally inferred what is it about pre-adolescent, adolescent and just-out-of adolescence boys that attracts me to them so much.
It’s their blissful ignorance about how their gaze can melt a woman’s heart, can pry her out of her skin; of how their scowl can make her walk a tightrope; how their touch can stir a fire that died years ago or was dying such that it would extinguish in years to come.
The way their eyes can dress up and dress down all inhibitions of a woman; how their words can strike chords in a woman and make music that rivals Beethoven; how their words can stir a revolution and quiet a stir at the same time. How a woman would love to feel up his jaw line and mark it with a string of kisses; to lead his hands as he explores her realms.
I’m attracted to him because of his age of innocence, because of the power of his innocence, the innocence that I lost in some era long gone.
The fact that I’ve lost this innocence and he hasn’t makes us lock gazes long enough or brief enough for just a few nictations before he looks away. He starts questioning why’s this woman staring at me and looks away as he doesn’t want to address the question to me and I look away because I don’t want to look like a paedophile.
And we walk our own ways…