Dating Portlandia: The Artist

The last time I saw Ireland was totally unexpected. 

We'd already said our goodbyes but then I ended up meeting up with him & a couple of his friends days before he left. 

They were two fabulous gay men. 

And gay men do love me. 

After all, I am their queen. 

One of them, within minutes of me being there, took out an old vintage Polaroid camera, even older then the one I got when I was nine, and he took my picture. He took several pictures of me at the table and when we went outside so the boys could smoke, he suddenly said, "Come with me." 

Excited, I asked if we were going over there and pointed to a wall that had beautiful colorful graffiti all along it. 

Sure enough, he told me to stand in front of the wall and he started taking my picture. 

I was high. 

Loving every second of it. 

When I was a little girl if I saw anyone with a camera I'd light up and tell them to take my picture.

Even though I've never smoked a day in my life I ran over to him and stole his cigarette, posing like some 50's pinup.

"You are such a dish," he said, the camera clicking away. 

Lost in the moment, as though under his spell, I forgot I was there to see my lover. 

The friends left shortly after that and I was still beaming from the photo shoot. 

I even told Ireland that that's what I wanted. 

I wanted to be someone's muse.

I'd forgotten what that felt like, to meet a guy who looked at me and immediately saw something, something that they wanted to capture, that they had to hold onto. 

I met a guy. 

He's an artist. 

And in the middle of the date he said he wanted to sketch me. 

I'm certain I actually blushed. 

Jesus, was I to be the Rose to his Jack a la Titanic? 

Who DOES that? 

Sketch me?

But the way he looked at me proved he wasn't merely flattering me. 

Later, I looked at him and said, "You're really intense."  

This must be how I make my dates feel. He was literally a male version of me. 

It kinda freaked me out. 

But I wasn't sure what freaked me out. 

If it was actually him and the way he looked so deep into my eyes I swear he was reading my thoughts.

Or the fact that he was so aggressive he literally sat beside me on the bench, blocking my escape. 

Or the fact that I was actually getting what I wanted. 

It was like I had willed the universe to make me someone's muse. 

And all I ever seem to attract are the withholders and the avoiders who never tell me I'm beautiful. 

This guy told me my face was so beautiful it made him hard. 

"I don't even have to see the rest of your body. Your face is enough."

I mean, holy shit. 

On my first date with Ireland he said the waiter was cute. 

He paid me no compliments.

Zero. 

This guy was already envisioning me as a painting. 

I wasn't used to that. 

In fact I hadn't been around a man who made me feel so captivating since Narcissus. 

And that was ten years ago. 

I guess it makes sense why I felt overwhelmed when he texted me right away. 

Where was the withholding and the mind games and the inconsistencies?

This.......this was something entirely different. 

And it had been so long it felt like a stranger to me. 

It was unnerving to feel like I wasn't the one dominating my date. 

This guy could handle me. 

I didn't make him nervous. 

I made him inspired. 

And that freaked me the fuck out.