It’s the Love Me drug that we, as women, produce naturally. It’s the chemical that leads to loving fiercely and almost too quickly, sometimes to the point of psychosis. We get a hit and torment the man we long for, bombarding him with questions of ‘us,’ analyzing every blink, every touch and every word. We snort a line and find ourselves sitting in a taxicab, donning a trench coat, sunglasses and a cap to hide our identity. Circling his block to check in because he hasn’t returned our calls.
Because we’re in lurve!
The scariest thing about oxytocin isn’t its ability to drive me loca from the ding-dong of wedding bells (I hear them every time). It’s the accessibility. I don’t have to sneak into a drug den to buy a smoke. I don’t have to tap, tap, tap a vein and inject a needle to feel its affects. Now, if a man tap, tap, taps this pepa, I am in trouble.
That’s why I’m so afraid of being intimate. That’s why I’m terrified of the ‘first kiss.’
I went on a first date with the Latino man I met online, but there was no first kiss. After two weeks of connecting via emails, we decided to meet. During our date, we had a natural chemistry. We talked for hours about everything and anything. But there was no first kiss. He didn’t try and I was glad.
I am doing things differently, I said to myself. I want to take it slow, get to know him, I rationalized.
Still, I wondered if a kiss was in the cards for the second date. A second date is very telling. The nerves of the first date have come and gone. You’ve communicated with each other on the phone and have gotten to know each other a little better. And it often dictates whether there will be a third. If there isn’t a third, you can pretty much kiss that potential relationship goodbye. If there are butterflies on the second date, hold onto your pepa.
This is where I get in trouble. And nervous. The chemistry is poignant. And obvious. I stroke a man’s shoulder 3 times in a 5-minute period. My smile is wide and genuine. My eyes sparkle. I flip my hair and graze my fingers across my lips, sometimes biting my lower lip. These nonverbal cues are clear indications that my oxytocin level is ready to burst. If I ever behave this way and a man kisses me, or worse, seduces me, well, then I’m hooked.
Think about it. Have you ever dated a man and everything is going wonderfully until you have sex? Suddenly, you act like a loca vieja! I certainly have. I don’t even have to be in love with the man. As soon as I orgasm, there goes the surge of oxytocin, convincing me that this man is for me, that he needs to be with me, that he must love me!
WHY WON’T HE LOVE ME?!
I don’t want to show that side to Mr. Clever, which is why I played it cool on our second date. We met at Iguanas in Midtown and sat on stools by the bar. Engaged in conversation, we lost track of time, unaware we’d been there over 3 hours. In the interim, my hands took over. Fingertips grazed his bicep. Palms tapped shoulders. Hands quickly caressed hands.
I was in trouble.
By nights end, Mr. Clever had also shown affection. He stroked my hand, my hair, my thigh. The chemistry was palpable. The ease of conversation, our booming laughter, was thrilling.
And then we danced in the rain.
Per my spontaneous request, I asked him to show me his salsa skills. We were parked in front of Iguanas, intending to leave but, instead, talked for another hour in his car. La Mega was on. Bachata, merengue and then a salsa played. A conversation ensued about our favorite genres.
“I love salsa,” I claimed.
“I should’ve been Puerto Rican,” I joked.
Then a salsa played. I don’t recall which one. The oxytocin makes me forget.
“Lets dance!” I suggested.
I giggled like a schoolgirl who’s never been kissed. Because I knew I was feeling the affects already. Our lips had yet to meet. Our private parts never introduced, not even as acquaintances. And I already felt the oxytocin stirring my loins and my heart.
“Love me!” My body cried as I blabbered on about wanting to kiss him but not wanting to kiss him. And I knew it had begun. I left his passenger seat, ran upstairs and lay in my bedroom and began fantasizing about our first kiss, our amazing partnership and our future.
It was the oxytocin. The love me drug that pushes women to build their Barbie dream house without a commitment from Ken.
Because we all want lurve!
Love reading Sujeiry’s “Love Trips”? Well, you’re in luck! The book version of the popular online column is on its way! For more information on the book release date and the book party. click here!