Dominant woman searching women to date Friend in need is a friend indeed. ;) Divorced guy looking for female in the area for fun times, I'm drama free, drug free, non drinker. Age or size no problem email me lets talk. Dave Sunset on Saturday evening I passed you in the parking lot. You were coming out of the store and I was heading inside, westward, into the sun. I couldn't see you until just before you spoke. You said "good evening." You, a stranger, gave me an archaic greeting, in a place where only employees speak to strangers, because it is their job. I kept walking. Once you spoke I became consumed with the need to know why you had wished me a good evening. Why those words? And why me? What did you see in me that merited a shared word? My immediate thought was that you found me passingly attractive and hoped "good evening" was the first step on the short road to being inside of me. I realize now that this reflects more on me than it does you. Then I thought no, you must have spoken to me because I must have looked upset. I'm often guilty of wearing a Resting Bitch Face; I must have looked grumpy, fuck my wife 32701 in need of friendly words from a passing stranger. Why hadn't I just said hello? It's not as if I would have had to stop and speak to you--if you'd even wanted that. It's not like you would have followed me inside, or around the store, or to my car. What if, by not speaking to you, I missed the of being able to say, "Sorry, I have a boyfriend"? My failure to acknowledge you or respond bothered me immediately. Why did I find your gesture so off-putting that my reaction wasn't to acknowledge its humanity and produce a normal response? Why did the attentions I ascribed to your words mean more than the words themselves, or your actual intent? It does say more about me than it does you that my first reaction to a man greeting a woman (walking alone, though a parking lot, at sunset) is that he wants to use and/or hurt her. I surprised myself by finding myself incapable of producing innocuous pleasantries and move on with my day, thinking nothing of the words or the man who said them, for whatever reason. But I've gotten off track. Okay, after "how we met" is usually some sort of identifying characteristic or question. "Tell me what I was wearing. Or driving. Or what I bought. Or what song was playing. Or what color my toenail polish was. So I know it's you." But, since I clearly lead a mental life and am often preoccupied with impractical issues, Thicket-TX married woman seeking sex sexy Fayetteville women sex I must confess that I was not paying attention, and I must reiterate that I was walking into the sun. I never would have looked at you if you had not spoken to me. I only saw the shape of you until after you spoke, and then I only saw you for a moment. You were wearing shorts, and I'm assuming therewith. There was a striped t-shirt. Bright. Sleeveless? You had fro-ish, relaxed hair. eyes. More attractive than me. Probably definitely younger and cooler than me. The sort of person who might give strange older women anachronistic greetings on the parking lot. Me? I was wearing a wrinkled, half-buttoned oxford, plaid, with the sleeves rolled up. Jeans that (what's the opposite of hug?) my curves, and black loafers with white socks. My hair, barely brushed, was me off in the wind. I was preoccupied and probably walking half-slumped, carrying everything with my . But I was on a mission. After a near-nap--the kind that you spend most of your naptime formulating a to-do list and thinking about why you shouldn't be napping--I'd gone to seeking a hostess gift for dinner at my sister's house, which is when you spoke to me. I was nearly home when it occurred to me that you're just a polite (Southern) guy, so you'd said "good evening" to me. It was even possible, I then realized, that you'd said "good evening" to every person on the premises. And that I was the only xxx to make so much of it. I am angry with myself, and with anyone who has hurt me in the past and helped make me this frightened, judgmental woman. I am angry because I couldn't just say "hi" to a friendly stranger. Because I assumed that, because you are a man, you only said hello to me because you wanted to be inside of me. I am sorry for thinking that way, and for the world that taught me to think that way. I doubt you will read this, man I barely glimpsed in the parking lot, but I'd like you to know that I'm sorry, both for not saying hello, and for thinking the worst. I come here, to the Missed Connections page, looking for a good story. I usually only find hopeful representatives of the sexually ambitious, desperate, and/or masses. Today I came to tell a story. And for that I must thank you--you gave this writer a muse, if only for xxx evening. You me to examine myself and, not liking what I found, to question. And so I have posted here. After all, isn't that the of Missed Connections? To let a stranger know they've inspired something in you? In hopes you awakened something in them too? And that you can come to the xxx place in this whole, fragmented world where you can tell them how they made you feel, and where they just might hear you. Thanks for listening.

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