Meet Moriarty

We’ve known each other for a few years, the younger brother of a friend. Until recently however, I had banished him to that part of my brain designated to ‘family of friends, therefore no-go territory’. Luckily, his exile is now over and he has taken a rather prominent place in my life. You see, he knows who I am and now reads this blog.

He is great fun to be around, funny, witty, intelligent. Cute too, to boot. I have been trying to think back to when I first had an inkling or the initial flash of recognition that we were of the same species. He leads a very interesting double life as well. Many sexual partners, kept very private from his normal day to day. I am itching to discover more about his sexual adventures and he occasionally reveals little snippets of his private life in our late night IM conversations. He is an incredibly sexual person.

My initial interest in him was awakened during my London lover odyssey last summer. We met briefly at a pub with other friends. I remember talking to him about an erotically inspired project I have in mind. He seemed genuinely interested and had some very good points to make. At the time, I made a mental note of: ‘must talk to him again sometime’. It was another six months before we met, when he and the economist came to visit. They had been clubbing all night, with very little sleep and I had the pleasure of spending the following evening with them both. We had a few beers in a bar, it was early evening. They sat, slumped on a sofa and I snapped a photo of them. It was then that I recognised an expression, a look, the playful smile on Moriarty’s face. It is a look of exhausted delight, the embers of the night before still burning behind the eyes. The total abandonment to adventure.

I know that look, that feeling. Your body aches from tiredness, eyes burn from lack of sleep, but the corners of your mouth can’t help but curl into a knowing smile as your eyes replay images of the night before across their silver screen. To the outsider, your eyes appear slightly vacant, but hidden behind them scenes of untellable tales are unfolding. It is like a drug. The high can last for many hours, days even. Seeing this look in him made me curious. Even now, looking at the photograph I took, I wonder what adventures had befallen him the night before.

He hides his private life very well. Having spent a lot of time observing his face, I can see a hint, or undertone that gives him away. A facial expression I know only too well. And so perhaps there is an unsaid, unwritten body language that identifies our species. He is someone I have decided to tell everything to. He understands me. He doesn’t judge. That is a priceless thing to have.

After last week’s brinkmanship about the economist and my complete capitulation (and hence outing to him as SA), my thoughts are no less preoccupied by him. I know he will not sleep with me because of the economist (same species, but he has higher moral values than I), but I cannot help imagining what it would be like. He has become the cause of my insomnia.

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One response to “Meet Moriarty

  1. Pingback: The fun of firsts | Serialadulterer's Blog

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