the moist maker. [trigger #32]

He was the most wanted man in Capitol Hill. People who were attracted to men wanted him, people who weren’t attracted to men wanted to be him (although a few people who weren’t normally attracted to men were confused by their own interest in him).

There wasn’t a person alive who understood his appeal completely, least of all himself. Of course, one could imagine theories and ideas and educated guesses about what made him so attractive, but it was all so subconscious that the real reason was illusive.

The folks attracted to him were the least aware of why they wanted him so badly. Everyone just knew they wanted to know him, to be near him, even to be seduced by him.

He was nothing special physically. He wasn’t unattractive, but he was certainly nothing to write home about. His hair was often unkempt, not in that effortlessly sexy way, but in an absent minded professor sort of way. His teeth, while well cared for, were ever so slightly yellowed by years of chain smoking and coffee drinking. His nose had an odd hook to it, yet the nose wasn’t large, just hooked, giving the appearance of a small bird of prey. The color of his eyes were an ordinary brown, far from striking. His chin was just a little too weak, his cheek bones just a little too strong. His face was a collection of features that bordered on being attractive, but just missed the mark.

He made the odd hilarious comment now and then, but no one would call him funny. He saw things pretty clearly, but no one would call him brilliant. He was just a tad too shy to be considered confident, just a bit too short to be physically imposing, and his belly was just round enough to keep his body from being one normally considered ‘sexy.’

Yet, his track record with the ladies was impressive by any standard. Women just seemed to gravitate toward him. He was attentive and comfortable in his own skin, and it seemed that when he listened he was really listening, when he was speaking he was genuinely meaning the things he said. Somehow, his lack of any striking feature combined with his authenticity and ability to see people made him at once safe and intriguing. On one side, it was only his lack of novelty that was novel, but on the other side it could be said that someone who truly listens when someone else speaks is novel indeed.

There were times his male friends found the way women interacted with him irksome. Yet, the jealousy quickly faded, because he listened well to his male friends, too. His authenticity gained their trust and affection as well.

a hope fulfilled is already half a disappointment. [trigger #16]

He’d been dreaming of this day for so long.

He’d planned out what he would wear to inspire the most confidence in himself; he’d imagined what he would say and how she would respond; he’d come up with topics of conversation that were in his wheelhouse and could show off his best side; he’d even imagined the way the steamed half and half would bring sweet notes out of the well balanced bitterness of his espresso. He imagined looking across the table at her, exchanging thoughts and ideas, telling stories of their dreams. The fact that he was really on his first date with Jenny was almost too good to be true.

Yet, something was wrong.

He adored her from afar for so long, saying hello every day at the indie video store where she worked, returning movies he hadn’t even watched just for the excuse to go back in and see her on the days she had a shift.

He thought she was adorable the very first time he saw her, her hipster style made him swoon; her hoodies and cardigans and plaid shirts and skinny jeans were like something right out of the store window of an American Apparel. She was always wearing her Wayfarer shades inside, even on the cloudy days; a trait he found annoying in most people, but in her it drove him crazy with affection. What had really pushed him over the edge was when it started to become clear that they were into the same movies and music. She liked the same obscure bands and directors he liked, she brought up the same scenes he would have when they talked about his favorite movies. It was true love.

It took months for him to get up the nerve to ask her out. He was certain she’d say no. He even practiced how he’d gracefully accept the rejection to save face. He almost plowed right into the rejection speech anyway before he realized she was saying yes, that she was telling him she’d been hoping he’d ask her out for some time.

It was all perfect, except that it wasn’t. Something wasn’t right. He’d been sure how he’d feel, how euphoric and exciting this day would be if the gods of romance ever smiled on him and allowed it to happen. Yet, he felt none of the things he thought he’d feel. Actually, he felt nothing at all. Just a slight emptiness and a vague anxiety he couldn’t quite describe.

He started thinking about what he would do later that evening, his mind wandering into the realm of what movies he’d watch, and whether or not the newest episode of The Killing would be available onDemand yet.

He snapped back to the moment. This isn’t right. His mind shouldn’t be wandering. He’s on a date with Jenny, his dream girl over the last 3 months. What the hell was the matter with him?

He couldn’t even place what was wrong, there’d been nothing particularly disappointing about the conversation so far.

He just knew that he felt a huge part of himself wishing for the excitement and anticipation he’d been feeling these past few months. That thrill had felt wonderful, where was it now?

He smiled at the cute barista behind the counter briefly, and wondered what sorts of movies she liked.

**(trigger is a quote from Michael Chabon’s Yiddish Policemen’s Union. You should read it.)**