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Dating Ell-A: Married Man on a Desert Island

The sexual chemistry was thick and brewing when I met him for the first time.   At the table, I wondered where the small talk of a deserted island was going to take us.  To be fair, the whole encounter wasn’t supposed to be taking place, but that was the thrill of it all.  The feeling was enticing and sometimes it just feels good to follow the feeling.  I love the undercover conversation between two people suffering from a mutual attraction that can’t be acted upon.  I’ve often felt those conversations are more revealing that actually talking… it’s the unsaid, the motion and movement of body language that is more honest and real and reels me in quicker and faster than true intimacy can.  Twisted perhaps, but not worth psychological dissection as my attraction gained momentum.

Maybe it was the fact that he was from Louisiana and had that inexplicable southern sensuality thing going on.  He was a guy’s guy for sure, but with a sensual hint of tension and brawn that made me want to play around the edges of the idea of actually being with him.  The dark hair, the 5’o clock shadow and piercing blue eyes motif has always worked for me and since my first boyfriend, have proven my quickest demise.

Three of the seven at the table noticed the spark somewhere between the plane crash and allowance of 3 items needed for survival. When he discussed his kids, his wife and how love gets lost inside the pattern of school plays and familiarity, Sam from cubical 9 gave me the WTF look.  Why was I being scolded for flirting?  The idea of a bikini and ham sandwich made “just so” seemed so important to deserted island survival – like a validation of a non-existent care-taking I was already doing in my mind.  I would be that wife, I thought to myself.  If he wanted a ham sandwich, I would serve it up with adoration and charm.  Love is too fleeting and too precious to not use a stout honey dijon when the situation called for it and I felt at least he deserved a good sandwich.  Minivans, school plays and a familiar face can breed the romance right out of a relationship and sometimes all anyone wants is a damn sandwich.  I wondered if his wife knew or would even care that he thought dill pickles were better sliced sideways than straight down the middle.

When the hut for two was built and fish were skewered by moonlight, I was emotionally on the island.  Married men don’t know the gravitational pull they have on single women.  Committed men doing committed things like fishing and hut building deserve the illicit conversation of love or lust or a freakin’ ham sandwich.  As his leg brushed up against mine, I was weighing the merits of rye bread and whether it should be covered with mayo or not.  Our colleagues continued to drink and drone on and my heart began to race.

Four months after our initial meeting, I ran into him in Las Vegas. He looked as good as before, but had a clearer countenance about him that I found shocking and disappointing.  Clearly, he must have been working on things with his wife.  Feeling a tinge of disappointment and then feeling guilty for feeling disappointed, I asked him what he had for lunch that day.

As the moment to hug him goodbye passed, I thought about our late night deserted island, leg-brush encounter.  The familiar smile and flirting was at least worth the lost opportunity of having a real ham sandwich.  And on this particular day, I was satisfied with the cheap thrill of remembering what never was.

featured image credit: screen shot of Doris Day from the classic deserted island farce, MOVE OVER, DARLING