"What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."
- Harry Burns, When Harry Met Sally

SF does not believe that men and women can truly be friends, in a platonic sense.

Strangers twice met.

The past two years of actively 'widening my social circle' have been interesting, and at times, enlightening. With most of the new acquaintances (few become friends), I have always had 'ulterior motives' - as do they, of course. Companionship, contacts, or a date (also commonly referred to as 'target practice'). Heh. Heh. I tend to spend a lot of time planning ahead, considering and calculating my next moves. Lust at first byte - in the internet era - baser instincts flooding my senses.

Some harmless fun and laughter have provided the occasional (and much needed) excitement and variety to daily living. But these have mostly been meaningless liaisons; no depth; no purpose; no loss. It was touch-and-go, figuratively speaking. With acquaintances like P, a Friendster pick-up, there can never be anything more - for me - than word porn and cute emoticons. Flirt Mode 'on'. P often told me funny stories of his nights out, getting rubbed against by various female body parts (shows that you can never tell about a person's appeal just by looking at how he is shaped, or rather, NOT, in this case); suppers with various radio DJs and personalities in the industry. He readily shared his friends' problems and issues - someone else's stories. That was about it. (And yeah, the tiresome fawning and attempts to impress me that increasingly got on my nerves.) After a while, the novelty wore off - for me. He felt this and I sensed his desperation to fill the increasingly obvious emptiness. It was not that I did not try to engage him in more reflective conversations - but they did not interest him, and started the snipes about me being too 'smart' for a woman. Duh. The pebble hit the bottom pretty quickly. Splish. No depth.

We were Strangers once; though not quite now. We were never Intimate; nor can ever be.

And thus, easily forgotten; no loss. We are becoming Strangers. Twice over.

Dangerous liaisons.

There are strangers. And then, there are the Strangers.

With a few people, I just want to talk and listen; to know their minds and hearts; and perhaps, to learn something along the way too. There just seems so much to know, share and experience. Perhaps, that is why my baser instincts never quite get to slip in as often. Crowded out by meaning. (Ok, no more space here. Go away. No loitering. Find someone else's dirty little mind to corrupt. Heh. Heh.) The 'ulterior motive' rarely makes its presence felt. Though, I do not know about the other. Nor care to know, really. I do not feel like I want any... thing... from these people. And yet, these are meaningful liaisons.

Dangerous? It does not feel that way.

Dangerous. Perhaps, because the pebble has not hit the bottom. How deep does this rabbit hole go?

No butterflies. The waters are too still, perhaps?

I do not know. It just feels... different. The experience and sensations are so surreal - so far removed from the rancid bodies and musty voices of my daily world. Like... like... like waking up under a veil of star dust :-)