Bachelor

The memory of sex is so far from my mind, I no longer miss it.
Therefore, I'm lucky enough to no longer need a woman.
The desire for companionship is fulfilled with my friends
and I am, by far, the most relaxed lover I've ever had.
My money is mine alone.
My time is mine alone.
How more can a man be himself?

Later, at the same party, she comes over.
Her stockinged leg presses against my jeans
and her skirt slides higher.
She questions my stand but, laughing, I hold strong.
Her torso twists, pressing one breast against my arm
the other against her silk shirt.
The pressure opens another button.
I can now see almost half of her breasts.
My gaze hides with the darkness deep between them.

Now, I can't make eye contact.
My words aren't coming.
A bead of sweat drips along my hairline.
Satisfied, she excuses herself.

Is it a sign of youth or maturity that I can't be happy and powerless simultaneously?