Horny Men Always Wanna Ride-Elaina Portugal

March 23, 2016

Dear Reader-

He strutted into my store walking like he’d just dismounted a horse. With a healthy snort filled with the sound of mucus and a quick clearing of his throat, he rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and then slid it down the side of his Levi’s. He tipped the brim of his ball cap in my direction and nodded. His eyes roamed down my body and then back up, and as if he just couldn’t help himself, his eyebrow quirked and the corner of his mouth, tainted with gray stubble, rose upward along with his eyebrow.
The smile on my face froze. I can’t be rude to the customers; it isn’t good for business. My lips smiled, but my eyes hardened. He wasn’t looking at my eyes. I knew what was coming next and I squared my hips and made sure my heels were planted firmly on the floor.
“Hey, darling,” spewed from his mouth.
I took a deep breath and swallowed my nasty retort. “Good morning, sir. So good to see you again.” I lied. I’d been walking around the counter to put something back on the shelf when he walked in, so I didn’t have the buffer of an object between us. He took a step closer and I refused to give him ground.
“Can I help you find anything today?” I asked, hoping to not have what he was looking for and send him on his way.
I crossed my arms over my chest, a reflexive move I hate because it’s my tell. Anyone who knows me and sees me cross my arms over my chest and lock my hands on my elbows knows I’m going in for the battle.
He didn’t know me well.
He struck up a conversation about the beeeeuuuuutiful weather and how it was the perfect day for riding horses. He pulled out his phone and stepped into my personal space, leaning his arm into my side, to show me pictures of his horses. I took a step back and murmured an acknowledgement of their beauty. Stupid, stupid move. The next words out of his mouth was an invitation to go out to his farm and ride horses with him. I informed him I could not ride horses since I’d broken my back.
“Darlin’, my horses are so smooth you could hold your beer while riding and not spill a drop.”
I looked down at my flats, black jeans, and silky blouse and wondered what could possibly make him think I’d be interested in riding horses. I re-crossed my arms to make sure my wedding rings showed. He caught sight of the diamonds and shook his head, clicking his tongue.
He looked me square in the eye and said, “Sometimes in life you just gotta take chances and go for it. Some things are worth the risk.”
My insides shuddered at the thought. I insisted that riding his horse wasn’t worth risking paralysis and I wouldn’t be going out to his barn. He tried a few more times, so proud of his horses and their smooth gate. He promised me over and over that if my beer wouldn’t spill while I was riding, then my back would be fine. I gave him a very firm “no.” To soften the harshness of my words I told him I liked to hike. Stupid, stupid, stupid, because in the next breath he was telling me to come over and go hiking on his property. Apparently he has some huge property that goes up the side of a mountain with breathtaking views. Of course, he cocked his eyebrow again and tsked his teeth while giving me another once over. I rebuffed this advance by telling him thanks, but no, yet again. Between work, school, and my family, I didn’t have time to go hiking with him. He changed tactics and asked me if we were hiring. I told him I thought my husband’s company would be in the near future. He wasn’t, but I wanted to mention my husband just in case he thought my rings were only an accessory. Not daunted, he took a pen and piece of paper off the counter, scribbled his name and number on it, and handed it to me.
“You never know what might happen,” he said with a wink. I held onto it until he pulled out of the parking lot and then threw it away.
Later that night, I recounted the story to my husband. His first words were, “Why didn’t you tell him you didn’t think your husband would appreciate it if you went horseback riding or hiking with another man?”
For an instant, I felt guilty. Why hadn’t I said my husband wouldn’t appreciate it?
And then I got pissed.
Because I said no. Me. Why isn’t that enough? What if I weren’t married? What then?
When I recounted the tale to my sister she wondered why I hadn’t said, “No thanks, I’m happily married.”
While that was an option, again, what does married have to do with it?
I said no.
And that needs to be enough.

Elaina

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