So I’ll confess I’ve got a bit of a hard-on for Aquarian males. Partly because they’re so matchless, and gorgeous, but mostly because they drive me up the damn walls. I’m an air sign, so I really dig having my mind blown, and Waterbearers seem to be the most exhilarating zephyr in the heavens. I don’t know why, but I am on a Uranus kick, and when I’m in the mood for some hot air-on-air action, I always think back on this time last year when I popped my Aquarian cherry. . .
He was enigmatic, striking, and sooo unique looking, with the brightest eyes I had ever seen. What irked me about him was that I couldn’t quite figure him out; he seemed just barely out of reach. Nothing about our interactions seemed logical, and I could never quite crack him. This went on for about 2 months before we actually spoke to one another. As soon as I spearheaded him in an attempt to solve the puzzle, I was shocked.
I had fixated and mused that maybe he was a Scorpio, because I found his stare to be intense; or a Sagittarius, because I was so attracted to him; or even a Pisces, because of his mystery and lack of aggression. I foolishly ruled Aquarius out, because frankly, I didn’t want him to be one of those off-beat weirdos (an association I made with the sign because of some kid from 7th grade). But the marks were all there, I was just too blind to see them.
He had tattoos up the wazoo, a man bun (before they were trendy), gauged ears, bright eyes, and an incredibly congenial disposition. Oh, and his questions! It’s like every neutral conversation was dipped in eroticism just because he phrased things differently. He asked questions with finesse and a bit of authority, asking “what did you assume about me?” but refusing to divulge any information of his own until I had provided a sufficient response. He seemed extremely interested in me, and appeared to be impishly toying with me, but it was beginning to feel like an investigation. Every morning I was barraged with at least 4 new questions. Well, almost every morning. OK, ONE morning I was barraged with questions (via text), and then faced silence until the next time I ran into him. He was erratic and unpredictable, I never knew when I was going to see, or hear from him, which was aggravating. It seemed as though he was not only playing my game, but kicking my ass at it.
Now of course, it all makes sense. He was beating me at my own Gemini game, by being a child of Uranus. He was mysterious only because he never revealed anything. And his need to physically display his originality through his appearance, while remaining slightly under the radar was so wildly Uranus (and now, so last season). His stare was nowhere near as intense as Scorpio (because I still had my pants on), but it was full of Uranus concentration. Thinking back on it, he watched me like a Charles Darwin/Sigmund Freud hybrid, studying my daily habits in attempt to put together the pieces of me that puzzled him so he could solve me and move on.
His interest, though inconstant and fleeting, was the Uranian magnum opus. At the time, I was so thrilled to be under the microscope of such a babe, that I became oblivious to the objectivity and detachment of his sign. His extreme interest was actually an impersonal interest; he simply wanted his curiosity satisfied. Uranus interest is strictly cerebral and asexual; they only see you as a research project. Which explains why he rarely answered the questions I asked him; I was being examined, he wasn’t. And Uranus is an out-of-sight-out-of-mind planet, so if I wasn’t blatantly in front of his face, he practically forgot I existed.
So while my fat-headed quioxticism made me believe that he was this deliciously cryptic catch, he was, in reality, just an absent-minded, curious, young and unusual Aquarius guy. But he taught me a great deal about both his planet and sign, which obviously got me thinking about Aquarius and Gemini, and how they relate. A post I am working on as you read this. In a way, I owe him for being such a hands-on professor. Should I send him a thank you text?