On confusion and being challenged

It began with a fork.
Something normally unquestioned, and now
He questioned me.
I squirmed in my seat
As he always seems to make me do
And it tantalized me and I was unnerved.
For once I was set spinning and was unbalanced
And I don't ever know whether I should beg for more
Or how to even go about it.
He makes me question who I am, what I know, why I care.
I defend myself and I come across as being resistant
To not so subtle suggestions
or perhaps encouragement to leave behind my safe mental world
And let him make me feel that way
So confused and trying to seem in control.
I smirk from across the subway aisle and wonder
what I really think and feel but choose
perhaps wrongly
to ignore the odd itching that starts at the base of my spine and crawls upwards
to where he scratches at surfaces I thought I had protected.
Yet as itches tend to do it verges on a tickle.
I don't know whether to enjoy the discomfort I feel
And I find my thoughts wander to vivid imagery and sensations
And just as I think I have it figured out
our stop arrives and things are turned around again
and I listen, and answer, and feel the rush of being challenged.
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