onlysweetpea
Bluelighter
Chris came over last night, on time too. I was sitting in my room, convinced he was going to flake, wailing some 'Joey' by Concrete Blonde when the buzzer rang.
When I opened the door to find him at the bottom of the staircase a bit flustered and windblown, bringing the cold air in with him, I immeadiately knew that I wouldn't be able to be or stay mad for very long.
It's not fair.
It's not fair for someone to be that attractive.
Chris isn't my type, he's anybody's type. Those of you I've forwarded his picture to know. He's not the rockabilly dirty punk. He's not the skater boy. He's not even the slick hipster.
He's just...a highschool teacher.
You don't understand. He just has these dimples that are like "awww" and he's got these arms that are like "niiiice" and he's got the rest of him that's just like "mmmmmm".
He's well meaning, well mannered, well spoken and open and frank about most things.
We sat in my kitchen, polished off a bottle of wine and talked about everything from voting, to drugs, to comparing notes from our different threesomes, to his son, to our ex's, to our ex cat's, to bad living situations...to his 36 year old brother with his 21 year old girlfriend.
The natural progression of the evening led us to my room where he sat on the midget couch and found my pack of smokes. He fake gasped and then laughed.
"Oh, how horrible," I said. "I usually try to hide those from guys I'm about to kiss."
Woozy with alcohol, I stumbled back and sat on the bed.
We sat there looking at each other in silence for a minute or two.
"I thought you said you were going to kiss me," he said.
There was no stopping the train. I needed to pass GO. I needed to collect $200. I got out of jail free on some sort of extended vacation and while I give him too much leverage and blame it on his attractiveness, I didn't quite care at the moment.
Ever since I declared to the world that I didn't want a real relationship, I had slept with three men and all three had been everything I'd ever wanted it to be.
I smiled as I limped to the bus this morning. Of course I'd be running late for work.
Somedays, it's good to be the gimp.
When I opened the door to find him at the bottom of the staircase a bit flustered and windblown, bringing the cold air in with him, I immeadiately knew that I wouldn't be able to be or stay mad for very long.
It's not fair.
It's not fair for someone to be that attractive.
Chris isn't my type, he's anybody's type. Those of you I've forwarded his picture to know. He's not the rockabilly dirty punk. He's not the skater boy. He's not even the slick hipster.
He's just...a highschool teacher.
You don't understand. He just has these dimples that are like "awww" and he's got these arms that are like "niiiice" and he's got the rest of him that's just like "mmmmmm".
He's well meaning, well mannered, well spoken and open and frank about most things.
We sat in my kitchen, polished off a bottle of wine and talked about everything from voting, to drugs, to comparing notes from our different threesomes, to his son, to our ex's, to our ex cat's, to bad living situations...to his 36 year old brother with his 21 year old girlfriend.
The natural progression of the evening led us to my room where he sat on the midget couch and found my pack of smokes. He fake gasped and then laughed.
"Oh, how horrible," I said. "I usually try to hide those from guys I'm about to kiss."
Woozy with alcohol, I stumbled back and sat on the bed.
We sat there looking at each other in silence for a minute or two.
"I thought you said you were going to kiss me," he said.
There was no stopping the train. I needed to pass GO. I needed to collect $200. I got out of jail free on some sort of extended vacation and while I give him too much leverage and blame it on his attractiveness, I didn't quite care at the moment.
Ever since I declared to the world that I didn't want a real relationship, I had slept with three men and all three had been everything I'd ever wanted it to be.
I smiled as I limped to the bus this morning. Of course I'd be running late for work.
Somedays, it's good to be the gimp.
