You'd think by now I'd be tired of dating and even putting myself on the market. The novelty of walking around and wondering if people will look at you in your new 2-inches-too-tight-ashugger pants has worn off... and so has the possibility of snagging the "Big One".
We all know that I speak both in romantic and genitalia terms. I've had no such luck in either department lately. The lyrics of that song by Love Spit Love is beginning to ring awfully loud inside my head right alongside the occasional ringing caused by various brightly colored alcoholic drinks. And perhaps a pill or two. Meh. Clubbing ain't what it used to be.
So I go, HEY! Why not try the dirtiest of all places in the world to meet a guy! Gloryholes never work out and being half drunk in the back room of "Bed" wasn't exactly a hoot the last time... so it's off to the intarweb fo' me.
Wow. Never thought I'd drop by IRC for this since freshman year in high school. But I was already there and valuable seconds of my life wasted waiting for my dial up to connect. Turning back would be a tremendous waste.
Cutting through the swaths of men named after genitals + a random assortment of numbers to make their name unique, I got to talk to this one guy. Webcam? Good. Discover that I think he's hot but when I say someone's attractive, that usually means that he looks like a street urchin with less grime and more product in his hair. We both agree to meet up for coffee.
Wham.
Bam.
Still no sex. Oh well.
We like each other. He's a sweet guy who think's I'm a sweet, charming, barely legal male who he sees a possibility with. Obviously, this reaction proves that he has absolutely no idea who I really am. Then a nagging feeling in the back of my head tells me not to screw this up because not only is he an attractive guy/Street urchin, he also seems to authentically like me.
Then I hook my claws into him. We talk up to the wee hours of the morning, exchaning meaningless small talk until the eventual buildup to the talk about where this is going to go. More small talk, a little compliment here and there and soon we're talking about meeting up again. Sex is a possibility but I'm not going to hold him to it. He seems more of the get-to-know-you kinda sort and I have to play by his rules if there's any buttsecks to be had.
Let the wooing begin.
BTW: His name's Jeremy. We meet again in two days.
Oh joy.
 Artificity · Tue Dec 21, 2004 @ 05:56pm · 5 Comments |
