Friday night I went out with friends and got a bit wasted. Well, if “a bit” counts as stumbling around and playing grab ass with other women.
At the second bar I ran into a guy I used to know in high school. Well, I was in high school at the time...he wasn’t.
He worked at the same place I did and had a pregnant girlfriend who also worked with us. Being 16, that didn’t matter a bit to me and we ended up starting a quiet affair. And by quiet, I mean quiet. Only one person ever knew about it and she wouldn’t have opened her mouth if you paid her. Mutual dirt, see. She was a much bigger whore than I was.
On our breaks we would sneak around the side of the building and make out. He even once talked me into a blow job, right out in the open. I later found out that there were cameras in that area. If anyone saw anything they never breathed a word, thank gawd. I’m sure they would have had a good laugh though. I wasn’t nearly as talented back then. Maybe there was a bit of arm flailing and awkward head bobbing.
We never actually had sex, but we came pretty close a few times. He would sit close to me at work and just stare at me, big brown eyes saying, “I’d like to dip you in cheese and spread you on a cracker”. Occasionally he would lick his lips. It was all quite ridiculous.
Sometimes he’d have to call me from a phone booth and he would stand there for an hour, just to “hear my voice”.
I don’t remember what our conversations were about, but there was a song called Dilemma by Nelly and Kelly Rowland and he would play it on the phone and sing it to me. It was “our song”. Years later, every single time I hear that song it reminds me of him. Not in an “I wish I could go back and do it again” way. More like a “that was interesting but I feel kind of shitty for doing it” way.
So when I walked into the bar Friday night and saw him standing there, looking five times hotter than he used to, I was thrown for a loop. Being drunk helped a bit too.
He walked right up to me with a big grin on his face and said, “You don’t remember me do you?”
“Oh, yeah...I remember you”, I replied.
This was followed by a few nicey nice, what’s been going on questions. He mentioned his kid and I said, “So are you and what’s-her-name still together?”
“No”, he said smiling. “What about you? Are you single?”
He laughed and said, “You know, every time I hear that song...I think about you. For the first couple of years I looked for you everywhere: around town, Myspace, Facebook...”
“I don’t have a Facebook...”
“I know, but you do have a Myspace...”
“Never use it.”
“You’re still beautiful.”
Thinking: “Ooooooh shit.” Joking, I actually said, “You haven’t been pining away for me all these years, have you?”
He leaned closer and said, very serious like, “Yes, I have.”
At a rare loss, all I did was blush, smile, and fiddle with my drink.
He asked for my number and I gave it to him before my friends dragged me out the door.
He’s already texted me four or five times since then, but I’ve yet to respond.
I know you’re thinking, “Why the fuck not!”
There are several reasons:
- His baby mama is badass crazy. That’s drama I don’t need.
- He’s hot. Really hot. But I don’t feel any overwhelming sexual chemistry.
- At this point I’d just be using him for sex and my ego.
- It could never be anything but another fling.
I know. I’ve finally gone off the fucking deep end. Turning down sex that’s bound to be great (he’s storing a miracle grown cucumber in his shorts). Turning down ego stroking. Worrying about using a man. Ugh!
Who the fuck is this person and what has she done with me? Just what does she think she’s holding out for? And when is she planning on getting laid again, damn it?
In other news:
I’ve seen the bum one more time walking down the same road, but no one has seen him since. The motion lights have been repaired and the metal baseball bat is a permanent fixture.
As a matter of fact, I was on my way home the other night and I came to a license check. When the cop pointed his flashlight around the car, he noticed the metal bat riding in the passenger seat.
“What’s with the bat?”
“It’s for protection.”
“Sexual deviants, bums, and the occasional rowdy house guest.”
“Cute. Are you concealing any firearms in the vehicle?”
“I’m not allowed to have firearms, but there are two Nerf guns in the trunk, if that’s relevant.”
Clearly irritated, “It’s not. Have a good evening.” He handed me my license back and waved me on through. I waved to the rest of them as I passed. Most of them have seen me half naked. Might as well give um’ hell when I get an opportunity.
In other, other news:
I’m feeling a little uninspired lately on the blogging front. Feel free (that means do it now) to help me out any way you see fit.
Yer So Bad
6 days ago