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?”
“Terminally.”
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.”
“Used to.”
“Yep.”
“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.”
“Against what?”
“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.
Monday, December 21, 2009
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13 comments:
Ah honey maybe your lady-jewel is just maturing faster than the rest of you and doesn't want to let you hook up with any more undesirables or maybe it's just in cahoots with that dude's badass scary ladyfriend and doesn't want to see you eating food through a straw? And yes, I said lady-jewel.
So about these alleged cops who allegedly have witnessed you half naked? I'm new around here and clearly need to hear that story.
*marvelling at your self control*
But why the self control?
I had a similar experience in high school. He was a year ahead of me and I adored him. I was in seventh grade and he was in eighth when we met. I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16. We spent hours on the phone, too. But we had never even kissed; we danced cheek to cheek often when I was in 7th grade, during noon time dances. Then he got a girl pregnant and ended up getting married, 'cause that's what you did in the early 60s. We crossed paths many times over the years, but he was still married, then I got married. Finally, I ran into him in another city after I was divorced. He said he and his wife were separated. I gave him my number and he called and we went out and had awesome sex after.. .then I found out he was still married and only separated in that on that weekend, he was in the city on business and she was at home. I was disappointed, but at least I finally got my fantasy fulfilled!
Your quick witt is freakin great and your cop encounter made me laugh out loud. Thank you!
In the tenth grade the boys were stupid, had very little money, and no car. But take the 11th and 12 graders, a whole different story.
They knew a lot more about sex too
Secretia
Hon I know EXACTLY what you should reply to his texts with.
“I’d like to dip you in cheese and spread you on a cracker”
Come on, do it, for me, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.
i think i speak for most of us when i wish that we should all be this "uninspired".
and you're right. from what i've read so far, this isn't like you at all.
good luck, and godspeed.
Maybe you are feeling sickly? You should think about lying down in a dark room (fully clothed and a room free of the penis) for a short while until your fever abates and you feel normal again, then arrange to meet that fine gentleman somewhere secluded and show up not wearing pants of the under variety.
There you go, problem solved.
I NEED to know about the cops and half-naked. Why only half?!
Aren't any of these policemen seduced by your cheek? Or do they only recruit humourless men for the night patrols?
Honey are you alright. This is so unlike you. I say use him.
Way to never enter my vagina
#8, 869: “I’d like to dip you in cheese and spread you on a cracker”.
That aside, those strange we-never-had-sex things are rare stories. Good for you for not ruining that.
Laugh...snort...sounding like Miss Piggy laughing...not so good when at work. I'm so freaking glad I found your blog.
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