Around 2 a.m., we arrived at #137’s place deep on the lower
east side. His one-bedroom apartment was on the 13th floor of a high
rise. It appeared to be a proper apartment—with a living room and a kitchen and
a bedroom with a door. Nora and Chiseled were already supine on the sofa in the
living room when we arrived, so #137 made me a seltzer with his Soda Stream in
his very tastefully decorated kitchen (of course) as I happily twisted back and
forth on a green Lucite counter stool.
His attention to detail was more than metrosexual. He had an
extra toothbrush (of course), and then, as I sat on the toilet seat and we
brushed our teeth together, he offered me a contact case for my contact lenses.
He even asked if I wanted to take off my makeup or anything—then saying, as if
to cover himself, that he didn’t actually have any makeup remover.
In his
bedroom, he gave me some articles of clothing to put on—a T-shirt and shorts—because
he was a tighty-whitey kind of guy—and we unceremoniously climbed into bed. It
was an interesting overnight. Through my borrowed chastity shorts, I could tell
that he was turned on, but because I was only really there to experience his
apartment—and his rather large bedroom—I kept saying coy things like, “I’m not
that kind of girl.”
“Oh, stop,” he’d say, sounding irritated. There was evidence
of straightness, after all. His irritation, the fact that I was even there at
all…little things like that.
But the evidence as to something otherwise kept piling up. For example, I
noticed that he had absolutely zero chest hair. Did he shave it? Laser it? Was
it natural?
I heard Nora slip out around 6 a.m., which woke us. #137 set
the alarm for 9 a.m. so I could make my noon brunch. At 9 a.m., as we got out
of bed, he took my number and, as I got dressed, texted me. I laughed when I
saw what he’d written.
“Hi, nice to meet u,” it said. Funny, sure, but a bit less than what I would have otherwise hoped for. We kissed good-bye in his
foyer—an actual foyer—and I made my way to the elevator.
When I was a few blocks away, I replied to his text:
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
At brunch, Kevin asked if there was potential. “Yes, I think
so, if I can get over his gayness.”
“Maybe that could work in your favor,” Kevin said.
“Yeah, maybe if I’m turned off by his gayness, I
won’t be that gaga over him and I can actually get to know him and see what
he’s like and see if I even like him before getting deeply involved with him.”
“Um, actually, I was thinking that could work in your favor
because he probably has good taste and could buy you nice things.”
“Oh, that, too,” I said.
Later, I asked Nora if she got a gay vibe from him. “I
didn’t speak to him all night,” she said, “but when I saw his apartment, I definitely
thought he was gay.”
One day went by, then two, the three and then one week
turned into two weeks and I hadn’t heard from him. Maybe he felt rejected because I
refused his advances. Maybe he was worried about the whole
I-know-the-people-he-works-with thing. Or, maybe, he really was gay.
Signs of Hope: He seemed interested.
Red Flags: He also seemed gay.
Turning Point: When I didn’t hear from him.
Diagnosis: For him: See the three “maybe’s” above.
For me: I was glad Nora got a gay reading, too. At any rate,
his disappearance didn’t really matter. Because 1, well, you know. And 2, #113
and I had been back in text touch for a week before I’d even met #137. And he
was talking about coming back into town...
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