I knew there was a chance I’d see #121 at my usual Sunday night gathering of like-minded downtowners, so I washed my hair, put on full makeup and called Kevin to ask him if I could be talking to him on the phone when I walked into the place. As soon as I walked out my front door, I called Kevin for the walk-in conversation.
“I just want to make sure—is there any chance he might have interpreted my messages to him as crazy?”
“No, no way,” he said. “Just fun and flirty.”
The thing was, I needed a team of four to compose those fun and flirty messages. Left to my own devices, I'm a prime candidate for Remedial Flirtation.
“I just want to make sure—is there any chance he might have interpreted my messages to him as crazy?”
“No, no way,” he said. “Just fun and flirty.”
The thing was, I needed a team of four to compose those fun and flirty messages. Left to my own devices, I'm a prime candidate for Remedial Flirtation.
I walked around the corner and into the courtyard where the gathering was and there was #121, sitting outside with a few other people. I waved awkwardly. He just looked at me. Unsure if he’d actually seen me wave at him, I passed a person who was blocking my view and then waved again. He made more of a motion to indicate he’d seen me. Maybe it was a head nod. Maybe it was a wave. But I don't know because I quickly became too horrified with myself to remember.
“Oh my god, I just acted like a crazy person,” I said to Kevin on the phone once I was inside. “I just waved to him like a complete nut job.”
“This is awesome,” he said. “So what if he thinks you’re a nut job, you just totally did what you wanted to do. Let him think you’re crazy. You're the crazy, flirty lady.”
Once I got over the initial horror, I was actually pretty proud of myself. I took a seat by the windows and saw #121 come in. Usually he would sit across the room from me, but today he positioned himself just a few seats away. Evan came over and sat down next to me, which was a relief because then I wasn’t sitting alone.
About 45 minutes later, I got up to get coffee and cake and wound up in a discussion by the kitchen with another woman about work stuff. I saw #121 walk past—probably into the kitchen. A few minutes went by and he didn’t appear to be coming out. And then, using my powers of peripheral vision, I saw him standing against the wall. He looked like he was waiting. Finally, I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped a little. It was him. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you guys got cake,” he said.
“Oh yeah, you didn’t get any? It was good.”
“The only thing I don’t like about cake is all the frosting.”
“Oh, then you probably like muffins.” (Did I just say that?)
“Yeah, I do like muffins.”
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stop talking about muffins.
Preoccupied with #121's animal magnetism as well as the inanity of our conversation, it took me a while to notice that the woman I was talking to had disappeared.
“I like this,” he said, reaching for my necklace and fondling a bead in his fingers.
I may have stopped breathing for a moment.
“Oh, this, yeah, I like it, it’s just plastic.”
“Oh, I thought it was stones,” he said. “Well, I like it.”
“It was good to see you the other night,” I said.
“Yeah, if you go to any other events like that, let me know, I’ll go with you.”
“I will,” I said.
As we talked, I noticed that he wasn’t very tall, but then I remembered that, if all went according to plan, that wouldn’t matter because we’d be lying down.
A minute later, we parted ways and I sat down and texted Kevin: “He touched me!”
“Yay!!!” he texted back. “Your boob?”
About half an hour later, when everyone was leaving, it looked like #121 was hovering again. I was engaged in conversation with someone else about my work situation. Finally, he gave up on his hovering and walked past us to leave, saying, “See ya.”
“Good night.” I chirped, and subsequently wanted to die.
I called Kevin when I got home.
“I could so have him,” I said, although I added that I was a tad worried that he was put off somehow by the whole good-bye scene and my talk of work stuff.
“He’s a guy—all he cares about is your tits. He doesn’t care about what you do for a living."
“What’ll I do when I see him next? I was so nervous talking to him.”
“Just picture yourself going up and talking to him.”
“All I can picture is him walking into my apartment, picking me up and throwing me on the bed.”
“This is kickass in 7 different ways,” Kevin said. “You just put courage and fun and passion in your life.”
He’s right. I have.
Signs of Hope: He totally came up to me to talk to me all on his own. He even hovered for a while.
Red Flags: Since I want so little from #121, there really aren’t any.
Turning Point: The moment he put his hand on my shoulder.
Diagnosis: For him: Possibly available for a cheap fling.
For me: I really, really want to be available for a cheap fling.
“I like this,” he said, reaching for my necklace and fondling a bead in his fingers.
I may have stopped breathing for a moment.
“Oh, this, yeah, I like it, it’s just plastic.”
“Oh, I thought it was stones,” he said. “Well, I like it.”
“It was good to see you the other night,” I said.
“Yeah, if you go to any other events like that, let me know, I’ll go with you.”
“I will,” I said.
As we talked, I noticed that he wasn’t very tall, but then I remembered that, if all went according to plan, that wouldn’t matter because we’d be lying down.
A minute later, we parted ways and I sat down and texted Kevin: “He touched me!”
“Yay!!!” he texted back. “Your boob?”
About half an hour later, when everyone was leaving, it looked like #121 was hovering again. I was engaged in conversation with someone else about my work situation. Finally, he gave up on his hovering and walked past us to leave, saying, “See ya.”
“Good night.” I chirped, and subsequently wanted to die.
I called Kevin when I got home.
“I could so have him,” I said, although I added that I was a tad worried that he was put off somehow by the whole good-bye scene and my talk of work stuff.
“He’s a guy—all he cares about is your tits. He doesn’t care about what you do for a living."
“What’ll I do when I see him next? I was so nervous talking to him.”
“Just picture yourself going up and talking to him.”
“All I can picture is him walking into my apartment, picking me up and throwing me on the bed.”
“This is kickass in 7 different ways,” Kevin said. “You just put courage and fun and passion in your life.”
He’s right. I have.
Signs of Hope: He totally came up to me to talk to me all on his own. He even hovered for a while.
Red Flags: Since I want so little from #121, there really aren’t any.
Turning Point: The moment he put his hand on my shoulder.
Diagnosis: For him: Possibly available for a cheap fling.
For me: I really, really want to be available for a cheap fling.
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