ignore all the warning bells, grab my keys and head on over.
the mother of all pleasant surprises greets me at the door--great face, killer smile, 5'-9" of pure, compact, rippling muscle. personal trainer at equinox, fresh off the boat from
one blissful hour later, i'm getting dressed, he comes outta the bathroom, says, "thanks so much for actually following through and showing up. i don't know what it is about LA, but there's so many flakes--why can't i ever seem to find anybody who wants to come over?"
well, for starters, even though you could easily pass for 27, you list your true age (which, using the standard LA curve, means everybody thinks you're really 40), your blurb is vague and non-descriptive, and your pics are small, out-of-focus and taken from a distance--hell, everything about your profile screams deception. i could pull out my phone right now and snap a shot of you standing there in those torn sweatpants hanging offa those chiseled hips that would bring so many slavering boys to your door, you'd never have to call my middle-aged ass again.
i think all those things, but of course i don't say them. i'll clue him in next time. or maybe the time after that.
2 comments:
Sounds like you found a good thing there.
The guttermorality I used to know would have told the sweet boy all these things straight out...guess LA has change you over time as well. That's why you used to at least be fondly remembered by more than one man who, although you never had sex with that guy again, at least thought of you as a decent and helpful human being.
As an aside, you never seem to write about the frogs and I'm guessing that guttermorality had about 10 or 20 frogs sexually before this tall glass of handsome came to your lips. I'd like to hear about some of the more dreary sexual episodes because, well, just because.
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