Hey Thanks

I watched him eat calamari in a dive thai restraunt, while I told him tales of my retired career as a phone sex operator, and all the geni-torture that my johns liked to fantasize about. I remember the horrified smile he gave me when I asked him to pass the knife. I tried to pretend he wasn’t the most beautiful man I’d ever eaten calamari with. He turned me on with the words that weren’t uttered with his mouth, but with his eyes, and all the thoughts that fell one syllable short of sensual. I wanted to assume that later, he’d drive me up against my apartment wall, and kiss me delicately enough that I want to kiss him back, with his fist clenched in my hair. I’d have to believe he’d ride me exactly how I wanted, not how he’d expect a phone sex operator to fuck.

I didn't have to imagine his selfishness in bed, though it wasn't his fault I have that tendancy to romanticize the first date. It took me three to realize he wasn't going to offer to lick my pussy. Three dates of teasing and taunting and touching him and blowing stardust on his cock like he was some magically delicious lucky charm of a breakfast. Though, I kept the really cool shirt he left in my bedroom the last time I sucked him off. Maybe I'll wear it the next time I get laid. Maybe he'll be a leprechaun. Then, at least, I could jack a pot of gold instead of a selfish prick.