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I decided not to shave for this one. Hence the jeans instead of a skirt or shorts. Like I said, I wasn’t expecting much, but I don’t like cancelling on people, and I’d rather have a drink and find out in person. I got to Bar Stella early, on purpose, I wanted to pre game and get some writing done. Fifteen minutes to tee time, he text that he was on his way. He said that he reserved a table, which was thoughtful, but I didn’t need a whole sit down dinner. Plus, I had timed my food intake properly and the place is pricey. No one needs to spend that much on a meet and greet. Like the previous dates, I described to him what I was wearing. He asked me what he should wear, which I found odd. I said “clothes”. What a strange question. It’s not like I invited him to a ball or special event. Anywho, I recognized him right away when he walked in. No spark. I knew even before he sat down. Ah well. Free drink. He was a nice guy, but sort of boring looking. Not that looks matter that much, I’ve certainly fallen for men and women who were most decidedly not models. But I want that attraction. That pull. I want to look at someone and get wet. It’s not fair that men can look at me and get hard. I want that too!

We hugged. He ordered us drinks. He got a beer. Which I noted as an odd choice. Not there’s anything wrong with ordering a beer, but it was a puzzling choice at a bar that specializes in crafty cocktails. A little into our conversation he tells me that he’s catching an early flight the next morning, so this probably wouldn’t be a long one. Perfect! It wasn’t a match. This was clear. He was too pedestrian. But we were there, so I regaled him with tales. As I often do. It didn’t taken long for my “banter” to get sexual. As it often does. “Often”, that’s a hoot, always. It always does. Suddenly I was telling Mr. Pedestrian about my recent threesome. He was entranced. He’s never had one. No big surprise there. Maybe I could be “his first”, he said. We could “troll for girls together”. We could. But we won’t. It was time to pay the bill. He said he couldn’t stand up just yet due to his erection. Kinda hot, I’ll admit. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a stiffy. Plus, his statement conjured up something larger than a cornichon.

“Dead puppies, dead puppies.”

“Does that really work?” I asked.

“Here’s hoping.”

He finally worked it out and went to the bar. Outside on the sidewalk, we hugged. He pecked me on the mouth. Like my friends do. Normally, I would have kissed him for real (to see), but I already knew. He was cute and happy though, I didn’t want to burst his bubble. He said he was looking forward to seeing me when he got back in town. I didn’t say anything, just left it blank and headed to the valet.

Later that night as I was laying on my couch, he texts me, “Wait, I never got the boob shot”. Shit. I forgot that in my moment of Shannonism I said something about a picture of my tits. It wasn’t a promise though. I’m not giving this stranger a photo of my tits. Fuck. I thought I had made such a clean getaway. I should have been truthful, but I chickened out. I said some crap about my best friend advising against it. What horseshit. I should have sent him one of the many non-nipple boob shots that I’ve posted on instagram, but I know it’s a slippery slope once they get that first pic, and homegirl wasn’t playing that game. He knew my excuse was bullshit. I knew it was bullshit. I should have just said sorry buddy. Actually, I shouldn’t have fucking responded! That would have been the prudent thing to do. But I’m not always on the ball. Sometimes I’m leaning against the ball. The texts went back and forth. Exactly what I didn’t want. He was being pissy about it. I said that I don’t normally send nude pictures to relative strangers. He said, “Oh, now I’m a stranger.” Um, yeah, buddy, we had one drink together.

Me: “Relative, yes.”

Him: “So, I get to see them in person when I get back?”

Me: “Get some sleep, hun.”

Him: “Wow. If ur not interested, you can just say so.”

I hate my life.

Me: “I honestly don’t know. I had fun. Can we please just play it be ear?”

Him: “OK. That’s cool.”

Me: “(smiley face)"

Him: “Later.”

Ugh. This whole fucking thing. Dealing with other people’s feelings. Is annoying as fuck. I just want extraordinary sex. I don’t want to deal with your goddamn feelings! One more crossed off the list.

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