Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Wouldn't it be nice?

Wouldn’t it be nice?I thought to myself.

To just want a boyfriend. A simple little boyfriend. Who wears skinny jeans and likes yoga.  Who likes to make out, eat pizza, watch a movie and send me cute text messages.

Maybe. I thought.

Maybe this is what I’ve been missing...

So. Tonight I went on a date with a regular boy. A Wisconsin transplant who was cute enough.  But not too cute. I learned a few months ago that dating someone who feels like they are out of your league means they probably are, and won’t call.

But this boy had soft hands, big eyes and the potential for male pattern baldness in about 5 years.
We at pizza, drank beer and watched Twin Peaks.

He kissed like a nervous goldfish gulping for air.

And despite his sweet exterior he leered at me when I spoke about how my ex girlfriend had ripped my heart into tiny shreds.

When I asked what HIS last serious relationship was like, he said he’d never really had one.

Great.

I could tell he would have fucked me then and there with Audrey and Agent Coooper watching.  But could we really call what I know he could do to me “fucking”?  I don’t think anyone who reminds me of a nervous goldfish could do anything resembling the quality of fucking to which I have become accustomed.

Sure. I could keep him around and rock his world a little bit. I think just talking to me blew his mind to some degree.   It became painfully clear over chicken pesto pizza that we did not speak the same language when I had to not only explain what “T” and “top surgery”  meant but what a trans man even was. When I told him I was generally most attracted to trans men he asked where I met them..and if I had to spend a lot of time cruising the Castro to find these illustrious unicorn-like creatures. I found it best to drop the subject.

I had hoped that his lack of worldliness would be compensated by an unbridled passion for love-making that could only be a by-product of a repressed Midwestern upbringing (I find that since I was raised by hippies in an environment largely free of repression, I tend to fetishize things that are generally thought of as repressive: the South, suburbia, Catholocism, ya know)

But as I discussed earlier, there was no wild buffalo roaming through this one.

Oh well. Guess I learned my lesson once again.  

Conclusion: This is not what I’ve been missing. 

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