I was checking out writing gigs online, and there it was: Some guy was looking for a female ghost writer, to write his online dating profile, and answer e-mails from potential dates. Hm. I was already convinced that 95% of men online lie. It must be more like 99% with some even paying other people to be them. Just to get a date.
Maybe that's what happened to this guy I met for coffee.
He was really good looking, so he didn't fake his picture. He was from Jamaica, huge, at least 6'4", lots of muscles, skin the color of coffee with lots of milk in it. He swaggered when he walked, and as he sat down and said "hello" in his musical voice a number of thoughts zig-zagged around inside my brain: Really good looking. Steroid god. Full of himself. Really good looking. Bad clothing choices- shirt was way too tight. Amazing biceps. Amazing pecs. Amazing delts. I hate men wearing ostentatious necklaces- my jewelry should be enough. Really good looking. The lizard part of my brain couldn't get past his physical attractiveness. I know I always say that men are dogs... well, woof. Women can be just as bad. There was only one reason to date this one, and it wasn't his brains. He demonstrated the lack as he opened his mouth and tried to make conversation. And unfortunately, it was pretty awkward. Sorry, pretty boys, especially built ones, just shouldn't talk. It blows the fantasy.
He could have been one of those guys paying someone to write his profile. I only say this because in his profile, he could write, and articulate his thoughts. Hell, he actually had thoughts. Not the case in person, I'm afraid.
I was just getting ready to excuse myself, claiming that I had to take my Guinea Pig for a pedicure, figuring he would never figure that one out, when he reached a hand out and stopped me from leaving. "You seem like a nice girl," he said. "I need to tell you the truth. I only signed up for on-line dating because I was looking for sex. I'm married, and my wife doesn't understand me, or my needs." I think my jaw dropped a little. Partly because he was propositioning me, partly because he actually got a complete sentence out, and partially because he stretched his arm out. It was something to behold. He smiled at me, lazily. "Would you like to touch my arm? It's really hard." Ok, buh-bye. Off to slap myself upside the head for my lascivious fantasies.
What a waste of HGH. Maybe steroids make you stupid, I don't know. Well, no brains, no headaches.
He sure was pretty, though. Woof.
Maybe that's what happened to this guy I met for coffee.
He was really good looking, so he didn't fake his picture. He was from Jamaica, huge, at least 6'4", lots of muscles, skin the color of coffee with lots of milk in it. He swaggered when he walked, and as he sat down and said "hello" in his musical voice a number of thoughts zig-zagged around inside my brain: Really good looking. Steroid god. Full of himself. Really good looking. Bad clothing choices- shirt was way too tight. Amazing biceps. Amazing pecs. Amazing delts. I hate men wearing ostentatious necklaces- my jewelry should be enough. Really good looking. The lizard part of my brain couldn't get past his physical attractiveness. I know I always say that men are dogs... well, woof. Women can be just as bad. There was only one reason to date this one, and it wasn't his brains. He demonstrated the lack as he opened his mouth and tried to make conversation. And unfortunately, it was pretty awkward. Sorry, pretty boys, especially built ones, just shouldn't talk. It blows the fantasy.
He could have been one of those guys paying someone to write his profile. I only say this because in his profile, he could write, and articulate his thoughts. Hell, he actually had thoughts. Not the case in person, I'm afraid.
I was just getting ready to excuse myself, claiming that I had to take my Guinea Pig for a pedicure, figuring he would never figure that one out, when he reached a hand out and stopped me from leaving. "You seem like a nice girl," he said. "I need to tell you the truth. I only signed up for on-line dating because I was looking for sex. I'm married, and my wife doesn't understand me, or my needs." I think my jaw dropped a little. Partly because he was propositioning me, partly because he actually got a complete sentence out, and partially because he stretched his arm out. It was something to behold. He smiled at me, lazily. "Would you like to touch my arm? It's really hard." Ok, buh-bye. Off to slap myself upside the head for my lascivious fantasies.
What a waste of HGH. Maybe steroids make you stupid, I don't know. Well, no brains, no headaches.
He sure was pretty, though. Woof.
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