Another Viking
I should have spent the weekend packing, but I had an out-of-town buddy stay over on Friday night (celeb spotting: Jake Gyllenhaal at Hugo's at breakfast on Saturday morning) and then I spent much of Saturday at the office.
Sunday, of course, was then spent thinking of ways to avoid packing. So I went to the gym, got my hair cut, had coffee with Hometown Guy, took my computer to the new apartment, and then went to get copies of the keys made. I then packed exactly one box of CDs before heading out to meet a bunch of friends at Faultline.
It was only my second time there, as I generally prefer to do most of my drinking within staggering distance of the house. I got there around 3pm, I think, and the place would soon get pretty packed. Soon after arriving there, I picked out my favorite in the crowd, a very handsome blond man in a group of four or five guys. He was a couple of years older than me, with twinkly blue eyes, about five days growth of blond beard, promisingly fuzzy arms, and a manly build. And a killer smile, which he proceeded to flash in my direction every time we exchanged glances. I thought that he was terribly sexy.
Frankly I was having a hard time believing that he really was interested in me. This isn't because of my usual self-image problems; I just know that I'm probably not what most guys are looking for when they go to Faultline. But we kept catching each other's eyes, way beyond the point when it became clear that we each liked what we could see.
I had no intention of getting blasted (my usual cure for shyness), so I was just beginning to start berating myself for not talking to him. And I started silently berating him too. "Why doesn't he just come over and say hi," I wondered.
Eventually, on my way back from the bar, I found myself passing right next to him. I realized that there wasn't anything remotely intimidating about this friendly-looking fellow, and suddenly I wasn't shy any more. "For God's sake," I blurted out with a laugh, "why didn't you come over and say hi?"
He laughed too. "My friends had been telling me that you were just looking for a daddy," he said. I assured him that I was probably a lot closer to his age than he thought. At almost 48, he certainly was within the appropriate age range as far as I was concerned.
I hadn't come to the Faultline with any expections other than having a few beers with my buddies, and I certainly hadn't come expecting to meet a nice boy or looking for a hookup. Still, there was no sense in beating around the bush, so I asked the most important question right off the bat: "Are you single?" The reply was a gratifying "yes."
He passed every superficial test, plus several less superficial ones. Handsome up close. Upbeat and fun. Nice laugh. Relationship oriented. Responsible homeowner. Blond chest hair. Thinks I'm hot. Misses cuddling with a boyfriend. Good hugger. Has a close circle of friends. Was nice to my friends.
Oh yeah. And he was a fantastic kisser.
We both had other places to be, so we walked out together (chastely) before 6 o'clock. But numbers and email addresses were exchanged, and we hope to get together for a proper date this weekend.
And to think that I had nearly blown off my buddies so that I could go hiking.
Weight: a very contented 177
Sunday, of course, was then spent thinking of ways to avoid packing. So I went to the gym, got my hair cut, had coffee with Hometown Guy, took my computer to the new apartment, and then went to get copies of the keys made. I then packed exactly one box of CDs before heading out to meet a bunch of friends at Faultline.
It was only my second time there, as I generally prefer to do most of my drinking within staggering distance of the house. I got there around 3pm, I think, and the place would soon get pretty packed. Soon after arriving there, I picked out my favorite in the crowd, a very handsome blond man in a group of four or five guys. He was a couple of years older than me, with twinkly blue eyes, about five days growth of blond beard, promisingly fuzzy arms, and a manly build. And a killer smile, which he proceeded to flash in my direction every time we exchanged glances. I thought that he was terribly sexy.
Frankly I was having a hard time believing that he really was interested in me. This isn't because of my usual self-image problems; I just know that I'm probably not what most guys are looking for when they go to Faultline. But we kept catching each other's eyes, way beyond the point when it became clear that we each liked what we could see.
I had no intention of getting blasted (my usual cure for shyness), so I was just beginning to start berating myself for not talking to him. And I started silently berating him too. "Why doesn't he just come over and say hi," I wondered.
Eventually, on my way back from the bar, I found myself passing right next to him. I realized that there wasn't anything remotely intimidating about this friendly-looking fellow, and suddenly I wasn't shy any more. "For God's sake," I blurted out with a laugh, "why didn't you come over and say hi?"
He laughed too. "My friends had been telling me that you were just looking for a daddy," he said. I assured him that I was probably a lot closer to his age than he thought. At almost 48, he certainly was within the appropriate age range as far as I was concerned.
I hadn't come to the Faultline with any expections other than having a few beers with my buddies, and I certainly hadn't come expecting to meet a nice boy or looking for a hookup. Still, there was no sense in beating around the bush, so I asked the most important question right off the bat: "Are you single?" The reply was a gratifying "yes."
He passed every superficial test, plus several less superficial ones. Handsome up close. Upbeat and fun. Nice laugh. Relationship oriented. Responsible homeowner. Blond chest hair. Thinks I'm hot. Misses cuddling with a boyfriend. Good hugger. Has a close circle of friends. Was nice to my friends.
Oh yeah. And he was a fantastic kisser.
We both had other places to be, so we walked out together (chastely) before 6 o'clock. But numbers and email addresses were exchanged, and we hope to get together for a proper date this weekend.
And to think that I had nearly blown off my buddies so that I could go hiking.
Weight: a very contented 177
posted by M. at 1:24 PM
1 Comments:
You betta work!
That has to be the gayest thing I've said (written) all day.
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