Not having sex when you're expecting it is one of the worst types of sex. Still, having spent just a few hours with Scott between the bus station in Barnstable, and the restaurant on Nantucket, I resigned myself...hmm...that's not correct...I impeached the possibility of us having sex. He was cute. He was smart. He was also a complete asshole who didn't so much make my skin crawl, as actually stand up and run screaming into the night.
"That was a good dinner." He said when we were back in our room. "Expensive. But good."
"Yea, it's hard to find cheap lobster pot pie these days. I usually wait for June to roll around so I can have one of those delicious McDonald's lobster rolls."
"Ewwww. Are you serious?" He asked.
I gave the universal I'm-too-bored-to-tell-you shoulder shrug.
"I'm gonna go change for bed." We were already in bed, or technically, on bed at this point. While he was in the bathroom I read the unabridged, annotated version of War and Peace a few times, and still had time to complete the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in permanent marker. When he came out he was wearing…
"Is that a kimono?"
"Yes, they're very comfortable." And see-through. Nice ass. Uh-oh. Red alert. Red alert. We have a breach in the cranial cavity, please direct all blood to the cardiac area. No! The cardiac area. Damn it, who let all that blood trickle down into the secondary brain?
"I'm going to go...brush my teeth." And look menacingly at my cock until it got in synch with my brain. It didn't take long to stare the wilt into it.
I made a very concerted effort not to look at his body as I climbed into bed.