Ah Professor. We are friends — just good friends who sleep together. Exclusively. Purely as a way to avoid hassles/diseases/attachments while we investigate other opportunities.
Except… if I’m being totally honest, the only reason I haven’t broken our agreement so far is because I haven’t met anyone I’d like to get busy with. Except… I have:
The Animator, a comic book artist who just makes me go… wham! In all the right places.
He’s cute, in a grungy, gorilla-y kinda way. He’s some kind of welder out of a commercial auto body shop, whatever that is. Big beefy arms. Dark shaggy hair in no particular style. Carries himself solidly, chest puffed out like he’s wearing a barrel & suspenders like you see in Olde Time depictions of comical poverty. When I first saw him, I thought, “Why’s this ape so full of himself?” But I felt intensely, inexplicably attracted to him anyway.
Then we talked, and he was funny… and smart… and self-deprecating… and very, very into me. At one point when we were getting closer, he studied a lock of my hair, and asked, “Do you ever wear yellow?” I just kinda looked at him, and he explained a color like daffodils would contrast my “brunette thing” — maybe some kinda vintage sleeveless dress… ?
Ummmm… excuse me? Aren’t guys supposed to UN-dress women with their eyes? This one was putting me in Mad Men-wear. I was thinking Dude had the worst lines ever but as he went on about burnt umber, sienna, ochre… dawned on me he *did* mention comic book art in his profile. This guy was really an artist — he seemed captivated by visual possibilities and as our conversation went on, he admired various random objects about the room that I had to admit, were kinda neat if you looked at them twice.
I dunno. It sounds lame now but at the time, I was completely charmed. He’s a brute. He’s an artist. He’s strong & dominant. He’s clever and amusing. The few hours we spent over beers last night flew by. When I stopped by Professor’s afterwards, I felt dishonest, brushing off the evening like just another one of my escapades.
Professor touched me, and I swooned like always into our safe, familiar, satisfying sex. But a part of me was back at the bar, recalling the Animator’s eyes staring into mine.