Status: Three parts. :)
I Want to Know What Love Is
The Blowjob of Destiny
September 2nd, 2011 8:53 PM
Delightfully Delilah wrote:
At first I was embarrassed—y’know, sending in a video expressing my desperate loneliness for a companion in life and perhaps the afterlife if you’re into that sort of thing—if you please answer you might get a blowjob out of the deal. It’s an embarrassing sort of thing. It’s not the kind of thing you tell your mother over the occasional lunch date or a colleague over coffee, or god forbid at the Thanksgiving dinner table—even to my senile and hopelessly lost grandfather. It’s just not something I do and it’s not something I’d tell anybody. And yet, I’m expecting the man of my dreams to accept my desperation, politely decline the blowjob, and ask if he could maybe get my phone number.
Yes, I know. My life is pitiful. Don’t try to deny it, it’s true.
It’s been like this for years, me waiting for fairytales. I want Prince Charming. I want Richard Gear in Pretty Woman, I want Leo DiCaprio in Titanic (y’know, minus the dying thing), I want John Cusack in Better Off Dead. I want someone to hold a boom box over his head for me. I want, want, want. I want a cheesy 80s movie.
This disposition has not worked for me since it’s been ten years since I first started wanting this idealistic love story. That is, until this morning/afternoon. I think. Well, I hope. Fingers crossed. :)
So, around 10, bordering on 11 this morning I went to the mailbox in front of the post office near my apartment building wearing my sexiest lingerie (they have ducks printed on them, in case that gives you an idea of just how sexy they are) and a pair of bunny slippers to send in my video tape to Single’s Video Viagra (you know, I haven’t figured out why it’s called that either). And there was this scruffy lookin’ dude leaning on the mailbox, looking mysterious and dare I say sexy? And so I was like, ‘Excuse me, you’re in my way.’ And then he was like, ‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry.’ So then he stood up and kinda stood around like he thought I was cute or something. So I slipped the package into the box and was about to turn around and head back to my building when he asked, ‘What’re you sending?’ And I mean, it wasn’t in this creepy way like I assume you’re thinking. No, he was really casual about it, but like a sexy casual? And so, I stood there for a second, my mouth quivering around the words ‘dating video’, when I said ‘Bridal shower gift.’ And then just like that, like magic, freaking magic, he was asking me out to have coffee and I was saying ‘Oh, I’m in my pajamas.’ And he was saying ‘Well, I don’t mind.’
How freaking awesome is that?
Again I will assure you, he was not a rapist or a creep or anything. I swear to you, a perfect gentlemen—opening doors, pulling out chairs—the whole shebang. And on top of that it turns out that he has this great personality; he’s actually funny and I don’t have to pretend to laugh at his jokes, and he’s just so easy to talk to. It’s almost like breathing—freaky, right? And he’s a writer, (or more so a waiter who’s going to be an author) which I think is very romantic, he plays acoustic guitar (score!), and plays Sudoku to fall asleep. Is it creepy that I mentioned that? No? Yes? I don’t know. I should know though. I’m 24 for Christ’s sake, and here I am, going on like a regular, giggling schoolgirl.
Anyways, I’m going out with him again, his name is Beau. Did you know that’s French for handsome? It’s really quite fitting…
Right. Well. I’ll write soon.
Kisses,
Delilah
Delightfully Delilah wrote:
At first I was embarrassed—y’know, sending in a video expressing my desperate loneliness for a companion in life and perhaps the afterlife if you’re into that sort of thing—if you please answer you might get a blowjob out of the deal. It’s an embarrassing sort of thing. It’s not the kind of thing you tell your mother over the occasional lunch date or a colleague over coffee, or god forbid at the Thanksgiving dinner table—even to my senile and hopelessly lost grandfather. It’s just not something I do and it’s not something I’d tell anybody. And yet, I’m expecting the man of my dreams to accept my desperation, politely decline the blowjob, and ask if he could maybe get my phone number.
Yes, I know. My life is pitiful. Don’t try to deny it, it’s true.
It’s been like this for years, me waiting for fairytales. I want Prince Charming. I want Richard Gear in Pretty Woman, I want Leo DiCaprio in Titanic (y’know, minus the dying thing), I want John Cusack in Better Off Dead. I want someone to hold a boom box over his head for me. I want, want, want. I want a cheesy 80s movie.
This disposition has not worked for me since it’s been ten years since I first started wanting this idealistic love story. That is, until this morning/afternoon. I think. Well, I hope. Fingers crossed. :)
So, around 10, bordering on 11 this morning I went to the mailbox in front of the post office near my apartment building wearing my sexiest lingerie (they have ducks printed on them, in case that gives you an idea of just how sexy they are) and a pair of bunny slippers to send in my video tape to Single’s Video Viagra (you know, I haven’t figured out why it’s called that either). And there was this scruffy lookin’ dude leaning on the mailbox, looking mysterious and dare I say sexy? And so I was like, ‘Excuse me, you’re in my way.’ And then he was like, ‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry.’ So then he stood up and kinda stood around like he thought I was cute or something. So I slipped the package into the box and was about to turn around and head back to my building when he asked, ‘What’re you sending?’ And I mean, it wasn’t in this creepy way like I assume you’re thinking. No, he was really casual about it, but like a sexy casual? And so, I stood there for a second, my mouth quivering around the words ‘dating video’, when I said ‘Bridal shower gift.’ And then just like that, like magic, freaking magic, he was asking me out to have coffee and I was saying ‘Oh, I’m in my pajamas.’ And he was saying ‘Well, I don’t mind.’
How freaking awesome is that?
Again I will assure you, he was not a rapist or a creep or anything. I swear to you, a perfect gentlemen—opening doors, pulling out chairs—the whole shebang. And on top of that it turns out that he has this great personality; he’s actually funny and I don’t have to pretend to laugh at his jokes, and he’s just so easy to talk to. It’s almost like breathing—freaky, right? And he’s a writer, (or more so a waiter who’s going to be an author) which I think is very romantic, he plays acoustic guitar (score!), and plays Sudoku to fall asleep. Is it creepy that I mentioned that? No? Yes? I don’t know. I should know though. I’m 24 for Christ’s sake, and here I am, going on like a regular, giggling schoolgirl.
Anyways, I’m going out with him again, his name is Beau. Did you know that’s French for handsome? It’s really quite fitting…
Right. Well. I’ll write soon.
Kisses,
Delilah
♠ ♠ ♠
So, this is special. Comment if you like, hate, are indifferent, or just plain feel like it. :) Thanks for reading!