When I was younger, much younger, I didn’t know how to get the attention of girls my age. Apparently confidence and time were all it took to gain their attention.
I’m not sure when it happened, when the transformation occurred; which scar was it that precipitated the inherent changes that would make me, me? Simply, I do not know. I only know that change was affected…
I was at a local pub, with a friend. His purpose for joining me at the pub was to blow off steam; my purpose was to get blown. A shallow goal, you think? I can’t argue with that, however, given my misgivings with the opposite sex it was no small task, I assure you.
My friend excused himself, to fetch us a new round of spirits, since the previous round had gone the way of the Duck-Billed Cotton Tail Jackalope. There I sat in the busy bar looking at the hoochie mamas on the dance floor too easily and brashly shaking what their mama gave them. Then I hear an excited, somewhat nervous voice from behind me. “Um hey! You know, you are sooo handsome! I can’t take my eyes off of you.” I appreciated the compliment, more than I should have maybe. I rebounded, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Not a second later she immortalized us with a pic on her Moto Razor. God, I hated that stupid phone, but I digress.
If I was the USS Enterprise NC1701-D and Picard is my Captain, if he tells me to “Engage!” you better damn well believe I’m going to ENGAGE.
Gina was her name and she was a school teacher in Temecula. “How unfortunate,” I dryly quipped, when she revealed where she taught. She laughed, in a manner that bespoke of a person trying too hard. I probably could have told her that I wanted to piss in her mom’s butt-hole and gotten away with it.
She was making this too easy, but I didn’t care.
At this point in my life, I didn’t need a challenge; if I wanted a challenge, I’d have solved a few quadratic equations or picked a fight with Rampage Jackson. No, I didn’t need a challenge, I needed contact. Gina was no more a super model than I was George Clooney in Facts of Life, when he rocked a mullet, or anyone who rocks a mullet for that matter. She had a few pounds to Taebo the snot out of and that was fine; I needed her attention, but not after a few more glasses of Hendricks…
My buddy had long since driven himself home after failing to convince me to not “go there.” If I was the USS Enterprise NC1701-D and Picard is my Captain, if he tells me to “Engage!” you better damn well believe I’m going to ENGAGE.
Engage I did, in a hotel room with one of her friends in the other bed. To be clear I’m not really a person who wants to be watched, but a perceived lifetime of failure with girls can make a man relax some inhibitions.
Evolution happens over millions of years. That night, it happened in but a few hours…