We exchanged numbers and started to communicate. I use the word "communicate" because he seemed disinclined to talk on the phone, versus texting. He is, in fact, a serial texter. His most frequent text to me: "Hey."
But I digress. We started to communicate, which lead to hanging out, which lead to some wildly entertaining sex. He was a dirty boy... mama like! But he remained rather distant outside the bedroom and mama did not like that. I finally told him I didn't want to be just a booty call, that I was at the point of wanting to be with someone, to have a boyfriend and ultimately a husband. He listened thoughtfully and didn't say too much. A couple of days later he texted me that all he could handle right then was sex and so he thought it would be better if we were just friends. By the way, I give him credit for that! And that shows you how idiotic and thoughtless a lot of guys are. I was happier that he leveled with me than sad that he didn't want to be my boyfriend.
Not proudly I admit to you that I tried as hard as I could to get him to come over for one more Paso Doble in the sheets. (Hey, I'm like a camel! I have to store it up!) He reluctantly declined, siting the rareness of actual success between F Buddies staying just Buddies apart from the F. Whatever. I was crushed that he turned down my request for one more for the road, but what are you going to do.
Things initially progressed awkwardly between us. As I expected, he didn't seem too comfortable with being a friend! Attempts by me to get together somewhere in public for some innocent event, like coffee, went unaccepted. We saw each other at work occasionally and that seemed to help turn the tide. Then I took a friend to go hear him play out (he's an aspiring singer-songwriter too, did I mention??) and it was like good times at the old friends home. Very comfortable and loads of fun. Nice.
Last night while talking with a friend, fighting off sleep in between sentences because I was so tired, Mr. Dave texted me.
"What are you doing?"
"Talking with a friend, about to hit the hay."
"Why don't I come over?" [Editor's note: spelling of "come" has been corrected here. Dave spelled it the vulgar way.] [January's note: I said he was a dirty boy!]
"I'm exhausted, worked long day. Gonna go to bed."
"Well how about I wake you up? ;)"
*Sigh.* Dave, you're about four months late. And you can't seem to spell. And your deep love for your dead grandmother makes me feel kind of icky. Plus your tongue ring really is amazing for some things [Editor's note: January is forbidden to expand on this remark] but really gross when I kiss you. So, no. No, you may not come over. No, I will not be your booty call. As a very wise woman once said, if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it.
And no, that doesn't include tongue rings.