The huge crazy-eyed smile she reserved for babies was subtle compared to the impossible affection conjured up in the presence of every old couple we encountered. These hints had more recently taken the form of exaggerated street mimes. She was pissed because I hadn’t picked up on her latest hint that we should live together, get married, have children and die of old age in each other’s arms. “You’re accusing me of having an affair with your ass, behind your back?” “You hug it like it’s a separate person.” she said thawing a little. While making the dramatic announcement that I had better go if I was to be in decent shape for work the next day I began to say goodbye to her magnificent world class ass. Was she still pissed at me? I had work the next day and she didn’t.
Our evening stroll had been cut short by a rainstorm and so once we got inside we shook off our wet things and lay across her bed and chatted and ordinarily this would have been enough to get the ball rolling but I was still not confident enough to make a move. So it was ironic, that my fiancé should be the one who inadvertently introduced me to online dating.īobbing and swaying in front of my face as we ascended the steps to her fourthfloor Elizabeth Street apartment was the reason we’d been together so long. And dating within Alcoholics Anonymous was out of the question since the last thing I wanted to do was wake up beside a version of myself in a skirt. But I couldn’t meet girls in bars anymore.
I joked about it, saying I was a Vagitarian but I knew it wasn’t normal. In the same way a junkie spent all his time thinking about his next fix, my life had become something I did between orgasms. I didn’t get laid enough to be called a sex-addict.Īnd yet the name felt right.
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