So I finally got around to inviting the neighbor dude down for a cocktail. And before your brain hops on the bus to skankville, no, there was none of that finger banging, pearl necklace whack going down.


It was nice. He’s a very nice guy. He brought a bottle of wine and kissed me full on the lips when I opened the door. This guy likes to zero in on the mouth as he did the same thing when he left three hours later. Like, I don’t let anyone kiss me on the mouth. Even my EXbf knew that a full-on mouth/tongue job was, in my book — equivalent to eating out a bung hole. Which, I know…I know, is NOT the same at all but I had mono as a teen and became so conscious of where my mouth landed after that episode that I’m sort of germ phobic.

And because of that fact I really do get a harder boner when I watch ripped porn stars pull out of fresh jizzed ass and the recipient flips over and goes down on the wet cock like a pig. That is so disgustingly hot I can’t stand it. But I digress. I was real nervous before he came down and thought about splitting a Xanax but then realized that if things DID escalate that a Xanax sort of kills my boners. So I practiced another form of wellness vitality:


Where was I before I got distracted by jizz and vodka? Oh. So, no — really it was just a nice visit. And because I suck at dating and have not been on a date since President Ronald Reagan I said all the things one should NEVER say on a first date if, technically, we consider this drink visit a “first date” scenario. Ahem. I talked about (1) my EXbf, (2) my job loss, and (3) my fucked up family.

And he, from all outward appearances, took my stream of consciousness bullshit in stride. I knew I was rambling but then I recalled something about when one is fishtailing to steer into the slide. Whatever. It was good. It felt right for the transparency of the moment. I enjoyed having someone in my apartment who appreciated my effort with the tree and Christmas decorations. He liked my kitchen. He saw the bedroom despite my over-heaped laundry basket. I felt comfortable enough to show him that. So, yeah, in the realm of “let’s have a drink sometime” I think it went okay. Better than okay.

Admittedly there were moments when I caught sidelong glances and thought to myself “he’s not all that hot” but that was countered with other fleeting looks wherein the setting sun created narrow slits of light through the mini-blinds casting a gold glow over his face and I thought “you sexy motherfucker PLEASE jump me and eat me out” but I pushed those thoughts down. Way down. I’m not that kind of man. I’ll wait for it. I’ll behave. And if it happens it happens. It all ended with that mouth kiss at my apartment door and “…Next time, cocktails at MY apartment. I think my tree will go up next weekend. You’ll have to come see it.” Maybe another Christmas miracle will occur while riding his nice guy cock.