And I . . . kind of like it?
As of late, I've continued shedding the
Sunday School girl that I once was. I mean, I'm pretty sure she
hitched up her skirts and ran shrieking from her new self a long time
ago, but I still surprise myself sometimes. Last week, Tardy and her
twin sister (also a tech in the pharmacy) had a birthday party. At
first I wasn't going to go, then I remembered that I told T I'd bring
her the Hypnotiq she wanted and that it'd be sucky to flake. Also,
I'm trying my damndest not to be a flake because of how much
frustration I know it causes me when
people bail out on plans, although I'm not naming any names *cough*
Ah, bother. I went with Dix because A., she had no ride there and
really wanted to go, and B., T lives out in the middle of BumFuck,
Egypt and I had no idea how to get there, she did. But I'd made up my
mind to just get there, wish the girls happy birthday, and stay just
long enough to not be rude and before everyone started going batcrap
nuts.
So
of course it made sense that two and a half hours later, after Dix
took my phone away from me, I was slumped against T's husband's truck
while he handed me a bottle of water and put a cold compress on my
neck, assuring me that I had nothing to apologize for, even after I
got rather disgustingly ill in the yard to everyone's amusement. I
don't really remember how I got into the house and on the couch,
although I learned later it was a former Voldemort employee who
helped me inside. Honestly all I remember is him telling me not to
step in the Jell-O on the kitchen floor. I also woke up in the
morning to find that I'd sent Pip a text message that basically said
“I wish you were here because I wanna do bad things to you.” I
vaguely remember screaming at Dixie “TELL HIM I LOVE HIM. OH MY GOD
TELL HIM. YOU'LL TELL HIM, RIGHT??!?!” after she had taken my phone
away for the night and said she was going to blame herself for the
nasty message I just sent, even though I fessed up to it later. When
I looked in the mirror I discovered that someone had used colorstay
lipstick to draw a penis on my face, with a heart above it.
Definitely not my proudest moments at all, but I think I'll always
look back on it fondly – my first, and hopefully last blackout.
And
then we come to – he whom I shall call Lab Rat. Not that he lets
people do science experiments on him (well, that I know if, anyways),
but he works in the photo lab and for some reason reminds me just a
teensy bit of a rat, but that's ok, because rats don't really squick
me too much. He works in photo lab and has gotten shamelessly
flirtatious with me over the past few months, mostly through
Facebook. I forget when he started with the random smiley-only
messages, but that went on for an insane amount of time and somehow
morphed into him asking to see my boobs O_O. That's a hells to the
no, so I sent him a very ugly photoshop I found instead, with the
face on a girl's stomach and huge eyeballs on the tits. It really is
very disturbing and he was appropriately freaked out by my Bazinga.
And in all seriousness, no one is ever, ever getting a picture of my
tits. One doesn't exist, one never will. But this weirdness
continues. He's randomly stopped me to ask for a hug, said “I love
you”, and once stopped me on my way out to give me a shoulder
massage. This has all got me rather freaked out, to put it
un-elegantly. Don't get me wrong, he's pretty. He's soooo
pretty.
But he just seems a little quirky and insecure, or worse, gun shy
like Pip, and the undying 'show me your boobs' thing is a little
off-putting. But my main reason for feeling a bit odd is the simple
and ridiculous fact that he's 22 and I'm a little over a year from
30. Is that weird of me? Unfair? It's not as if he's been following
me around being mushy and disgustingly lovelorn, we simply have
agreed that each of us finds the other pleasing to the mortal eye.
And while I certainly do enjoy the attention, the whole thing
horrifies me and makes me feel just a little dirty and ashamed. I'm
fairly confident that it'd be easy to just give in to this kid and
make out with him like there's no tomorrow, but then I remind myself
that I am a
nearly thirty year old virgin with nary an experience with anything
beyond a comfortable hug or drunken snuggles. The idea of having a
first experience of any kind with someone barely old enough to
graduate college makes me feel ashamed an inadequate. I'd always
wanted an older man, or at least one closer to my age, to do all that
for me, to teach me . . . things. It's no secret here that I'd had my
sights set on the friendly neighborhood produce guy for that task,
but I think he'd sooner be interested in letting me put lipstick on
him. And believe me, I've actually tried
to
put lipstick on him – he wound up running halfway across a pub
parking lot, and this was with him moderately smashed.
Loosely-moraled
man-slut, Y U NO LET ME IN UR PANTS? He's either gay or I'm just not
trashy enough for him O_o
Gods,
this is one of those times when having been so sheltered growing up
really sucks. I'm having this fantastic sexual tension thing going
on, mutually for once, and I have no idea what to do about it.
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