Flirtation (Part 2)

Oh God, what have I done? Talking to the SF about her coworker and how if we had sex with a condom on she really wouldn’t be cheating on her boyfriend has not turned out well. Not that having sex with a condom on would be the problem, but the thing is I don’t know if the SF told her about our conversation and my secret plans to fornicate with her. I like that word, fornicate. Pretty sweet.

Knowing how women are all into gossip and juicy secrets I’m pretty damn sure the SF has relayed the information. And now this woman probably thinks, well, I don’t know, that I’m some sicko stalker who just wants to stick my penis in her butt. Trust me, I really don’t want to, it was just a joke between the SF and I. And that whole anal sex thing is just plain gross (cough, cough, bullshit, cough).

Twice today I saw the GWB (Girl With Boyfriend) down in the smoking area. The first time a car was leaving and I was able to walk outside before any eye contact was made. Whew. The second time I was finishing my cig just as she walked through the door. I nervously checked my watch, adjusted my junk, and tried to make it look like I didn’t notice her standing ten feet away from me. But, not wanting to be rude or anything, I eventually took my hand off my crotch and looked over in her direction. To my surprise she was starring right at me! Well, no, not really, but she did glance over and tentatively put her hand up to wave and say hi to me. The manner that she waved gave it away: she knows. SHE KNOWS!

I finished my cig, told everyone there to have a good weekend and made my way back. Now what? I’ve made comments to her coworker that I want her to break up with her boyfriend so that we can fornicate like bunnies. Granted these comments weren’t true, but they still came out of my mouth as I was trying to be somewhat funny. And now it isn’t so funny. No, not at all. While I look at most women and wonder what sex would be like with them and get ginormous erections in the weight room on a daily basis, I don’t tell these women that I wonder about all that. If they knew what was going through my mind they’d quite give me dirty looks (not the hot dirty looks), probably kick me in the balls and most certainly slap me in the face. (The usual progression is ass, boobs, stomach, legs, hair, clothing, and then face, ‘cause you can always turn the lights off.)

(Oh fuck, I just realized there is no mention of age in there.)

If women knew the thoughts that went through my head none of them would talk to me. Ever. And now GWB knows what’s going on in my head, or at least thinks she knows what’s going on inside my head based off of my lame attempts at humor.

Can you be a dirty old man at the age of 30?