Weight: Approx. 180
Hair: Blonde, shaggy-like
Eyes: Blue, Dark
Notes: Foreign accent, elastic face
Since I lack any basic puritanical values when it comes to my sexuality, my lack of dating hasn’t exactly meant a lack of sex. My last breakup left me looking for comfort, and I went to find it in a bar with upscale pretense and a hookup reputation. I went out one night with the specific goal of finding a handsome boy to take my frustrations out on. Past the age of 18, men are here for one of two reasons: school or work. A quick scan led me to see that I was definitely dealing with a school-age crowd but fortunately, it didn’t take me long to decide on a target. In a city of intense sameness, he was different. Not in that “we looked into each others eyes and I could tell that this one was special” kind of different, but just what I said, he was actually different. He looked ordinary enough, a tall blonde boy with a long, stretchy mouth and prototypical dark blue eyes, but soon after he opened his , I knew he was going to be the winner. He jabbed me in the shoulder as I attempted to brush by him that night.
“Oh!” he exclaimed in his unplaceable accent, his ridiculous mouth comically shaping the ‘O’ as if he was doing slapstick. He, towering above me, gestured to my head and then back at his. Oh, indeed. It turned out that we both had versions of the haircut most recently popularized by Justin Bieber.
“Yes, twins.” I smiled at him and walked on. Throughout the rest of the night, I could see his blonde head bobbing a couple of inches above the crowd. I acquired all of my alcohol for free that night, preening and giggling, showing off my single-girl feathers. Around midnight, I felt a large hand encapsulate my shoulder.
“Where have you been?” A voice in a grumbly, accented clip. My blonde had found me. He maintained a firm grip on me as we exchanged vitals. He was Swiss by way of Paris, spoke French, played golf, was in college but older than most, 23. 2:00am came too soon and the aggressive house lights and even more aggressive bouncer escorted the last of the crowd out of the door. He gave me his number, I gave him mine.
Image: Death to Stock