That Evil Y Chromosome
A couple of weeks ago I met this guy online who seemed like a real gentleman. Not like all those creeps who say they want a relationship but just want S-E-X. And not like all those other creeps who are still married but tell you they aren’t. Just a real nice—and bright—guy. We emailed back and forth a few times, telling each other about things we liked to do, places we liked to go, and things like that. He wrote pretty well too. He could actually tell me some things about the work he did (he was an engineer) and interests he had. And he actually liked two of my favorite things—street fairs and romantic movies. Or at least he said he did. That’s the trouble—it’s hard to trust any of these guys. You know, it must be that evil Y chromosome they all have. I don’t know.
At any rate, he and I agreed to meet at that big bar at the San Jose Fairmont for a drink last Friday after work. The Fairmont’s a fancy place, so that was another check in his plus column. And he was right on time, which I always like. We had drinks—martinis both of us. He was tall, nice looking, and nicely dressed. And we were making good eye contact. He seemed interested in me. And, as we talked, I found myself warming up to him too.
When we were nearly finished our martinis, he touched my right hand just for a second. I guess it was for effect, and, boy, it sure worked. I was so excited by that. But I tried my best to stay cool.
Then he leaned over so he could speak softly into my ear. I was really getting excited then. And he said in this very polite, respectful voice that it would make him very happy if I let him urinate on me.
You heard right—urinate on me. Isn’t that sick? Well, I told him that I was a woman and not a urinal and that he should leave before I started screaming. He said he was sorry for upsetting me—still very polite-like—and thank God he left without a fuss. But what a way to start off the weekend! I even had to pay for both our drinks.
Experiences like that stink. But, you’ve got to hand it to me: I keep trying. And that’s where you come in. I’m 46, fit, attractive, educated, and employed. I keep hoping that someday someone will answer one of these Craig’s List posts who is nice, employed, good looking, respectful, not married, not “75-years-young,” and not mentally ill. And I’m wondering if that one special guy (the one man living without that evil Y chromosome) could be you.
You know the drill. Your pic gets mine. And please no penis shots. Save those for the other sites, guys. Just nice—and recent—face shots. Thanks!
*David Meuel lives in San Jose, California, where he spends far too much time watching old film noir movies and worrying about global warming.
