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Short skirts, french knickers

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Coffee boy

The coffee boy, (he has a name but we'll call Daniel) texted yesterday just as I had started to forget about him. He asked, believe it or not, if I would meet him for coffee. This was very courageous for a boy who seemed unable to even smile properly across a crowded Starbucks.

I replied, "4get coffee. U takes ages to drink urs. Come dancing. Velvet tonight."

He was there before me, scuffing his shoe against the side of the bar and looking remarkably displaced among the house vibe. It was endearing, his oblivion completely arousing. He jolted as I rolled up next to him and cooed in his ear.

"Having fun? Don't worry, you'll get used to crappy music."
"Um... Yah.... drink?"

Turns out, he wasn't so shy after all. He had said at first he wasn't so good with "strangers" and didn't know what to say; two beers later I wasn't a stranger anymore and he was shouting merrily in my ear about art and Tennessee Williams choking on a bottle cap, his hand placed gingerly on my bare shoulder. I hadn't been with a boy who talked so sincerely about things he cares about since university. He was like a kid but it was warm, comforting, hotly arousing.

"Don't you think artists take themselves too seriously?" I grinned.
His eyes widened. Blush. "Oh no! I'm boring you..."
"No, it's great. We won't have great literature if there wasn't any angst. But I don't want you turning lonely and suicidal."

I whipped him off to dance while he panted to keep up. "My god! I haven't been out in ages."
"Yes, I can tell! Don't worry, if you keep up with this, you'll keep up with anything." My little lost coffee boy, all grown up in a matter of one night.

At midnight, he kissed me a goodnight under the watchful eyes of the parking lot boys and we went home, each alone. Seemed a shame to rush things with this one.


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