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Short skirts, french knickers

Monday, August 08, 2005


The boy with the glasses was still staring/ not-staring at me from across his stale coffee. It was almost getting boring; I was beginning to wonder what was wrong with me. I'm used to boys smiling at me, you know, squaring their shoulders and throwing across their charm. He was hiding behind one of those tatty pretentious-looking secondhand books.

This boy was being a bit funny, coy, darting the occasional look and it had become a battle of wits of sorts, I think. Or was he really that stuck in that damn book? Starbucks was getting tiring and I was determined he should smile first. I'm not so unlikeable.

But then, boys who are shy are exciting. No brawn, no muscle, no sparkly broad teeth but you can probably be quite sure they wear those nice snug boxers and like to eat Japanese food. The less arrogant are usually more versatile. Yes, I'd decided he was definitely fun. I liked the swaggering confident "can I get into your panties?" boys sometimes but this boy was definitely, definitely more fun... as long as he kept hiding behind his coffee cup. Treat 'em mean to keep 'em keen eh? This boy knew a thing or two. I thought back to which knickers I'd put on this morning: one of the pink thongs I think.

After 2 hours of idling, I thought I should say hello. The shy needed some help, sometimes.

"Hello. Are you drinking that?"
"That drink. It's old and cold. You gonna drink that? Or keep looking across at my frappuccino?"
"Uhhhh....yah. Actually..."

It took a long time but I managed to find out his name and asked him for his number which made him blush. Then he felt compelled, perhaps, to ask me for mine.

It had never been so much work but then, I'd never gotten so wet so quickly. All that over an old coffee. You find the most desirable things in the most unlikely places.