Crush

What is he doing right now? My crush. Mmmmm, my crush. Clever, tall, humorous . . . together. Aloof.

I have secret pet names for him that he hasn’t heard yet. The latest are abstract derivatives of the earliest, most obvious ones and have to be traced intricately backward to have any context whatsoever in reality. I’m the only one who can trace them back!

Ha! I wonder if he’s Googled me yet, as I Google him every day at sunrise, and noon, and sunset (and at various points before and after those times—just to see if anything has been updated). That's how I found an image of him online! I tiled it as my desktop and saved it as my screensaver. Who's aloof now?

Up in my loft bed, I can't sleep nights thinking about how it'll feel when his hands are all over me, lips touching mine, and eyes meeting my eyes in dim light. What kind of sex is the man into? Does he tease in bed as much as in the preamble? Is he "rough"? Does he "talk"? Is he "really into” blowjobs?

It gives me insomnia. So I call him for the first time at two this morning. Go white pages!

Him: [sleepy] Hello?

Me: [sexy] God, I want you soooo bad right now . . .

Him: Mmmmm. That's kinda hot . . . aaand . . . it’s kind of psycho.

Me: [shriek] BINGO!

Then I hang up on him and start masturbating with a knife.

Just kidding, I would never do that. Instead of calling, I install a dimmer in my room, surf porn, start working out, get a bikini wax, give my number to 18 dudes at a club, smoke a carton of cigarettes, make sock puppet versions of each of us and have them fuck all over my room.

It takes work to repress your attractions into indirect manifestations, but it should be well worth the wait! Keep your fingers crossed, friends. I have a good feeling about this one!

 
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