Yuk yuk yuk

Warning: Sex talk. In a funny way, I guess.

It's really quite amazing how many things can fit into one day.

From eight to one today I had the Standardized French Exam (a.k.a. the most boring and tedious writing exam EVER), along with everyone else in my promotion. Basically you choose from one of the three torture methods analysis subjects and write a thousand words while following a structure so strict your eyes bleed.

I chose subject 2 because it seemed like the less painful. Also, because the other two's questions swam before my eyes. I considered I ought to have slept more than six hours the night before, but then, masochism knows no bounds, does it?

I finished at 11:30 (relatively fast; the gym was still full when I left). I could have revised to make sure I made no spelling mistakes, but then, I hardly ever do, and I'd already double-checked that my every statement remained on-topic.

Slim had told me to wait for him in the cafeteria after the exam, because he was coming home with me to finish our &?#$*@! Mass Media project. The one we have to give in on Friday and that we kept procrastinating over. I'd spent two full evenings at his place without us getting any work done. And not, as might be fun, because we were busy having hot monkey sex, which, let's be honest, would have been a way better manner of spending our precious time than arguing about which art form was best, books or movies (me: books, him: movies), and ending in a frustrated silence because we don't know how to cope with real arguments. And then we just ended up watching Lost, season 3.

Oh, by the way, on MSN, regularly, I talk to Mike, the guy I have very little in common with but who listens to me rant about my frustrations. He in fact seems to think they're quite entertaining, because every conversation ends up going:

Mike: How are your prospects?
Me: Dead end. I'm getting more and more annoyed. Also, the dreams don't help.
Mike: Oh yeah? And what happens in these dreams?
Me: I dream (and sometimes daydream, which can be quite hilarious inside my head) that I just stop him from doing whatever he's doing, push him back onto a chair, grab his shirt's hem with my teeth, pull it off, then run my tongue up his back and down his front.
Me: Amongst other splendid things.

If you had touched his butt, you'd feel the same, folks. Unless you were a heterosexual male. But whatever.

Mike: Wow.
Mike: What keeps you from telling him, again?
Me: His complete idiocy and his revolting inability to remember that I am, in fact, a woman. Also, he has other crushes.

Even though AA has told me Iva isn't interested by Gabriel OR Slim. Gabriel annoys her a little, and Slim isn't her type. Apparently. To say this news didn't fill me with ridiculously giddy joy would be a lie. Even though I feel terrible about it.

Me: And everyone says he and I already act like an old couple.

Including Iva. I'm serious. Slim and I were arguing, once, during a supper out, and she just started laughing and said, 'You two are SO like an old couple! It's so cute!'

Mike: Dude. Confront!
Me: No point. He wouldn't be interested.
Mike: Bullshit.
Me: How so?
Mike: Come on, you're quite the catch.
Me: Hahaha! Not to him.
Mike: Smart, funny and attractive? You're like in the upper 0.8 per cent, man.
Me: Thank you. But don't worry. I have every intention of jumping his bones. Just not yet. In the meantime I want his full cooperation for schoolwork and projects.
Mike: You'll have more cooperation with the sexin'...

Mike is an inveterate libertine. Hey, I TOLD you we had nothing in common.

Me: Doubtful. He's very easily distracted.
Mike: By the likes of whom?

I considered saying 'By my hand on the inside of his lap', but then, who are we kidding? Slim and I aren't like that. Just because my subconscious keeps begging for it doesn't mean... Anyway.

Me: Anything. He has the attention span of a goldfish.
Mike: LoL
Me: But honestly, he's a good guy. And my kind of hot.
Mike: Tell him!
Me: Oh, he knows I think he's handsome. I told him so.

He'd asked me whether I thought Sawyer from Lost was hot. Because every girl he knows thinks Sawyer is hot.

"Didn't we already establish you look a little like Sawyer, but not as round?" I ask, nonchalantly, as he does the dishes. We're alone in his house, and procrastinating.

"Come on, tell me."

"I don't want your head to inflate."

"How could it? Come on."

"I can't."

He's confused. "Why not?"

"Alright, alright. I know this is a blasphemy, but..." I take a deep breath and he pauses in his dishwashing. "... I personally think you outrank Sawyer."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Impossible. Sawyer is too hot. But thanks anyway."

"Suit yourself."

Mike: No, not that part, you bumhead. Tell him how dearly you care.
Me: He knows I care.
Mike: You're not clear enough, dammit!
Me: Haha I'm just teasing you!!! Honestly, though, I'm not in a hurry.
Mike: Why so?
Me: Just because. I'm hoping I'll snap out of it at some point and realise that I actually don't like him. Because let's face it. He's not perfect. In fact, he's the most imperfect guy I know. Which might be why I like him so much.
Mike: You know someone more imperfect than me? That's ridiculous.
Me: Hahaha I've been living in close quarters with the bastard for the past, what? Three months? Trust me when I say he's weird. And flawed.
Me: I don't know whether my liking him regardless is a sign of good nature or just plain stupidity. I've determined not to find out.
Mike: LMAO Sometimes the heart knows best, my friend. You gotta follow your heart.
Me: I will, I will.
Mike: Oh, and I found a concept for my paper.

Mike writes. It's the only reason we actually came to talk. Because I found out back in ninth grade that he writes. He likes political and social commentaries on gritty backgrounds though. I just like chick lit and cheerful fantasies.

Me: Spill.
Mike: Two freedom fighters with different ideals forced to work together in a war. You get my drift.
Me: That is pure awesome. I presume there'll be debates?
Mike: Lots. I'll have to learn to debate with myself, lol.
Me: It's fun! I do it all the time! (Example: "Would I take his shirt off first? Or would I run my hands down his pants?")
Mike: LOL!!! You gotta do it, CM.
Me: Don't worry. He's on my To Do list. Literally.
Mike: LoooooL! Please do it. You owe it to yourself.
Me: To appease your suffering as well, I suppose? I give it a 98% chance. The 2% being attributed to one of the parties involved dying in a horrible accident. Because I love him and all, but necrophilia is so passé.
Mike: LMAO
Mike: You're all jokes.
Me: Must be the sleep deprivation. I'm not normally this hilarious.
Mike: Yeah, you are!
Me: Suit yourself. Live in your world of delusions, dear man. I certainly shan't change your mind about it.
Mike: Anyway. Do it. Do it. Want me to chant?
Me: No, it's okay. It's just that I don't really see how he expects me to resist him. He's so... URGH.

After the French Exam this morning, we'd walked out together and he'd unlinked his bike from the pole where he always ties it.

"Are we walking home?" I'd asked him. It's hot out and I dreaded having to run after his bike.

"Yep. I can't take my bike onto the bus."

"Oh no, I don't want to run after your bike..." I whine.

"Who's biking?"

I turned and looked as he rolled his bike along, but didn't sit on it. I wanted to thank him, but then he stopped and said, "Gimme a sec. It's really hot out here." And he removed his hoodie, pulling his t-shirt along with it and revealing the Yo-Ho-Yo-Ho A Pirate's Life For Me boxers he bought at Disneyworld.

Excuse me. PIRATE BOXERS, okay?

"Exhibitionist," I say, trying not to gaze longingly at his flat stomach over the silly waistband.

He pulled his t-shirt back down and said, "Look, stop complaining. I spent most of my life hating my body and―" I'm trying to contain my drool disbelief as I listen to him, "―now I've resolved to like it even though it's not the hottest there is. I know it's not perfect and it's not the sexiest out there, but come on."

"Slim."

"What?" He sounds defensive.

"Don't worry about your body. Seriously. Don't."

"It's just―"

"Slim, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing."

"Whatever. Come on."

We talked all the way home about Starcraft and the impact of scents on love and feelings of attraction. Home was so fresh and comfortable after the humid heat outside. We worked for most of the afternoon, laughing to tears occasionally when we recalled funny events.

And then Mom suggested he have supper with us. We offered to go to a German restaurant nearby; he heartily agreed. Slim's dream is to visit Austria and Germany. It was a pleasant dinner; funny and full of anecdotes. I sat across from him at the table, and most of the conversation was carried by the rest of my family on the other end.

And he kept glancing at me throughout the meal, even though I wasn't the one who talked the most and I certainly didn't look that awesome as I ate my Wiener Schnitzel and Kartoffelsalat. But he would keep throwing me these cute glances, as though he was gauging my reaction to everything that was going on.

I couldn't look at him that much, for some reason. I felt surprisingly shy. But it's not like Slim hasn't had meals with my family before or anything, so it was weird. I had to fight to shake it off, and towards the end of the meal he and I were busy blabbing away as usual, without paying attention to the others.

On returning home we were so stuffed we didn't want to work anymore. So we just lounged around and talked.

He wanted to know if there were any spicy news on my part.

I know! He NEVER asks this usually.

"Spicy news?" I laugh. "Like what?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Prospects. Come on, I tell you everything, and you're providing nothing for me to chew on."

"You don't tell me everything, and for the record, none of my secrets are safe for revealing. Anyway, I don't have anything special going on, really. I have no life."

Lies, lies, lies. I can't tell him about my identity as CM. I can't tell him about what I know of Iva's feelings for him and Gabriel. I can't tell him I know about his drunken confession to Anthony that he didn't want to compete for Iva's attentions because he just wasn't THAT into her.

"How can you not have a life? Don't say that. It's not true." He sounds upset that I would demean myself.

I glance around. None of my family members are in sight.

"We should take my bike out; my lift'll be here soon," he says, sensing that I need to get out of hearing range.

"Right. Let's go."

We walk out; I open the garage door. He gathers his stuff and rolls his bike out into the evening air.

"So are any of those mysterious secrets in relation to me?"

"They're ALL about you!" I say, laughing.

"Really?" He sounds amused.

"No, not really."

"I have you in a tight spot, then, because if you're not willing to share, at least SOME of them must have to do with me."

What, I want to ask, DOESN'T have to do with you these days, Slim? In my life, at least?

"Right on," I confirm.

"Oooh," he coos, sitting on the steps near me. "Now I'm curious."

"Keep on dreaming," I say, lightly. "A lot of things that I could say aren't mine to share; and sometimes the timing just isn't right."

"Some truths are better left secret, huh?" He sounds thoughtful.

"Yeah. Sometimes I need to make sure people are ready to hear all the things people confess to me."

"I tell you everything. And you know I'm not the kind of guy who'll go around shouting off the rooftops."

"I know. But it's better to keep it quiet for now. I promise I'll tell you someday, when the possible side-effects have vanished."

"I'll hold you to it," he said softly.

Me: HE MUST BE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE. HE IS, RIGHT? *bangs head on table*
Mike: lmao Maybe he is. Maybe he wants you.
Me: HAHAHA no.
Me: HE KEEPS TELLING EVERYONE WE'RE JUST FRIENDS. That jackass. BUT THEN HE GIVES ME THOSE LOOKS AND ASKS ME WHAT'S UP WITH MY PROSPECTS. Jerk.
Me: Like, "I don't know. Actually, my biggest prospect these days is my decision to fuck you gently" doesn't sound subtle enough for my taste.
Mike: LMAOOOO
Mike: Fuck him.
Me: Yeah, that's what I said. "Fuck you". But then, it kind of gives me ideas. And god knows I don't need more of those.
Mike: No, no, I mean, fuck him.
Me: Oh man that'd be soooooo good. *thump thump thump*
Mike: LoL
Me: (That's my head banging on the desk, by the way. Not... you know.)
Me: I mean, hah. I wish.
Me: Okay, done ranting. How are YOU?
Mike: LMAO I'm good. You sure you're done?
Me: He made me feel his ass up. And squeeze. He has the perfect ass, by the way. I know you don't care, but I do.
Mike: What a jerk.
Me: I know, right??

Anyway. You know how they say 'There's something in the air toni~ight'.

Love,
CM