His seeking arrangement profile said that he was frustrated by stupid people.



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Full-face picture, stubble, 30s, lip ring. Short sculpted beard, the male equivalent of contouring powder, adds cheekbones.  Lip ring with a barb in it.  Didn’t see the arms, but $50 says he describes his tattoo artist as his ‘boy.’

He agreed to meet for lunch and was on top of confirming. Leaving the house after a blessed 8 hours sleep I realized that in my haste I’d dressed in short and white and looked cheap. When I showed up and he was wearing a kangol cap I thought, phew.

He is a programmer, urgent weekend sales or whatever that thing is called.  They’re going to sell the company and then he can “party for the rest of his life.” Canadian. I’m still amused by aboot.  He chose his food with care and questions and glances at me.  I feel like I should introduce myself sometimes, “I’m [name], and the whole point of you paying me is that I don’t care if you’re fat. Chill out.”

The waitress was smart and from Long Island and hot.  She looked like Rachel Ray.  Six colors of precise eyeshadow. When she lowered her gaze to her pad it was a tutorial.  I remembered that the night before I had dreamed that my pubic hair gotten bigger, migrated until it was around my hips, had become coarse and straight with an under-fur like a wolverine’s.  I knew that removal would be a challenge, but I was so pleased. I looked like a sex animal.

Apparently his meetings usually end up at his apartment. I tried to imagine fucking him, but my brain veered away; not enough caffeine in the system. We talked about the various women that have taken advantage. Apparently one won’t leave and has gotten mail, so he’s going to move in three weeks. I ate my salad. I asked how Costa Rica was. He said 10 years ago it was great, but he would never go back. That it could be a first world country if the people weren’t so terrible and lazy. “When I moved there everyone was happy and nice. But the newer generation is just envious. And the cities are so dirty. You’ll get a foreigner who will buy a big house and it will be right next to a shack with metal walls and a crack house on the other side. It doesn’t make sense, there are no neighborhoods.”  

 I went to the bathroom, because I almost felt my mouth open: “The issue you have with the country you chose to First World surf, because it was cheap and the women are desperate, is that they don’t have the courtesy to keep their poverty out of your sight?” 

He was less sweaty when he kissed my cheek goodbye. The amount of food that is bought for me is astounding. 

I want a new pair of headphones. I walked by a panhandler on my way to get a citibike. Full lips, perfect gay chub body, long blue eye contact. I thought, not ME, idiot.