October 11, 2005

I've been a bad, bad girl

Last night, I hung out with a friend of Dorothy Parker Boy, a guy whom I've chatted with online fairly regularly, and met for coffee a week ago. The friend's advice was banal as best (just go for friendship first, take things slow), but he started calling me things like 'cutie' and 'Bobby Sweetie.' He and I watched a movie, but he kept cuddling up next to me and his hands got busier and busier.

It was so hesitant and awkward I don't even know if it even counted as sex.

And for those of you who've been reading the blog for a while, it should come as no suprise to you that I am now, in fact, a giant ball of angst.

It's not so much guilt that I hooked up with a guy, because it didn't feel like a hookup. All I could think of is of how I thought he said he was seeing someone, or how he was a nice guy but not my type, or how I went over there asking advice for Dorothy Parker Boy, or how the friend said he'd call and maybe we could hang out tonight.

Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.