It's funny how events that really should have been turned into stories fail.
For example, I tried far too long to tell the story of the straight guy who held my hand on the way home from the bar, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It just took too long, trying to set up the major characters and the storyline of five hours of drinking. For the record, he's amusingly confident and closeted. It's basically turned into a game each Thursday night, seeing how far he goes and still professes his heterosexuality.
Examples:
He had a conversation with one of my friends, the self-professed "Samantha" of our group. Her shirt left little to the imagination. A few minutes after they talked, she pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, "He's the first guy tonight to look me in the face the entire time. He didn't look at my boobs once!" Her tone was a mixture of incredulousness and indignace. I mean, I could see her areola. At first I thought it was her bra, but then she adjusted herself, and no, that wasn't her bra, that was her.
N. (his acronym until I find a better nickname for him) and I tried to convince two of our friends to go home with each other (we proved successful, except that he passed out before anything happened). N. would say things like "If you don't sleep with him, I'm tempted to myself," but yet got offended when she said that he if wanted, she would step down and let him go for it.
He has a girlfriend. His facebook profile proves this. However, she is not attractive and lives in DC. Also, his facebook profile says that he majored in Gender Studies (he's now a first year law student).
He's a tickler, at least to guys. He tickled me twice, and a friend of mine once. After he tickled me the second time, I proceded to give him a wet willy (I should probably mention that my method of getting my two friends to sleep together was taking shots with the guy, a jagerbomb with a tequila shot for a chaser). He tried to pants me in retaliation, but I was wearing a belt and my ass is far too round for pantsing to occur. So, in retaliation, he fondled my junk for a few minutes.
I would try harder to out him, or slip him up, or get him drunk and sleep with him, except that he has a habit of wearing black mock turtlenecks, and I just can't support that.
