So we did. Her train was delayed so I got there first, and she surprised me by walking out of the subway tunnel with a bouquet of yellow roses. Not gonna lie: I swooned. She didn't know the area well, so we kind of wandered around until we found a sub place (for lack of anything else). She made some flimsy excuse for buying me lunch. We ate. We were both sleep-deprived, so it was somewhat awkward. But it was a nice diversion from thinking OMG SURGERY OMG SURGERY like a stock ticker in my head.
When our time was
getting short, I suavely and subtly said, “I wish I could just
pull you into a corner and make out with you.”
She said, “Yeah, that would be nice.”
Heartened, I took the classy route: “Well, the bathroom is a single room.”
She promptly responded “Well, I'm finished eating,” dropped her sandwich, and started walking. I, as you might imagine, swiftly followed.
Lovely, lovely makeouts commenced. It happened so fast it was almost unreal; I'm not used to other people taking the lead in matters of the sexy and sordid. Anyway, lurid details might prove superfluous, but suffice it to say I had somehow gone through life never being thrown against a wall and furiously kissed and now I have.
Eventually, as you might imagine, someone tries the handle outside and finds it locked. We start to compose ourselves when I discover that I have a huge erection.
Like, a huge one. Bulging against my jeans for all the metropolitan area to see, no doubt no way no how. And I realize that I honestly cannot recall a time where this iconic happening-to-penis-havers has been a problem. Two days before the surgery, and I'm going to have to walk to the subway station in downtown Atlanta beside a really hot girl with a giant hard-on. The poetry of the divine, indeed.
So I do what any sensible person would do and awkwardly angle my bag to cover the front of my pants as I walk down the street and wait for the subway. Someone fortunately gives me their seat on the subway (on account of my luggage) and, aside from my date's amused grin, I escape major embarrassment.. Soon she gets to her stop and kisses me goodbye (*sigh*). And, as she's gone and I can finally stop being turned on, I think to my penis, resting smugly and far-too-snugly in my jeans, “Q.E.D., motherfucker. Q.E.D.”
It might be an understatement to say that I had the last laugh.
She said, “Yeah, that would be nice.”
Heartened, I took the classy route: “Well, the bathroom is a single room.”
She promptly responded “Well, I'm finished eating,” dropped her sandwich, and started walking. I, as you might imagine, swiftly followed.
Lovely, lovely makeouts commenced. It happened so fast it was almost unreal; I'm not used to other people taking the lead in matters of the sexy and sordid. Anyway, lurid details might prove superfluous, but suffice it to say I had somehow gone through life never being thrown against a wall and furiously kissed and now I have.
Eventually, as you might imagine, someone tries the handle outside and finds it locked. We start to compose ourselves when I discover that I have a huge erection.
Like, a huge one. Bulging against my jeans for all the metropolitan area to see, no doubt no way no how. And I realize that I honestly cannot recall a time where this iconic happening-to-penis-havers has been a problem. Two days before the surgery, and I'm going to have to walk to the subway station in downtown Atlanta beside a really hot girl with a giant hard-on. The poetry of the divine, indeed.
So I do what any sensible person would do and awkwardly angle my bag to cover the front of my pants as I walk down the street and wait for the subway. Someone fortunately gives me their seat on the subway (on account of my luggage) and, aside from my date's amused grin, I escape major embarrassment.. Soon she gets to her stop and kisses me goodbye (*sigh*). And, as she's gone and I can finally stop being turned on, I think to my penis, resting smugly and far-too-snugly in my jeans, “Q.E.D., motherfucker. Q.E.D.”
It might be an understatement to say that I had the last laugh.
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