First of all, you’re doing fine so far. I mean, that initial half-hug you guys tried was about at painful as a corkscrew in my eyeball. Now things seem to be going swimmingly. You’re asking her all the right questions, guy; where are you from, what do you do, why are you here? Your body language could use some work - she’s not interviewing for a job, she’s trying to gauge whether or not she’d ever put her lips on your jimmy.
Lady, you’re doing better - your legs are crossed coyly and you’re clutching your coffee to your breast, like an infant suckling at your teet. This will, undoubtedly, showcase your potential mothering skills and prove your place as a worthy mate. Ok, guy; you’re leading the conversation towards the other girls you’ve met online. Stop doing that, weirdo. Compliment her eyes or her laugh, tell her that her “ass is un-fucking-real.”
She’s a kinky-ass bitch, you can tell by the way she keeps rubbing her thigh and the pleatherness of her skirt. Guy, don’t shrink away at your date’s BDSM tendencies, no one’s forcing you to pierce your back with hooks and suspend yourself ten feet into the air mid-cunnilingus. That’s like fifth date material. You’re tensing up—throw down that guard, homeboy. Eat your croissant. Slower. Mmmmm.
Note: During this observation, I was on my second cup of coffee and had to empty my bladder. On the way to the bathroom, I got distracted by a colorful flyer that promoted kale and everything kale offered.
By the time I returned, the newly acquainted humanoid couple had vacated the premises. Where, I wondered out loud (to myself?) Perhaps another, more indie, coffee shop? Perhaps a bar? It’s 5:00 somewhere - oh, right now, actually; it’s 5:13 right now. I have a good feeling about this encounter - I feel as though this girl, who we shall call Charlie, is going to open up this guy’s world and change his life.
This guy—let’s also call him Charlie, is going to throw down his inhibitions for Charlie and become a newer, sexier, kinkier Charlie. The Charlies will move into their new home in the boonies and awake the neighbors for years with their raucous sex. People will speak of the horrors they (wrongly) assumed happened inside the house of Charlie and Charlie. They will tell their kids: “Don’t go in there, this girl named Charlie stuck fishhooks into the back of this guy named Charlie, hoisted him twenty feet in the air, and flayed him alive.”
Well, you’re wrong. Charlie and Charlie met off the Internet, got coffee together, kissed under a streetlight, and gave each other a much sought after gift: love. Or something like that, I don’t know.
May their love grow and mature and may the sex wounds they inflict upon each other heal, re-open, and heal.
Is it 5:00 yet? Oh, it’s 5:24.