Peanut Butter Lover

Years ago, back in the time of Yahoo Chat Rooms, I would venture into my home state’s chat window.  There were hundreds of people in them, and I’d post the normal Age/Sex/Location.  I’d then ask if anyone wanted to chat.  What would happen next was almost comical.  My computer would be bombarded with messages.

I was around 22 or so, and I’d get them all from 50+ to 18.  I’d talk with a few, and made a couple of good friends off the site.  I even reconnected with an old high school buddy.  But this night was strange.  The first message I received, the very first one should have had me running to the hills, or at the very least logging off and calling that night a loss.

PBL:  I like peanut butter, Wanna fuck?
me: . . .

I sat there for at least 5 minutes contemplating how I was going to tear this guy a new asshole.  I had every intention of telling him just what type of woman I was, and it did not include peanut butter, nor fucking a completely random stranger. 

But what happened was, as I sat there I started to laugh.  I laughed so hard I began to cry, and thus I messaged back.  What happened next was normal trivial banter.  How old are you? Where are you from?

We quickly discovered that we had friends In common so when he invited me out to watch his band play I jumped at the chance.  I drove the two hours to meet him.  I watched the concert of about ten or twenty local rock bands, before his set.

He was taller than six foot, a very solid guy (bordering on chunky), and he played the bass.  After the set was done he walked over and asked if I cared to drive him home, as he wanted to get to talk to me and he couldn’t very well do that and be the entertainment.  He had a vehicle, but had ridden with a band member, so how could I refuse?  Besides it was only 10 minutes out of my way.  We spent the next couple of hours talking, and overall had a wonderful date. 

Over the course of the next few weeks we would spend hours on the phone and the internet chatting, we planned dates and outings and were generally having a great time together, until one night when things started to get hot and heavy.

PBL shouts “STOP!” Now at that moment I didn’t know if he was telling me to collaborate and listen, or what, but I sat back in my seat and I stared at him for a full minute before asking “What?”

“We can’t do this.” His voice rising from the deep baritone he normally used to a high pitched shrill.

“We can’t do what?” I don’t know about him, but I had no intention of fully ‘hooking up’ in the front seat of a vehicle. 

“This.  THIS”  He emphatically moved his hands.  Ok let’s be honest he thrust his hands around the car.

“Ok, so we can’t do this here.  Got ya.”

“Yes, well no.  We just can’t do this. I.. I’m small.”

Without thinking I asked, “WHERE?”  Because as I mentioned before he was tall, and well not a small man, In fact he was bordering on large.

As I stared incredulously at him, he finally sighed.  “I am small where it counts.  You deserve someone who isn’t.”  This of course started the whole, “it’s not the size, it’s the skill.  You are just self-conscious.”  But that did ruin the rest of the date, and so I had him take me back to my car and I made the long trek home.

A normal woman would have likely shied away from him after that, but I did not.  We had one more date, where we fooled around pretty hot and heavy, and he wasn’t wrong.  It took all my will power not to call it a fur button.

A family emergency arrived and I was relieved tremendously that he left me to my family.  He dumped me soon after that, I would assume he didn’t believe the emergency was real.  It was, and I’m happy to report that PBL has numerous kids and has been married happily at last note.

 

Next time:  The guy that “wished he was a little bit taller”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: