Amanda (Part 1)
We had an opening at work for a receptionist. The other one that quit was worthless; lazy, gross, unqualified for a job that doesn’t really require a lot of qualifications. We hired a girl named Amanda to replace her. She was cute. Not the kind of looks that make a guy fall out of his chair because she is showing everything off, but the kind of girl that you hope to make eye contact with across a crowded room. A cute smile, nicely kept hair, a figure that would make you take a second look for sure.
We exchanged smiles in the first company meeting. Let me tell you something about myself; I am awkward and unsure about the game of flirting. I am never sure if the lingering smile is JUST a smile, or is it more? Is the eye contact we made JUST eye contact, or was it a deeper connection of some kind? I am not looking for a relationship... actually quite the opposite. I am looking for myself. I need to find out who I am, what I am, what I want. Just leave it at that... leave it as a nice co-worker. Over the next few days we talked a little bit. Exchanged niceties, talked about the weather, or the company. I really do enjoy talking with her. And she is clearly enjoyable to look at. Dark skin. Tight jeans. Low cut shirt, not the kind that looks slutty, but just gives you a little more for your imagination. “A well put-together dame”. That’s what I’d say if i was a gangster in the 30′s. At least that’s what I imagine I would talk like. That’s a fun thought; tommy gun, trench coat over my what I only imagine to be my well fitted pin-stripe suit, fedora pulled low to keep the rain off my face. She’d be the girl that stands out a the jazz club. Not the dancers, but the matter-of-fact, sharp talking girl. The kind that slaps you for stealing a kiss, and then lets you kiss her again. That is a fantasy for another time, I digress.
We talk one night after work briefly. My last words before we part are a smooth “text me if you get bored”. Definitely not 30′s gangster. I need to work on that. The worst part is that she must not have been bored; she didn’t text me.
I went out with friends last Friday. As I was driving, she popped in my head. Not for any other reason that I was pitying myself that she didn’t text me. Not a minute later my phone buzzed. “Hey, this is Amanda from work”. Apparently she was bored? I guess I didn’t really care why she texted me, but she did. I replied back, again just making small talk. I was ok with small talk though, she thought about me enough to text me. That was a good feeling in of itself.
I was hanging out the the guys that night, but my mind wasn’t really on them. I was really enjoying our text-convo. It was a lot of “get-to-know-ya” kind of stuff. As I drank a little more I got a little ballsier, however. The conversation started drifting toward that of a sexual nature. We talked about sex positions, sex stories, turn-on’s, turn-off’s, kinks, fantasies; the works! I was enjoying the conversation enough that I could feel a wet spot on my leg where my dick was. This girl was intriguing, needless to say. What an arousing way to end the week.
I text her Saturday morning, you know, cuz I’m not desperate or anything. *Sarcasm*. In all my infinite wisdom I mustered the courage to say: “hey”. She replied: “hey”. *Great! I’m just gonna walk in front of a fast moving truck*. “How are you”? *Well sexually frustrated and smooshed by a truck, how are you?* I didn’t know how to take what she said. As a self-conscious guy, I could read into that 2,000,000 ways. *Exaggerations*. I wanted to play safe, so I just replied to her saying I was sorry for how forward I was. I told her I enjoyed getting to know her and I’d love to keep talking, but I felt bad that I was so quick to be sexual. She said she wasn’t bothered by it, which I was relieved to hear. If I’m being honest, I would have rather heard that she was sitting on her bed in her underwear waiting for me, but you know, I’m not looking for a relationship. What a relief... lucked out there, right? *sarcasm*. “See ya Monday” was the last text. Now I’ll just sit here all weekend and wonder “What the fuck is wrong with me”? Like not just cuz I’m overly sexual, and under confident. But like why do I read into things so much? Just let it be. Be cool. Be 30′s gangster cool; “catch ya later, babe”.
