I used to stop at a gas station in Whittset every time I drove to San Antonio. There was nothing as far as the eye could see in Whittset besides that gas station.
Every single time I stopped there, gorgeous men were present. Sometimes just one guy, but more often two or three.
This was about 20 years ago when I still noticed men. I would wax lyrical to my friend about these gorgeous guys out in the middle of no damn where.
She never believed me—our tastes being quite different.
Her preferences were towards more status oriented, white collar men. The clothes make the man, he needs to be worth x amount of money etc etc
I was more about that blue collar man. Those jeans, the boots, that tan, those arms, those hands—squee.
One weekend she kept my kids so I could begin packing for a move. That Sunday she said she’d meet me halfway (Whittset) to bring my kids back.
We got to that gas station at about the same time. We all went inside for snacks and the bathroom.
Sure enough three gorgeous men were doing the same. My friend looked at me goggle eyed as she crossed paths with them. She could not believe it.
In all the times I told her gorgeous guys were at that gas station each time I stopped—I never once mentioned what they were wearing and she just automatically figured I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.
