Part 1: Meeting Magic Mike
- Sep 23, 2015
- 5 min read
The time I met the hottest man on the face of the internet: a story in 4 delicious parts. Part 5… not so delicious.
Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left. Several months into online dating and I’ve got nothin’. I’ve exhausted all the decent looking guys who don’t sound like creepers and quite frankly, I’m starting to lose hope in the male species.
I’ve found that as a general rule, most men on these free online dating sites are looking for one of two things: 1) The obvious. They want to get laid quick and easy, or 2) A wife. They also want one quick and easy. The first type will lead with something like, “hey you look like you could use a 5-star rim job” (true story). The second will say, “I love what you wrote in your profile and it seems we have a lot in common. We should meet up sometime to discuss our shared feelings and interests over craft beer.” The first type will write very little in his bio. He doesn’t want you to know that much about him. What’s the point? The second will write everything. And if it’s not in his bio it will certainly be in his first message. I matched with this guy and he asked me to tell him a little about myself. I responded with a few quick basics and asked the same of him. I left my phone and hopped in the shower. By the time I got out, I had, no joke, 29 texts from him. Twenty-effing-nine. Stories about his mother, his dog, his ex-girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend’s dog, and how he’s never been in love. I didn’t need to know that much. Probably ever. About anybody.
But then, out of the abyss of vulgar messages and creepy clingers, there he was. The hottest man on the face of the internet. I call him Magic Mike because, well, he looked like Channing Tatum. Legit looks just like him. Former college football player, 6’2, handsome, sexy, clean cut, that smile, and oh the muscles. Listen, ladies. If you want to see some delicious pictures of shirtless men, go to an online dating site. Regardless if you’re interested or not, men with great bodies are happy to show off their shirtless selfies. Be selfish, girls. Let them send their pics.
I do not hesitate to swipe right. It’s a match! I message first, I’m not shy. Shortly, I get a response. We chat. It’s simple and appropriately witty. And then, the loaded online dating question: “So, what are you looking for on here?”
There are pretty much 3 answers to this question: 1) I’m looking to fuck, 2) I’m looking to get married, or 3) my go-to answer- I’m not looking for anything in particular. I don’t want anything serious, but you never know where things will go. (See what I did there? Covered all the bases.)
“Same here,” he responds, “being single can be great. But sometimes you want someone fun to hang out with, and sometimes do other things with. I’d just like it to be consistent.”
Bingo. This sounds perfect for my no-one-night-stand-plan. I’m too busy for serious right now, and we already know how I feel about one-night stands. But, I could definitely get down with sleeping with someone consistently without it becoming serious. Especially if he looks like Channing Tatum. What do you kids call it these days? Casual?
So, I’m getting dressed for our first date, and from way in the back of my head, a little voice rings out. “You’re too sweet to be dirty hot. You’re an English teacher.”
I immediately strip off everything I’m wearing. Look, I’m smart. I may even venture to say I’m a bit nerdy. Hell, I can tell you all the answers to the Shakespeare category on Jeopardy before Trebek even reveals the clues. But I’m also kind of hot. It’s taken me a long time to grow into realizing that (in 7th grade I straight up looked like a dude) and I still have a hard time actually writing it, but we should all take some time to look in the mirror and go, “Damn, I’ve got great _____” fill in the blank(s). And tonight, I wasn’t looking for Magic Mike to say, “Wow, I’d really like to sit on the couch with her and play Trivial Pursuit. Check out that brain!” Oh no. Tonight, I would be hot. Smokin’ hot. One might even say... dirty hot.
Keep in mind, this is still me we’re talking about. I had about a half-second worth of cleavage showing. And if you’d blink, you’d miss it.I finish off the outfit with THE boots, and I head out to meet the hottest man on the face of the internet.
I see him and I almost trip off the sidewalk (dirty hot is off too a good start) but, damn. Yes, he was really that good looking. It’s raining a bit, of course, so he’s got the collar of his jacket pulled up around his neck. He gives me a sideways smile and I need to get very close to him to stand under the awning and out of the rain. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek hello and I notice he smells as good as he looks. Please, God, please don’t let him be a serial killer who will try to make a suit out of my skin. At this point it had been almost 8 months. Eight. Months.
On the first beer, there is a surprising and unexpected chemistry. And laughing. I notice how his sweater is just snug enough to show the roundness of his shoulders- I melt for good shoulders. His blue eyes smile at my green ones while we’re talking. He’s respectfully flirty. On the second beer, he mentions he has a thing for heels and, yes, likes my boots. He’s manly without being brutish. Kind without being a mush. Sporty without being a total d-bag. He says something funny, I laugh and pat his shoulder. I couldn’t help it. He puts his arm around my chair and runs his thumb across my back. He totally meant to do that, but it was light enough to have been a happy accident. Oh, he is good. On the third beer, he laughs a little and rubs his hand over his chin and blushes a bit. Yes, I noticed.
“Do you want go have a drink at my place?”
No, I want to tear your clothes off at your place. “Sure.”
There is no drink to be had at his place. He nervously fumbles through his obviously stocked by a guy fridge. Protein powder, Chinese food containers, and hot sauce. He’s a little nervous as he looks for something to offer me. But right now, he’s the only tall drink of water I need. Yeah, I said it. I lean my elbows back onto his counter in a come-hither kind of way. He does (Yes! Still got it!) as he laughs about only having bottled water. He slides his hands up into my hair on either side of my face, he looks at my lips, then into my eyes, then back at my lips.
“You’re really pretty,” he smiles. I AM DYING. He tilts my head back and kisses me with an intense tenderness that I have never felt. How does he do that?
Awkward me decides to say, “You’re a terrible kisser”. “So are you,” he says without hesitation. “Want to go upstairs?”
Why yes, Magic Mike. Yes I do. It is so on. Dirty hot for the win!
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