Our Hook Up Would Have Been Perfect Had It Not Been For His ‘Cock’

https://unsplash.com/@heytowner
https://unsplash.com/JOHN TOWNER

I’ve always loved an average man. I’m not sure what it is about them. I’m attracted to the C student. Sometimes C+ if I’m feeling lucky.

These men have a willingness to please. They don’t just assume the world belongs to them. They’re thankful. Not cocky.

Ugh, cock. There it is again. Forgive me, I’m jumping ahead.

* * *

Mr. Medium and I met a few months ago at a black tie event. And yes, if you’re thinking black tie event and Kitty don’t exactly go hand-in-hand, you’d be right. Give me a dive bar with a slight stench of urine any day. The rowdier the crowd, the happier I am. Something that requires formal wear and fighting over that tiny piece of shrimp on the tray the underpaid waitress just brought by? I’ll pass.

But there was an open bar. I didn’t need more convincing after my girlfriend told me that.

My friend, Trish, is a lawyer at one of the top firms in our area. Like, obnoxiously pretentious clients. Though she’s never told me this, I have this theory that she represents high-profile politicians when they go through messy divorces. I imagine Anthony Weiner will be next. Though I really hope she’d take Huma Abedin instead.

Trish ends up going to these kind of events for work frequently. Galas. Charities. A bunch of lawyers sucking each other’s asses, I’m not entirely sure the exact details. Trish, a single gal like me, attends these things with either the flavor of the week or her trusty plus one, me.

I was up this time.

Mr. Medium was at the open bar, the place you can rest assured I spent a large portion of my night. I still didn’t quite catch why he was there. Friend of a friend of a friend? Didn’t matter. He was attractive and slinging down vodka with me. He could have been Anthony Weiner for all I cared. (Jk, Anthony, you’re disgusting. Even for my standards.)

We talked about Otis Redding (best artist of all time), my weird fear of Dalmatians (I love all other dogs, I swear!), and his annoyingly cute butt-chin. Imagine Aaron Eckhart, but…average. Yeah, an average Aaron Eckhart. That was Mr. Medium.

He was charming, but in a subdued way. Like he could have been a substitute teacher in a past life. A little unsure of himself. A little wobbly on his feet. He offered to buy me a drink – a cute, but fairly lame joke when we’d spent a while talking about how great the FREE DRINKS at the OPEN BAR were. But, I took the bait.

Drinks turned into more drinks. Turned into more. Turned into numbers being exchanged. Turned into Trish pulling me away because I was supposed to be shielding her from the senior partner who seemed intent on asking Trish to dance. Mr. Medium and I said our goodbyes. But I knew he would text. And the next day, I was right. One unread message.

“Hey, we met last night. Would love to buy you an actual drink tonight. You in?”

Alcohol and men are my two great loves. I replied yes immediately.

* * *

Mr. Medium and I met up at my favorite bar, a much preferred setting than the stuffy conference room we’d been in the night before. The bartender knew me by name and a dusty pool table sat towards the back. Every night felt like college here. And when you’ve got a raging case of Peter Pan syndrome like I do, that’s enjoyed.

Again, he was charming. There was a shyness to him I found appealing. Average. Yeah, totally average. You couldn’t pick Mr. Medium out of a line up. He was a dime a dozen, and damn, that made me want him even more.

We finished a few rounds and I invited him back to my studio apartment. Frankly, had Trisha not grabbed me the other night, we’d have ended up here much sooner. What can I say? If I like someone, I don’t waste time.

We quickly began kissing and undressing. Mr. Medium had a gentle way of making out. I hoped he’d crank it up when things started progressing. That’s not to say it wasn’t nice, but it was rather timid. I couldn’t tell if he was intimidated or his kissing style was just a tad lackluster.

No problem. I know how to make up for it. When average men are your turn on, you learn how to be a bit extraordinary.

We continued and I was pleasantly surprised to see Mr. Medium was actually a bit bigger than…well, medium.

He started being vocal, something I always encourage. Sex should be about all the senses: touch, sight, taste, sound, smell. I worked my way down to his dick and that’s when my lady boner died.

“Yeah baby, can you suck my cock?”

A sudden flurry of images came rushing: chickens clucking outside a red barn with white lining, the old, British man who regulars the same bar as I do scratching his balls with gusto, a 14-year-old boy shouting, “COCK!” out the back window of a school bus.

Cock is a horrible word. I’ve never heard it used smoothly or sensually. It throws me each and every time. Like a food aversion, I’ve never been able to get over it. I can’t go on eating my meal, no matter how appetizing it may be.

That was the last I saw of Mr. Medium. I hope he meets a woman who can appreciate his cock, and use of said word.

But she’s not me. Dick or gtfo, please. TC mark

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