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As a teenager I used to regularly take the bus to my mom's apartment in Alameda, and there was this guy I'd flirt with. He was clearly a loser - about 30, wanna-be-rock-star with a day job, blazer and jeans and rocker hair. Plus he was riding the bus, which was a loser thing to do. But I was bored, there in the suburbs, and he was really pretty hot once you got past the style issues. One day I let him follow me home, and we fucked like animals in my mom's living room. It was fun - I learned all sorts of new things - but when it was over I just wanted him out. He feigned romantic intentions, felt bad that he couldn't give me his number because it turns out he was married.
I felt sorry for his wife.
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"Asking a bomb squad if an old bomb is still "real" is not the best thing to do if you want to save it." - denim
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