reason, I toss the phone
onto the couch like it’s a hot potato.
Crap.
That’s not what I wanted to do.
It keeps ringing and I dive for it, hurtling
over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions, and saving it
from the disastrous fate of me having inadvertently thrown it away
when a cute guy called.
“Hello?”
“Hey. So your camera is good as new, and I
can get it back to you anytime.”
“Great.”
What do I say next?
“So, I go surfing every morning, but could
meet up with you after that.”
“Ocean Beach?”
“Yep.”
“I actually have to go over in that
direction tomorrow morning,” I say, thinking that Shakespeare
Gardens isn’t far from the beach. “I could meet up with you
tomorrow. What time?”
“How’s eleven?”
“Perfect.”
We pick a location and say goodbye. I make a
note on my to-do list to buy some fresh tuna for Chaucer as a
thanks for peeing on my camera. Then I remember I need to make sure
Chris isn’t an axe murderer who lures women with the whole “I can
fix the camera your friend’s cat peed on” line, so I Google
him.
No wonder he knew so much about Halo.
He’s not just some hard-core gamer. He’s an
expert, and he’s a star in his field.
I find articles about him,
links to him, stories in gamer magazines. I click on his Web site
and see the video for his show, Let the
Wookie Win. It runs online, and also on a
cable network for gamers. Damn, the guy with the beautiful eyes,
and the hair I wanted to run my fingers through, and who kissed me
in my imagination that day, has his own TV show.
Impressed, I hit the play button and watch
the most recent episode. Chris shares some inside tips on new
games, from car games, to sports games, to shooter games. I watch
as he demos a baseball game where you have to use your whole body
and he simulates swinging a baseball bat. He looks like a star
athlete, like a pro in the batter’s box. He’s ultra casual in a
green Volcom tee-shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops, demonstrating
how to hit a hanging curveball. As he stands there in the batter
box in his studio with feet apart and arms raised slightly, poised
to hit, I can’t help but notice again that, even with his shirt on,
his midsection looks fairly trim. I could eat every meal off of abs
like that.
Maybe he can be my video game tutor. Maybe
we can play video games together, and laugh, and work on destroying
bad guys as a team. And before we moved onto to the next level of
the game, he’d turn off the Xbox, toss the remote onto the ground
and slide me underneath him on my couch, one quick hand moving down
to my hipbone, touching me there in a way that sends fireworks to
every point in my body, before he smothers me in a kiss.
It’s a kiss that doesn’t leave any
questions. It’s a kiss that turns the rest of the world black and
white, and only this, only him, is in color. A gentle slide of his
tongue, an insistent press of his soft lips, and I am his, swimming
in the sweet heat. I can feel the kiss in the center of my being,
and then it radiates all the way to my fingers and toes. I want to
be kissed like this always. By someone who knows how to kiss me,
and who says in how his lips consume me, in how his hands hold on
tight, in how he shifts his hard body against mine, that he wants
all I have to give.
I’ve become hypnotized as I watch him,
mesmerized by the way his body moves with a fluid sort of grace. I
place my palm on my chest, imagining my hand is his hand, that he’s
touching me gently for the first time, that he’s exploring my body,
eager to learn how I respond to his touch, to his strong hand on my
breast, then my belly, then my hips. I’m him for a moment, fingers
trailing across my mid-section, ready to sneak under the fabric of
shirt, spread his hand across my stomach and…
What the hell? I’m in some sort of trance,
touching myself, pretending he’s touching me.
I put on the brakes. If I let this go
further I’ll be a tongue-tripped
onto the couch like it’s a hot potato.
Crap.
That’s not what I wanted to do.
It keeps ringing and I dive for it, hurtling
over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions, and saving it
from the disastrous fate of me having inadvertently thrown it away
when a cute guy called.
“Hello?”
“Hey. So your camera is good as new, and I
can get it back to you anytime.”
“Great.”
What do I say next?
“So, I go surfing every morning, but could
meet up with you after that.”
“Ocean Beach?”
“Yep.”
“I actually have to go over in that
direction tomorrow morning,” I say, thinking that Shakespeare
Gardens isn’t far from the beach. “I could meet up with you
tomorrow. What time?”
“How’s eleven?”
“Perfect.”
We pick a location and say goodbye. I make a
note on my to-do list to buy some fresh tuna for Chaucer as a
thanks for peeing on my camera. Then I remember I need to make sure
Chris isn’t an axe murderer who lures women with the whole “I can
fix the camera your friend’s cat peed on” line, so I Google
him.
No wonder he knew so much about Halo.
He’s not just some hard-core gamer. He’s an
expert, and he’s a star in his field.
I find articles about him,
links to him, stories in gamer magazines. I click on his Web site
and see the video for his show, Let the
Wookie Win. It runs online, and also on a
cable network for gamers. Damn, the guy with the beautiful eyes,
and the hair I wanted to run my fingers through, and who kissed me
in my imagination that day, has his own TV show.
Impressed, I hit the play button and watch
the most recent episode. Chris shares some inside tips on new
games, from car games, to sports games, to shooter games. I watch
as he demos a baseball game where you have to use your whole body
and he simulates swinging a baseball bat. He looks like a star
athlete, like a pro in the batter’s box. He’s ultra casual in a
green Volcom tee-shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops, demonstrating
how to hit a hanging curveball. As he stands there in the batter
box in his studio with feet apart and arms raised slightly, poised
to hit, I can’t help but notice again that, even with his shirt on,
his midsection looks fairly trim. I could eat every meal off of abs
like that.
Maybe he can be my video game tutor. Maybe
we can play video games together, and laugh, and work on destroying
bad guys as a team. And before we moved onto to the next level of
the game, he’d turn off the Xbox, toss the remote onto the ground
and slide me underneath him on my couch, one quick hand moving down
to my hipbone, touching me there in a way that sends fireworks to
every point in my body, before he smothers me in a kiss.
It’s a kiss that doesn’t leave any
questions. It’s a kiss that turns the rest of the world black and
white, and only this, only him, is in color. A gentle slide of his
tongue, an insistent press of his soft lips, and I am his, swimming
in the sweet heat. I can feel the kiss in the center of my being,
and then it radiates all the way to my fingers and toes. I want to
be kissed like this always. By someone who knows how to kiss me,
and who says in how his lips consume me, in how his hands hold on
tight, in how he shifts his hard body against mine, that he wants
all I have to give.
I’ve become hypnotized as I watch him,
mesmerized by the way his body moves with a fluid sort of grace. I
place my palm on my chest, imagining my hand is his hand, that he’s
touching me gently for the first time, that he’s exploring my body,
eager to learn how I respond to his touch, to his strong hand on my
breast, then my belly, then my hips. I’m him for a moment, fingers
trailing across my mid-section, ready to sneak under the fabric of
shirt, spread his hand across my stomach and…
What the hell? I’m in some sort of trance,
touching myself, pretending he’s touching me.
I put on the brakes. If I let this go
further I’ll be a tongue-tripped
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