Dodge Ball

Dodging text messages from my sexy and oblivious graduate student, Marc, has been tough. We had a friendship that I thought involved more than just bad sex. It's a classic case of good-looking boys making this boy look bad.

Feeling like I'm on a mega rebound, I took a call from an ex. His name is Roy, a traveling businessman who works between here and San Antonio. He called for a night out. Three drinks turned into three times the fun. The sex was fantastic! It's hard not to feel sexy up against a 40-something who endures the gym five days a week. I considered seeing him again, until the phone call.

Like the Southern gentleman that he is, Roy called the next day to thank me for my having assuaged his mid-life ego and his overly-healthy, sexual appetite. In his litany of thanks you’s and compliments came the statement, "I love getting my hands on curvy boys like you."

What the fuck?! I am 5'8 and a slim, albeit non-Europeanesque, 155 pounds with a 31 inch waist. How the fuck does anyone call me curvy?! I can barely maintain an ass because I jog too often. Either way, another loser has managed to offend me ... thoroughly.

This is just what I needed: more balls to dodge.