No Pass, No Play

Wassup, Coach? So, I spoke with Eric, against my better judgment. I won’t dwell on how this one went down ... or maybe I will, since neither of us did.

It turns out that he is a card-carrying FRAT boy who’s looking for similar guys. I was desperate to ask his age when he divulged that his “brothers” had stayed over. I was briefly relieved to hear that he was almost 25. The relief was short-lived when I realized that he was still too into his fraternity for my stomach. Come on, he’s an alum!

He asked if I liked SPORTS as if he were inquiring about my religious affiliation. My “no” changed everything. I knew better, but I’d rather fuck his slightly less attractive buddies before I’d go to a game with him. Eric went to business school in finance in Lubbock, Texas (a.k.a. Cowtown, USA). On our way to Laura’s Bye-bye Dinner (she left to Israel for a year), Jenny D. said that I was being a bitch who should have lied. Maybe I should have; he was fucking hot.

Eric told me to call him after his illustrious business trip to Tulsa, OK. What the fuck?!? He is a thorough wanna-be good ol’ boy. How nauseous-making. I find that whole culture distasteful, bigoted, and horribly dressed.

I felt a bit snobby. Maybe Jenny was right, I may have been an asshole. But, how can I fuck a guy whom I don’t respect? (I'm laughing on the inside.) He told me that, before coming downtown the night we met, he and his six brothers went to the “titty bar,” as if he were proud. I dunno. That’s just not my minhag.