they couldn’t have been more than 18. juiced up bookends lifting freeweights. they watched me as i made my rounds around the gym with a new client.
“he wants your number” said boy number one, smiling like an adolescent goofball and nodding towards boy number two, who seethed at his friend and mumbled something along the lines of “douche”.
i faked a smile and feigned casual politeness. “aw, sorry, but he’s not my type”. i was sure i saw his deltoids decrease by at least a quarter inch at my lame response. god, i thought. i so suck at fielding a flirtatious remark.
“so what’s your type?” asked boy number one, apparently curious as to whether he might qualify.
“i have a thing for poets. or at least boys with poetic souls. deep thinkers. creative types.” lets see what he does with that, i thought.
boy number two looked at me like i had grown a second head. “poets? you mean like edgar allen poe”?
“something like that”, at this point i just had to giggle at the absurdity of the conversation.
he took a swig of his gatorade. “oh shit. you’d be like dating a teacher. and that’s depressing as fuck.”
my client literally guffawed. and thankfully boy number one had already moved on to a blonde bodybuilder type in booty shorts.


Paul said...

LOL...I'm surprised an 18 yo knows Edgar Allan Poe

Jason Shaw said...

I loved this. Simply wonderful.

queer heaven said...

so nice Nick!