Paychen$e is yo’ friend.
In many a case, she’s only metaphorical, not a voluptuous, six feet tall, 45-year-old black woman with a wit that won’t quit any sooner than her ass. Certainly, that glorious Amazon exists, somewhere. And I’ll bet she’s one hell of a wing(wo)man. For now, though, I can only employ the virtue that is her name. I need to; because…
I like a boi who I KNOW likes me back.
The flirtation is there. It is there, and it is more frequent and pointed than it has ever been before. Now I just have to try my best not to fuck it up.
Dat ain’t no easy task.
This level of mutual intrigue is foreign to me. Like North Korea foreign, not the UK or Australia. Although there are always a handful of suitors sweatin’ to get sweaty with me, I only encourage their particular affection for the bump of validation such (mostly) unwanted attention provides. I know outside appreciation shouldn’t be anything more than a non-vital supplement to one’s self esteem, but for once, I want to luxuriate in exchanging lines and lines of it with someone off of whose cock I’d actually desire snorting an 8-ball.
Of this latest crush’s proclivity for or against experimenting with illegal stimulants, I’m not actually aware. In fact, aside from a virtual dialogue on our shared and divergent musical tastes, I haven’t much of a clue towards any of his inclinations. I’d like to find out, though. I’d like to know everything about him. However, the only way that will ever happen is if I keep on keepin’ on as I have: calm, cool, and – as far as he knows – collected.
Thus, now I wait. I wait for his reply to the Facebook message I sent him this morning. An expression of my casual enjoyment (read: nearly incapacitating ecstasy) at seeing him out at a club in West Hollywood after I had told him I would be there and suggested – along with an ever provocative 
– that he should, too.
It’s clear that we’ve both got balls. And so far it still appears as though we want to see how well this gumption measures up to the other’s literal set. I’d like that to have happened last night, but unfortunately it seems as though only endurant composure can guarantee this progression.
I am finding that patience is key in romantic endeavors. That, while difficult, patience is also possible. That I can, I can, I CAN be patient.
Still – what I can’t do is say that I wa’nt hopin’ he was gonna happen across me as I sat outside of the Starbucks adjacent to our local, West Hollywood Target, this afternoon. The Target where I know – thanks to Twitter – he has shopped before. But what did you, what should any of us really expect?
It is only desperation, not day dreaming, that can and should be quelled.
