The Tactful One

Rocky and I went on a semi-last minute date. It was 9 p.m. or so when he called to ask me if I wanted to grab a slice of pizza down the street. At 9p.m.?? I told him I had already eaten dinner (at a reasonable hour for a Wednesday), but we could have a drink. He ate and I drank. After we left, he invited me to see his place. We’d been on a few dates at that point, so I agreed to SEE IT. Not christen it.

After the grand tour, we retired to the sofa to make out. The scene was progressing relatively smoothly, despite the unseasonably warm temp in his condo, until he started in with the dry humping and face slobbering kissing. Not a little hump hump here or hump hump there, but full-on grinding action. Um, not so comfortable in jeans, buddy. Or every, really. During his dog and pony show, he reached under the back of my shirt and said, “Are you hot? Why are you sweaty?” Because it’s 100 fricking degrees in here! I wanted to shout. “Do you want me to turn on the air?” He asked. Dude, you really had to ask?

What I wanted was for him to stop the bump and grind; stop the slobbery kisses; and learn how to behave with tact.