[Continued from "I'm Not Complaining (1)."]

I’d met the couple because we’d agreed to meet at a place very close to the Viking’s and my apartment.  A place I was interested in trying anyway.  I walked there and saw who I assumed was the couple walk up at the same time.

I hung back.  When I saw the woman take a third menu after the hostess brought menus for the couple I figured they were the people I was to meet.  Also, they looked like they might have been looking for someone.  I’ve learned to figure out what people who are looking for people look like.

I followed them to their table and introduced myself.  She seemed kind of dingy, which may have been due to her admitted hangover, and also her schtick.  I’m sure I seem ditzy when people first meet me; I hope it’s only when they first meet me.  What I already knew about the couple was that they were law school students, so I knew they had to have a modicum of intelligence.

She was dyed blond and tanned, which is something I’ve come to realize is a thing in Chicago.  When I’ve decried such activities as tanning I’ve been told that it’s necessary because there’s not a lot of sun year-round.  I’ve not yet been in Chicago a year, so I can’t be sure, and I seem to have forgotten the long months of depressing, sunless solitude, but I still think UVA rays are horrible and that naturally pale is better than artificially tan, even in the middle of winter.

She also had big boobs.  I’m not so fascinated by big tits – I prefer cute, perky ones if I’m to play with them – but I did sympathize with her placket plight.  She had the same issue that I’ve often had: the buttons of her shirt(dress) couldn’t contain her tits.  I usually use one safety pin between the buttons that hit roughly above and below my tit mid-region, or nipple-level.  She, however, was wearing a very tight shirt(dress) and needed safety-pin reinforcement not only at tit mid-region but also at tit lower-region; I could see the shine of the safety pin glinting at me from across the table.

He was … a white guy.  I am a white girl.  I grew up with white people.  I suppose I have something for the exotic because I tend to find white folk not so interesting looking and brown folk much more so.  The Ex was (maybe still is unless he’s dead) of Mexican descent and even though my step-mother meant to compliment him – in her condescending and racist way – by saying he didn’t “look Mexican” he most definitely was (possibly is).

Basic white guys don’t do much for me.  They have to be extra hot.  The guy was decent enough.  Perhaps if I’d chosen to sit across from him rather than next to him I would have been better able to gauge.  No matter.

We ordered food.  She claimed to not eat meat on weekdays and then ordered meat to eat – on a weekday – apparently because she was hungover.  I wasn’t hung over so I ordered a drink.

Before our food arrived she apologized for not being sure of what had already transpired between us online because she wasn’t in charge of her OkCupid account.  She said she tended to be more interested in their profiles on another site, a naughty site.  Had I heard of FetLife?

When I said that I, too, had a profile on FetLife, she lit up.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

Tags: Chicago, threesome, titties!

Categories: True Story.

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