Monday, March 19, 2007

His Hips Don’t Lie

Well it happened. I finally ran into the delectable waiter - the object of my desire – who I had courageously given my number to, after months of flirting. By all accounts, our encounter went well to the point where we’ve agreed to meet up in the near future.

Out with my friends at a popular gay watering hole, I was uncharacteristically playing social butterfly, constantly bumping into people I knew and catching up on their gossip. Throughout the night, I kept seeing the yummy waiter about, but decided against saying anything for fear of embarrassing myself and looking like an obsessive stalker.

As we finally hit the dance floor later in the night, I saw the object of my desire walking towards us out of the corner of my eye. I knew he wasn’t coming to see me, lost in his own world, but as soon as he reached me, he recognised me and was brave enough to say hello. Suffice to say that he was excited to see me as he kissed me and embraced me the way an Italian grandmother does when she’s just stepped off a flight from Sicily.

He continuously apologized for not calling as he claimed he lost my number in his multiple house moves within the last six months. My friends were apparently right after all. He said he felt terrible at leaving me without a call and again apologized for appearing to be so rude. I forgave him and we began to briefly chat before my friend returned from the bar. So as the music blared, the waiter and I danced, holding each other at times, hugging other times and he, freaking out that my close friend was also a close friend of his.

As we danced, my hands naturally found themselves back onto his slender hips. Now, everyone has their own idea of what is the sexiest part of the body, and I myself am usually a legs man. But this fine specimen of man’s hips was by far the hottest part of his body. I couldn’t help myself by hold and caress them. I loved every minute of it.

As the night progressed the waiter announced we should catch up and although I am not holding my breath, the prospect of seeing him in a non hot and sweaty environment is still enticing. However, if it weren’t to happen, I am certainly not going to lose sleep over it or be hung up on wondering why he never called or instigated anything.

And so another episode of this seemingly unending sitcom plot came to a close. I’m sure he’ll pop up again and more wild antics will ensue but until that time, I’ll keep my options open and enjoy whatever else happens along the way…


Read more "Delectable Waiter" antics:
Small World. Small Community.
504 Hours
240 Hours

1 comment:

R*Y A N said...

my, my, my.

this is definitely turning into quite the soap opera, isn't it? can't wait for the next saucy instalment.

you ought to have a theme-song... i think something by edith piaf ;P