IF I THINK YOU ARE SEXY I MIGHT PEE MYSELF

January 2013

“He looks Italian…”

Tara was the first to spot him when we left body pump. With all due respect to her boyfriend, whom she loves very much and never stops talking about. This guy was just made to be looked at and I had missed him entirely. My friends usually need to tell me when to look up. That is the down side to being a dreamer. I sometimes walk into walls and pee myself.

I suppose I should elaborate…

It was a food porn kind of day, one that started with chicken and ended with Italian. Tara and I had gone for a short run before cooking lunch and making a “healthy eating” video. The run was just shy of two miles to “condition” ourselves for The White Elephant Race that was upcoming.

There hasn’t been a lot of running with the holidays and such, so both of us are a little worried about making it the full five miles. If I do recall, five miles is nothing, but the air was still warm the last time that memory was fresh. It was like a honeysuckle steam bath.

The two of us set out to run on new years day and the cold was cutting. I remember thinking, “Come on Amber, you can’t let the chick with cancer beat you.” Tara runs like a boxer, head slightly down, like she’s about to dodge a punch mid stride. On this particular day she was just shy of my flank and pushing me to keep pace. Her cancer was not slowing her down. My lungs were screaming and I could hear her laughing at me. She had started in the car, “Really Amber!! You packed condoms in your purse, but no asthma inhaler.” She thrust my mangled “Little Miss Naughty” bag back at me in mock disgust.

“Safety first, and sex before air??” I said the last part like a question because I was certain that I would need air long before I got to have sex again. I imagined myself turning purple in dual frustration. The condoms had been there for awhile. I bought them six months back after my friend Kim grounded me from dating for two full months because I failed to insist on protection with The Italian Stallion. I gave him the name as obvious innuendo. He was hung like a noose and a complete and total dick. I knew he was trouble before I went there to hang myself. Our “relationship” lasted a few days before it became “if you have an itch to scratch.”

chicken in the pants

I had tried to explain to my friend Kim that the whole thing with the last guy didn’t go down in a way that would allow protection, but she was adamant that I need to be more assertive and guarded. “Take your time!!!!!!”She grounded me for bad behavior. I’m middle aged and my friends are in charge of my sex and love life.

Thank goodness too. I am clearly not the greatest at it. I actually complied with my friend’s “grounding’ and didn’t see anyone for two months, The Italian included even though I itched, but that was mostly on the account that my entire body was covered in poison ivy blisters, which is another tangent entirely.

Tara Rene Jones had been egging me on at the gym. She was joined by our friend Heidi. The three of stood just outside of the women’s locker room, door ajar, staring. He had his back to us and was bent in his workout. At first I didn’t think he was “that cute”. I cocked my head as if it would change the inspection. I examined him like meat set to purchase at the butcher.  The lines of his body were cut lean, winding in happy trails along skin that was tight. The only thing missing were beads of sweat, but I wasn’t close enough to see the detail of that fantasy. I wanted to run over and spray him with mist.

abs

“He looks Italian,” Tara said with one last glance as she moved on and into the women’s room.

“I like Italian,” I said as my eyes devoured him like meal. I nudged Heidi, “I want him. How do I get him?”

“Go over there and start working out on a machine next to him..” she nodded in his direction. He lifted his head and started to turn our way.

“I can’t” I said, suddenly spooked, slowly backing up as I continued, “I wouldn’t even know what to do with him. I could hurt myself seriously. I retreated into the locker room as she waived her arms at me in exasperation. “Seriously Amber that guy would totally go out with you!”

I brushed her off temporarily entering the sauna to escape. He was so attractive that it was unnerving and I found myself suddenly frantic, “Let me just ask his girlfriend if she minds if I borrow him for a few hours,” I said as I perched myself on the highest tier. “You know he has a girlfriend anyway.” I was starting to feel stupid. I was stupid.

Heidi laughed easily, “I know right, more like girlfriendSSSSSS…”

“F*ck… that could get tiring fast,” I said as I imagined the constant barrage of women. He is the kind of guy who will always be tempted. “I think that borrowing him would be the best course of action. Go out there and wrap him up for me will you.”

We were all laughing when we left the sauna, or at least I was, until Heidi decided that she would. My eyes turned to saucers when I realized that she was going to talk to him, my stomach dropped out from under me. “I can’t talk to him,” was the last thing I muttered as I ran out the door, leaving my protein shake I’d ordered without paying. Minutes later Heidi came out to the parking lot informing me of the good news, “He’s 39. He isn’t married, and he is hot!! I am giving him your number.” She ran past adding a slight roadblock, “He did say he is mostly single…..”

“Mostly single.” And there it was, the cock block.

I always run into the wall right before I pee my pants. Heidi ran past me like there was still hope, my number in hand, “Are you coming?” She asked turning slightly.

“I can’t,” I said as I crouched, “I am going to pee my pants. I am so freaking nervous that I just might pee myself…”

Heidi rolled her eyes at me, “Whatever, spaz, I’m giving him your number.”

I stood there, immobile, letting it soak in. I was REALLY peeing my pants.

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