I met Mike at a local pub crowded by high school people I wished to never see again. I waited for him to arrive, carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone around me, and praying that it wasn't as painfully obvious that I was on a blind date as I imagined. I'm sure it was though.
My initial thought when I met Mike was "Oh my God- I need to introduce him to Mike!" (My best gay guy friend). Not only would their matching names be adorable, but they were both well-dressed, super handsome, and super gay. Weren't they?
I soon learned that even though my date's pants were practically painted on, his walk more of a prance, and his hand flailing worse than me telling stories, he was in fact entirely straight. He kept repeatedly telling me how sexy I looked and how he loved my "luscious lips" and wanted to kiss them.
So, since I haven't gotten any in longer than I care to admit, I decided to go in for a flamboyant kiss. Hey, no sense denying the poor guy of my pretty pouter. But before our lips even touched, he pursed his mouth in a grotesque Zoolander "Blue Steel" fashion. He ended up looking more like a baby guppy than a grown man. I tried to close my eyes and commit to the kiss, but the image of his pursed pucker was burned in my mind. Our lips barely grazed when I erupted into a fit of giggles, which I tried to mask as a coughing fit. Mike retained the Blue Steel pose, in hopes that I might compose myself and we could begin our make out sesh. But the damage was done. I made a quick getaway, giggling the whole way home. Once again, all may not be lost though. I might pass his number along to my gay friend Mike, because if this guy wasn't gay before, my rude outburst might have just been the final straw of stripping away his manhood... Ah well. C'est la vie.
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