Lust

So last night I was at a Christmas party and this hot girl who I've wanted to bang ever since I met her was there. As usual, she was a little too drunk, a little too flirty, and a little too annoying. But I didn't care. Part of my brain wanted to take her into a bathroom down the hall and fuck the shit out of her on the sink. Actually, that wasn't part of my brain thinking that, but anyway.

Bottom line though is my brain (the real one) also can smell trouble and this broad is trouble. Yes, I'm practicing my noir skills. This broad is trouble, Johnny thought to himself as he fired up a Marlboro...

She started babbling about her ex, whom I know professionally. She's got enough baggage to open a Samson store (I'm here all week folks). She's rushing to the bar to get a little more vodka. And she's in a nice black skirt with a tight top, black heels that would look great over my shoulders. She also has that annoying touchy-feely way of talking and a kind of squeaky voice. Whatever.

I found myself in that dangerous place of hanging around with her even though my stomach was telling me get the fuck out of there. I felt myself slipping back into old habits, trying to figure out whether if I get her into a cab, what are the odds of getting into the apartment and would it be worth the aggravation. We've all been in those situations. Someone is there with a car and you sure do want a ride, but you know if they drive there is a good chance you could end up wrapped around a tree.

I managed to exit the party yet found myself loitering outside the building for a few minutes just on the off chance she would come out and I could bump into her and hopefully end up back at her place and bump into her in a more meaningful way.

Now I know some folks would say so, what's the big deal? You saw a hot chick you want to fuck, big news flash go do it champ. But trust me. I know me and I know this type and it is not the situation I can put myself in anymore. Unfortunately a part of me wants to go there but that dude has fucked me up every time I've listened to him.

I'm sure this morning said girl is nursing hangover on her way into work and either not remembering much of what she said or did or remembering all too much. I'm glad that's not me. Of course, that didn't stop me from sending an email saying `hey, it was nice seeing you last night.' Progress, not perfection.