MyJockStrap
05-31-2005, 04:11 AM
A Sense of Good Work
Trace pulled into a secluded part of the parking lot. He hoped to have reason to linger there with a cigarette. He looked over the steering wheel to the vestibule and felt the familiar rush of excitement tempered by its by now attendant twinge of pragmatic restraint. There may or may not be a letter waiting for him, especially since his ad was once again near the end of its run.
He steeled his resolve for either possibility and made his way into the post office. Reaching his box, he inserted his key and opened it, as the excitement knotted his throat. The knot loosened when he saw a single slender envelope. It only took one response to dispel all sense of disappointment, and Trace savored the feeling of pregnant expectation as he carried the envelope to his truck.
Taking a drag off his freshly lit cigarette, he fingered the letter open and removed its contents, a single sheet of notebook paper. He unfolded the paper and laid it over his lap as he read the handwritten letter:
Hello, my name is Dennis. I saw your ad, and it caught my attention. At times, it seems like no one is even thinking about a relationship, much less LTR oriented, so your ad especially caught my eye, but there is no need to get ahead of ourselves. I think it would be great to start with a date. I, too, like coffee.
I am 33, and I have always been single. I am looking for a long-term relationship with a guy who makes a relationship worth the long run. I think I am that kind of guy. I am 5’11 and have an average build. I have brown hair and eyes. I am clean-shaven, and I guess the fact my hair is thinning and I wear glasses are my worst physical attributes. At best and worst, I would say I am very average looking. I don’t think I stand out in a crowd as the best or the worst.
So, if you’d like to start with a date, give me a call at 203-239-2339. I work days, so it’s best to reach me in the evening after 6:00. I live alone, so if you call, you’ll get me directly. I hope to hear from you-Dennis.
Missing the signs of the struggling single, Trace wondered why no picture was enclosed, how thin thinning hair meant, and if he minded a guy older than thirty? He thought he would prefer one without glasses, a full head of hair, and a bit younger. His face reddened for reasons he could not quite grasp, as he caught his own gaze in the rearview mirror. He quickly returned the look of disgust as he sized up the reflection and thought its nose was hideously out of proportion and considered the nose a minimal imperfection compared to the less then toned body or the mountain of debt behind its facade.
Turning from the mirror, Trace felt his response contradicted everything he had been pursuing for the past several weeks. He had distanced himself from drinking over Elan and drooling over Davis and had managed to redirect his energy to his friends, family, work, and volunteering. He could not reconcile his response to the last couple of weeks. He vaguely felt the letter was a product of it, a product of something like good works. Unable to bring this feeling fully to consciousness, his flesh responded with the blushing warmth of shame.
He returned the letter to the envelope and decided he would call Dennis that night.
Trace pulled into a secluded part of the parking lot. He hoped to have reason to linger there with a cigarette. He looked over the steering wheel to the vestibule and felt the familiar rush of excitement tempered by its by now attendant twinge of pragmatic restraint. There may or may not be a letter waiting for him, especially since his ad was once again near the end of its run.
He steeled his resolve for either possibility and made his way into the post office. Reaching his box, he inserted his key and opened it, as the excitement knotted his throat. The knot loosened when he saw a single slender envelope. It only took one response to dispel all sense of disappointment, and Trace savored the feeling of pregnant expectation as he carried the envelope to his truck.
Taking a drag off his freshly lit cigarette, he fingered the letter open and removed its contents, a single sheet of notebook paper. He unfolded the paper and laid it over his lap as he read the handwritten letter:
Hello, my name is Dennis. I saw your ad, and it caught my attention. At times, it seems like no one is even thinking about a relationship, much less LTR oriented, so your ad especially caught my eye, but there is no need to get ahead of ourselves. I think it would be great to start with a date. I, too, like coffee.
I am 33, and I have always been single. I am looking for a long-term relationship with a guy who makes a relationship worth the long run. I think I am that kind of guy. I am 5’11 and have an average build. I have brown hair and eyes. I am clean-shaven, and I guess the fact my hair is thinning and I wear glasses are my worst physical attributes. At best and worst, I would say I am very average looking. I don’t think I stand out in a crowd as the best or the worst.
So, if you’d like to start with a date, give me a call at 203-239-2339. I work days, so it’s best to reach me in the evening after 6:00. I live alone, so if you call, you’ll get me directly. I hope to hear from you-Dennis.
Missing the signs of the struggling single, Trace wondered why no picture was enclosed, how thin thinning hair meant, and if he minded a guy older than thirty? He thought he would prefer one without glasses, a full head of hair, and a bit younger. His face reddened for reasons he could not quite grasp, as he caught his own gaze in the rearview mirror. He quickly returned the look of disgust as he sized up the reflection and thought its nose was hideously out of proportion and considered the nose a minimal imperfection compared to the less then toned body or the mountain of debt behind its facade.
Turning from the mirror, Trace felt his response contradicted everything he had been pursuing for the past several weeks. He had distanced himself from drinking over Elan and drooling over Davis and had managed to redirect his energy to his friends, family, work, and volunteering. He could not reconcile his response to the last couple of weeks. He vaguely felt the letter was a product of it, a product of something like good works. Unable to bring this feeling fully to consciousness, his flesh responded with the blushing warmth of shame.
He returned the letter to the envelope and decided he would call Dennis that night.