Currently listening to: Pink Venom – BLACKPINK
Diamonds shining, drive in silence, I don’t mind it, I’m riding
Flying private side by side with the pilot up in the sky
And I’m wyling, styling on them and there’s no chance
‘Cause we got bodies on bodies like this a slow dance
This also wasn’t a set up. I met The Greek through a dating app.
He offered to pick me up for dinner. I declined, of course. Safety first. I told him I’d meet him at the restaurant instead, and he didn’t press it. Respect.
He asked me where I wanted to eat, and I had a hankering for Thai. I suggested this local spot known for their Khao Soi. He said he was down for trying new places.
We didn’t know much about each other aside from what was in our profiles. We exchanged numbers (he got my Google number, obvi). I did a quick Google check on him and nothing suspicious popped up, so I figured a public meet-up was fine.
We ended up pulling into the parking lot at nearly the same time. He was driving a sleek white sporty Mercedes. I would tell you what kind of Benz it was but I don’t know shit about cars. All I know is that it had the big Benz emblem on the front. I, on the other hand, pulled up in my very practical and slightly dusty Prius. I didn’t have time to get a car wash. Oops.
He stepped out first, walking toward me with a huge grin. That’s when I realized my heel choice may have been… a little too much. With them on, I was just about 5’10”, and we were at eye level. But he didn’t seem to care. He smiled, wrapped one arm around my waist, and we headed inside. He had a nice smile and he looked like he bordered on boyish and handsome. He smelled good—like a more refined version of Drakkar Noir.
He seemed genuinely nice. I’d probably call him a short king if I wasn’t wearing four inch heels on. Once we sat down, he reached out and held my hand—and that’s when I noticed how hairy he was. Like, really hairy. I don’t think I’ve ever dated anyone quite so… fuzzy. My mind immediately went to wondering if that extended to his chest and back. The Asian guys I’ve dated? Not hairy. The white guys? Either they shaved or somehow were born with baby dolphin skin. This guy? Full Greek god meets werewolf energy.
Midway through dinner, I caught him glancing down at my chest. More than once. Jokes on him though, it’s all an illusion. Shout out to Victoria’s Secret’s wonder bra creating a cleavage. I love that for me.
The conversation was fine—pleasant even—but I’ll be honest, I was distracted. Not by anything he said, but just… the sheer density of his arm hair. Still, he asked what I was looking for. I gave him the honest answer: nothing serious. My work life is hectic and I don’t need additional stress. I just wanted to enjoy life. He smiled and said, “I could be yours, and I wouldn’t give you any stress.” I rolled my eyes.
He mentioned working for his dad’s business—I didn’t catch the details because, again, the hair. It was like a visual loop I couldn’t exit. Could I braid that shit? I wonder what he would look like underneath all that fur body hair.
We eventually wrapped up dinner and he asked, “So what now?” I told him I needed to head home and get some sleep because I had work in the morning. He offered to give me a massage (bold of him to do that) and I politely declined. He asked me to text him when I got home so he’d know I made it safely. I said “okay” with a smile. Then he asked if we could go out again sometime. I told him I was too tired to make plans right now, and that we’d figure it out later over text.
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