Currently listening to: Do You Miss Me – Jocelyn Enriquez
The radio plays our favorite song
And it’s what keeps me holding on
Baby, do you miss me
Now that I’m gone, yeah
Current mood: self-loathing
I’ll try my best to keep this PG-13.
Leo & Gemini: Sexual Compatibility
Sex between a Leo and a Gemini is supposed to be legendary so it’s understandable that I would be excited about this. Leo brings the flair and heat, Gemini brings curiosity and adaptability. Leo loves to perform and initiate, and Gemini? Gemini likes to keep it interesting. The sexual tension is supposed to crackle like static. So why did it come to a screeching halt?
I guess I should rewind and start at the beginning of our date.
Le sigh.
The Greek (yes, he’s a Leo) and I had been seeing each other casually off and on. He’s intelligent, funny, and generous—always insists on paying for dinner. He’s also one of those touchy tactile men… always brushing his fingers on my hand or thigh, stroking my hair, nudging closer. I’m not really used to that level of physical affection except when I was with Zaddy, otherwise, touch hasn’t really been part of my love language. I think it has a lot to do with how I was raised. Korean parents aren’t exactly known for being warm and fuzzy. I barely got hugs growing up. That’s just how it was for us. But still, it’s… kind of nice. A little foreign. A little comforting.
We were having dinner at this Mediterranean restaurant, got my usual chicken kabob. I was sipping rosé, a little giggly, leaning into the soft buzz of the evening. He was teasing me, fingers interlaced with mine across the table, and I couldn’t help but admire how pretty his face was—long lashes, symmetrical features, even the way he smirked. Then I made the mistake of looking down. Hairy. Knuckles. I tried not to fixate, told myself to stay in the moment. I broke the spell by feeding him some pita and hummus, and he let out this little moan that was honestly hotter than I expected. That helped bring me back.
When we left the restaurant, things escalated. He walked me to my car and the next thing I know, we are all over each other next to my car, and when he asked if I had protection, I shook my head. I hadn’t planned on getting my swerve on but when the opportunity presents itself, I’ll seize it. He said he had some in his car. I followed him to his car and as he opened the door, he suggested we go for a drive, which led us to a quiet street somewhere in the hills. That’s when things turned full high school. Backseat. Passion. Steam.
At first, I was into it. He took off his shirt and I was surprised—he had washboard abs, toned arms, the works. But then I noticed… his shoulders. Hairy. Like, very hairy. Not a little patch but dense. I tried to ignore it. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around him, and my hand brushed over his back. Big mistake. It felt like sandpaper, like he had shaved or waxed it recently and the back hairs were growing in again. My brain went into overdrive. Why was I being a bitch about his body hair? The Asian guys I’ve dated… didn’t have much. Even Zaddy and Beau Mec weren’t this furry. What is wrong with me?
He was whispering sweet things into my ear, rubbing my butt, telling me how much he liked me, and all I could think about was that he was a human Chewbacca. Which made me feel like absolute trash. I wasn’t trying to be shallow. But the switch had flipped. I dried up like the Sahara desert—emotionally, mentally, and physically. I hugged him and mumbled something about not feeling well, blaming the wine. He pulled back instantly, worried, asking what he could do. That only made me feel worse.
I told him to take me back to my car and that I should go home and rest. He offered to follow me to my place to make sure I got there safe, but I said no. I didn’t want him to know where I lived. When we got back to the parking lot where my car was, I jumped out of his car. He walked me over, gave me a long hug, and asked me to text him when I got home.
I said I would… but I didn’t.
I got into my car and within a few miles while driving down the 5, my friends texted and asked me to join them at 노래방 (noraebang-Korean karaoke). I thought about it for a couple of minutes. I didn’t want to sit alone and spiral, so I pulled an emotional U-turn and joined my friends. I sang my heart out until the wee morning. It helped, for a moment.
The next morning, I stared at his messages sitting there. Still unread. I didn’t know how to reply without sounding like an asshole, and I didn’t have the energy to explain the irrational ick that took over. So I did the cowardly thing.
I opened the messages and I left him on read.
I wish I could be like my friend, Lisa. She loves hairy men and only dates Armenian, Greek, and Persian men exclusively. I… I just can’t.
I know, it’s not right.
I know, what I did was a total dick move. I shouldn’t have. He didn’t deserve that at all. It’s all me, 100%. I’m the asshole… and I hate myself right now… even more so as I am writing this…
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