My Type

At 21, James was an older man and thus out of my 17-year-old reach. Not like my arms could reach that far, anyway, given that he was a gorgeous print model and could have anyone he wanted. No way would he want anything to do with me. Right?
True, what he wanted was his college papers typed, but I was happy he wanted me on any level, no matter how far removed from actual girl/boy desire. I undercharged, but I considered his three-dimensional smile, directed only at me, unlike the two-dimensional smiles in his ads, the real payment anyway.

0 thoughts on “My Type

  1. That guy was probably late on purpose that day so he wouldn’t have to sit next to the evil wench in the back!

  2. Do not be saddened. The young man’s legs were the result of being beaten by passengers who only wanted a moment’s quiet on the bus.
    He’s a repeat offender.

  3. I would loathe sitting next to someone who chatted the whole way. The sad thing is that I seem to be a Chatty-Cathy magnet. When I’m not being a Loser-Magnet, of course…
    Thank goodness for books…and mp3 players.

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