Thursday, April 23, 2009

Oh that cute bank girl: fail.

I had to run to the bank today to deposit some checks and cash that have been lingering around in various pockets of practically every pair of pants that need a scrubbing. I'm really irresponsible about depositing money, and have had more than one occasion where I had to call someone up 6 months later to request a new check as the old one expired.

I hopped in the car and drove to my usual bank, which is 15 minutes further than the closest branch of the same bank corporation. I prefer my usual bank as the business teller is a great guy who never needs me to fill out anything, and does it all quickly.

Much to my surprise, Mr. Business Teller is off today, and who happens to be in his place? Laura, my one serious crush in the past 5 years. Laura is a senior teller at another branch that I used to visit once a week for 3 years. A great client is less than a mile from her old branch, and they always paid on Thursdays. I'd grab their checks and run to that branch, make my deposits, and drink their terrible coffee.

Laura was my teller about 50% of the time, and she was always friendly. A youthful 23, still in school, taller than me at 5'10" and great brown eyes and natural brown hair. The fact that she wore glasses only made me crush on her more. Please do note that I stopped having crushes on women at the age of 15. It's just not typical of me.

After 2 years of regular deposits, I finally asked Laura for her number. This is going back 2 years from today, almost to the day. She smiled and said she doesn't date clients. That's a cop out excuse, because it's usually a nice way to say one's not interested. I told her that's OK, asked her about her schooling, and left. My weekly deposits continued, and she was never fazed to handle my deposits. Sometimes women seem shy after they've shunned me, but I take it in stride. I'm a funky looking guy with meticulous garb, so I can understand them saying no as much as I can understand them saying yes.

Around the end of the summer of 2007, Laura handled a deposit of mine, and on the receipt she jotted down her email address. I hate email addresses, I'm a phone guy. I don't call to chit-chat, I call to make plans in 2 minutes and get on with my life. I prefer conversation face-to-face; email is hard to read properly.

I stuck the receipt in my pocket, and forgot about it. The following week, I went to make a deposit, and Laura was helping someone else, so I jumped into the non-commercial line. I made my deposit, smiled to Laura, and left. Before I hopped into my car, I heard a cute voice call my name. "ChicagoSane, wait!" I turned, slowly, and there was Laura, trotting out as well as an Amazon-tall gal can trot.

"I was hoping you'd email me!" she squeaked. I smiled and shrugged, and said I probably lost the email address. I put my hand in my pocket full of receipts, and pulled them all out. My luck: her receipt was right on top of the bunch, with her address prominently displayed. Oops.

"Well, now you have no excuse," she said. I don't like email, how about a phone number? "I don't give that out often," she replied. I guess you're not that into me, sort of like that Oprah guy says. "Oh, that's not it at all. Send me an email, and let's see how it goes." This will not end well, I thought.

So another week goes by, and I forgot about emailing her, although I must have jerked off thinking about her 5 times over the week. She's gorgeous in the body, and her face is pretty enough. Great mouth, squinty eyes, and nothing is too big on her, just like I like it. The fact that she towers over me is also a boon, as I usually find myself attracting taller girls anyway.

As I'm leaving my client's, I realize I should drop her an email. I send it off, and before logging out there's already a reply:

"I'm on my lunch break, ran home to eat. See you as usual?" I didn't reply. I logged off, went to accounting to grab my check, and after the usual wait for a signature, I left. I arrived at Bank of America (her bank), and there she was, smiling at me the moment I walked in the door. She took my deposit, and I asked her to dinner. How about next Tuesday?

"Ok, but I'm broke right now, have to save up for tuition next fall." No problem, I don't usually pay for new friends, but I'll make one exception. "Friends?" she asked. I smiled and said that's where we are, or at the very least acquaintances. Her smile vanished and she looked pouty, so I said my goodbye and took my leave.

I didn't get home for a few hours, but when I did, there was an email from her. "Sorry I didn't make myself more clear. When you asked for my phone number, I didn't really think about it. The more I do, the more I think we might have some fun together." I didn't reply.

Tuesday came along, and I emailed her that I didn't have her phone number, so I can't call to confirm dinner that night. She replied about an hour later, saying to meet her at 7pm at the restaurant. Ugh, the "meet me there" catch-all is a sure sign that someone is not interested enough. I don't play those games, but I confirmed 2 restaurants she might like, and she emailed me back with the one she liked most. I emailed her back with the address, and took a nap.

We met at the restaurant, a decent-enough grillhouse with excellent burgers and steaks. It ends up the restaurant is only 3 miles from her apartment, so that worked well. She looked amazing out of her bank apparel. Her neckline was gorgeous, her tits were perfect at a B-cup, and her waist and hips were the kind I could hold on tight to and show her who is boss.

Dinner was great. She laughed at my few jokes, and I listened intently, never once interrupting or positing my own opinion. She asked me a few question, which I did my best to answer quickly and shortly, and kept querying her about her life. No major boyfriends, crazy parents, wants to be a business owner, blah blah blah. Her hands graced my arm and elbow and even once my chin as she laughed at her own words.

"You are so cute, ChicagoSane. I'm sorry I didn't notice it before." That's too bad, I guess it's something that grows on you. We shared a desert, had another round of wine after our original bottle was gone, and the dinner went on for 3 hours. This girl must not have many people willing to listen to her, and she dug into her history of life, love, school, goals and desires.

It was getting late, almost 11pm, so I told her I needed to go because I had early plans. Her face dropped again, and she asked if I'd bum her a smoke and continue talking in her car. I was OK with that, as long as it was just one smoke.

We walked to her car, and one smoke turned into 5. She talked until 1am, and I listened. Finally, I said I really had to go, and she agreed, having to be up at 7am so she could open her branch. She put her cigarette out and turned to face me. I turned to face her and she gave me a HUGE hug and said I am the most interesting man she's ever met. How she could know this as I didn't say more than 50 words all night is beyond me. She broke the embrace, and I smiled and moved in to kiss her. Her face was already falling towards mine the instant I moved in.

We kissed for about 20 minutes. She was not a good kisser initially, so I gently used my hands to move her chin and her cheeks to better positioning, and backed off when she was too sloppy or impulsive. By the end of the kissing, she moaned twice. I put my hands around her waist and pulled her in so I could caress her neck, and she moaned again.

I'll see you again soon, Laura. "Yes, you will!" she replied, laughing at the lipstick on my beard and moustache and lips. She wiped it off, then planted one last kiss on my lips, her best one yet.

She gave me her phone number, I gave her another cigarette for the road, and a lighter, and hopped out of her car. As I walked towards mine, she honked, waved, and drove off.

And that was it.

A week later I gave her a call to make plans, but ended up with the dreaded voice mail. She didn't call back, which usually is a hint for me to get lost. When I went to make my deposit, she was there but she didn't look at me, she didn't smile, and I ended up with another teller so I wasn't able to talk to her. She didn't chase me out of her work, either. No email, no phone call.

I tried her one last time the following week, but no answer. I didn't leave a voicemail this time. Instead, I hung up, opened up my cell phone contact list, and deleted her phone number. I also deleted her email address from Google Mail, and removed her emails from the sent box and inbox. No need to keep that stuff around.

The next time she was my teller, she was courteous, friendly, and quick, as usual. No comment about not making a second date.

Who knows what happened there? Based on the stories she told, she was usually into the bad boy (which, by the way, most women think I am when they meet me). Maybe I was too soft for her, not trying to take her home on the first date. I usually don't do that, unless the woman pushes for it. I'll never decline sex if it is initiated by a sober beatiful lady. I know for a fact I'd have left her breathless and too exhausted to leave my bed if she had wanted to pursue a more sexual response to my kindness, attentiveness and generosity.

It's too bad, Laura. You still pop into my fantasy from time-to-time, but only because your body and face are the kind I would plaster with my markings, and chuckle playfully when you'd beg me for more and more and more. I stopped seeing her at Bank of America when I parted ways with my excellent client. The owner died, and the son was inept. They're out of business today.

Fast forward to today: there she is, at the new bank. I asked her why she's here, and she said she transfered to be closer to school. She wasn't looking good. 25 years old, and 25 additional pounds. Her face is ravaged and ragged. Her cute smile was now a permanent frown. Her gorgeous brown eyes turned into a mean scowl. I asked her if life is as great as it was before, and she said "No. I'm broke, I hate my job, I hate school, and I'm too young for this." That's too bad. Well, see you around.

"Yeah, see you around," was her reply. I won't be going back to that branch anymore. Sorry, Mr. Business Teller, but I just don't need a reminder of The-Crush-That-Failed. I know it was her own drama that ended things before they began, but it's tragic that someone I could have assisted, given advice to, and helped relieve of sexual tension dumped me before we even dated. I guess she won't be in my fantasies anymore, either. That's also sad, because I have fewer and fewer women to think about, mostly due to the fact that all of the ones I've been meeting are at the same place in their lives as Laura is today.


My Other Blog said...

I remember dating as being easier than you described back when I was 30 - oh wait, I was married by then.
There's this German man intersted in me - actually, I think he's interested in anyone who will talk to him, as his English is horrible (although he writes well) and his accent is very thick. He called me last night and I told him I couldn't understand what he was saying - then he suggested that I turn on the computer so we could chat online - as if I was going to miss "The Office" for that!
I don't think men and women were designed to understand each other, even if they speak the same langauge.

ChicagoSane said...

It is easy, as long as you work hard at it :)

Accents are great, until you have to live with them. Pass. I dated a girl with a HARSH Scottish accent that drove me crazy in the good way, and then crazy in the bad way.

That didn't go very far.