The last sane bloke in Chicago

Was it a fig or a date, Part III?

I promise this is the end of this mini-series, for those of you who love to skip to the end. I almost wrote a fake last 2 paragraphs, just to piss you off. Cheaters.

We drove back to her place, which was not too far from the little wine bar. She was giggling a lot in the car, which can either be a BIG turn off, or a BIG turn on. Since she was drunk, I decided not to really judge the act. It WAS cute, though.

She asked me some questions about my recent writing work and I waxed ecstatic about some projects that are in the editing phase and two projects that are being pitched for wider distribution. She seemed interested, but every time I hit a speed bump, her hand would tap my hand "accidentally" and she giggled again.

I looked over at her, the seat a little further back than the normal position. She has a nice face, a good profile, a cute smile, and a pretty decent small rack. From a physical standpoint, she has many good attributes. Her life is stable enough (which can be a little boring, actually), has a good temperament, but in terms of personality we don't click. She's way too prudish, and I think it would be wise for her to keep herself that way. I have been known to turn good girls into rip-roaring-whoring-gals in the bedroom. While none have ever complained, I _have_ heard them complain about future beaus not being as adventurous in the sack as I.

We pulled up to her house and there was a spot 3 cars down from her door. I got out of the car and helped her out of her side. She'd noticeably sobered up a little on the short hop back to her place. I did have to help her a little bit, but she wasn't sloppy drunk, just happy drunk.

As I held her apartment's screen door open for her, she put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm not asking you in for sex, but you should come in for a little while." I smiled at her and told her that while I would absolutely LOVE to oblige her, I didn't want to be her bad boy. She pulled my shoulder closer to her, and with a small taste of wine on her breath, she said "No bad boy needed, just some fun on the couch." Then she kissed me on the lips.

It was obvious that was her ploy, but she was wasted and I wasn't. She's a good girl and I'm far from a good boy. If I went in, the night would not end well.

I could use some sex, really I could. Local sex would be nice. Better than the booty-call, I would gladly accept a smoochy-call from someone and keep it friendly. But with this gal, I just didn't feel right. She obviously has well designed boundaries that she's proud of and lives by, and I don't think taking advantage of her when she's been drinking would be the move of a gentleman.

I broke her kiss, put my hands on her back (just to check) and ran my fingers up to her shoulder. Her body gave a tiny convulsion, which told me exactly what I needed to know: this nice, sweet gal shouldn't be alone in her apartment with Mr. Sane. She pulled me back for another kiss but I turned my head a little and her lips sloppily hit the side of my mouth and my cheek.

"So you really don't want to come in?" No, I want to come in, but it's a bad idea. "Do you think I'm ugly?" Oh my god no. I just think I'm the wrong kind of guy for you. "What kind of guy is for me?" Someone with a good job, good morals, who mows the lawn and has a similar lifestyle to yours. "Oh, they're boring." She's obviously still drunk.

I ask her for her keys and open the door after trying 3 different ones. I open her apartment door on the first try, though, and lay her down on her couch. I even removed her shoes and put her purse on the kitchen counter. She was tired, her eyes falling slowly. I smooched her on the forehead, and thanked her as she sleepily waved at me goodnight.

Back in my car, back on the road, back to my cat and my apartment and my solitude that I know I needed right now.

Maggie is a great gal, there is no doubt about it. I can't do a great gal now, not just sexually. I have no desire to lead anyone on. I see so many friend bloggers and real life friends who are dicked around by scum and scoundrels and I don't want to be that guy.

Now, if a cute, sexy, hot, fun, fuckable and vulgar gal came my way who was comfortable with my situation, that'd be another story. But for now, Little Fire Hydrant stays in his pants, and Chicago $ane sleeps with his kitty. And I'm OK with that.

It's bizarre: I have no problem meeting golddigging whores bags or hot model types, but I have no desire for either. When Miss Average comes around, she ALWAYS shuns me. I haven't dated an average looking woman in over 15 years. Then you have a cute, sexy, responsible gal like Maggie, and I don't even want to touch her because I don't want to spoil her for the next, better guy who is more in line with her life.

Maybe I'm becoming soft. My mother definitely taught me too well. Thanks, mom.

Posted by ChicagoSane at 7:40 PM

Labels: cute, date, kissing