#stumped

You won’t believe this one.

It’s a goody.

Was at The Shift.

Just for something different.

And as per usual, standard of other patrons was fairly low.

I therefore was able to consider myself one of the better looking people.

And therefore confident enough to talk to anyone.

Found one unoccupied bar stool.

As I sat down I smiled to boy on neighbouring stool and he immediately looked in other direction.

Self-esteem had momentary plummet.

Thought “fuck you,” ordered beer and surveyed the room.

Self-esteem rose again as hot muscle man across bar winked.

I winked back but not before guy on bar stool on my other side nodded at hot muscle man.

Wink was not for me.

Hating that.

Go for gulp of beer and turn in other direction.

Sudden movement not a good idea.

Beer dribbles down chin as first unsmiling neighbour happens to look in my direction.

Give my best Jewish Mother shrug and wipe chin in manner of Solo Man.

Neighbour smiles.

Smile back.

Offer to buy him a drink.

He responds enthusiastically and, for first time, I notice he is actually quite cute, if a little geeky.

But geeky can work.

In moderation.

And it seems geeky can work it too.

In addition to thanking me when I give him his beer he tells me that when I first sat down he thought I looked really cool and too good looking to talk to.

Kinda loving that.

While thinking it's ridiculous.

Although not completely.

He goes on to ruin it though.

By then saying that when I spilt my beer he thought maybe I wasn’t cool at all.

Translation: not a tosser.

Then he said that when he looked me right in the face and I was smiling I wasn’t too good looking either.

Go for another gulp of beer.

Then realise that nervous, charmless neighbour is looking sidewards at me.

Maybe I’m in.

Cast discreet glance at watch and cursory scan of other patrons and decide I should run with this one.

Smile again.

He smiles back.

Right.

Start with the unimaginative, “So, how has your night been?” and hope he won’t ask if I come here often.

Seems he’s a little lonely.

Doesn’t go out much.

Doesn’t have many gay friends.

Thought he’d venture out in search of companionship (his word). Have visions of him asking me to hold him.

Then he does it: asks me if I come here often.

More often than I’d like to admit, my usual reply to this question. 
Then suddenly he’s out with the one I didn't expect quite so soon:

“Do you want to go?” he asks.

“Where?” I ask.

“My place,” he says.

“Where do you live?”

“Surry Hills.”

Bingo.

A nice walk home or a maximum $20 cab ride if I have a really bad time.

Sure.

We both go for simultaneous scull of beer.

Polish off simultaneously.

Begin to alight bar stools simultaneously.

I succeed quite quickly and nimbly.

Feel chuffed at momentary, and uncharacteristic show of athleticism.

Neighbour struggling somewhat.

Clearly sporting some kind of injury.

Nice.

A little vulnerable.

He looks embarrassed so I decide not to ask.

We leave kinda slowly, other patrons making way for the guy with the limp.

I now feel like a predator.

Oh well. It’s late, fairly dark and at least I’m leaving with somebody. Angry aggressive midget who has tried to pick me up on countless occasions shoots me venomous look, clearly aggrieved by the fact that I am selective, even within disabled world.

Focus on my own physical imperfections and feel most egalitarian. On leaving the bar I decide not to suggest walking and hail a cab. In we hop.

Well, I do.

He slides gently. 
Regret sudden forgetting of manners and wish I’d held the door and let him go first.

Am redeemed when cab pulls up and I quickly running around and open door for him.

He shoots me a “you’re-not-serious?” look.

Seems I can’t win.

I also forgot to pay.

He has some difficulty retrieving wallet from back pocket while half out of cab with leg that is difficult to bend.

Am feeling most awkward now.

Oh well, at least I bought him a beer.

Look at height of multi-leveled building we’ve arrived at and hope there is a lift.

Or he lives on ground floor.

Neither.

Well there is a lift.

But it's broken.

And he only lives on the first floor.  

But that’s enough.

We take the fire stairs.

Very slowly.

Has to have a crazy little rest on the halfway landing.

I smile encouragingly.

He ignores it and ploughs on.

We finally arrive at his apartment.

Great loft style with the most fabulous stuff.

Crippled shag has just gone to top of husband-material list.

Take another look at his face and convince myself that he is actually very handsome, and looks both intelligent and kind.

Tick, tick, tick.

It’s then that I notice 12-inch Cher doll on sideboard.

Am fast rubbing out those ticks.

Shield my eyes and turn away.

He doesn’t notice, turns on iPod, a dim light and motions towards the sofa.

I sit down on edge and wait for him to ease himself down.

He leans right back, legs astride, eyes closed and puts his hand on my back.

Not sure what to do, I look over and he licks his lips.

One hand moves slowly over my back as his other goes to his own crotch.

I put my hand on his knee.

He flinches.

I quickly remove it.

I go the slow lean, carefully avoiding any limbs.

Tentatively kiss him.

And it’s like a switch is flicked.

HE. IS. ON.

Totally going for it.

Lies right back, pulling me into dry hump position between his now not-so sensitive legs.

Tears my shirt open, rips off my T-shirt and proclaims his love of hairy men.

Thinks we’re virile.

I think of all the hairy guys I know who are big girls.

Shelve that thought.

I go for the top button of his jeans.

Get two of them undone and he pushes my hand away and kind of sits up.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Oh God.

I just wanna shag and he wants to open his heart.

Think of all the guys I have met lately who have volunteered everything from extensive STIs to cancer, to husbands, to wives within the first 30 seconds of meeting and wonder if this is where this is going.

Seems none of those are his issue.

It’s his leg.

Or lack of leg.

Clearly not his fault.

Accident with machinery on his uncle’s farm.

Not the whole leg.

From the knee down.

Very sad.

Really tragic.

Farm element kind of erotic though.

Quash that thought and adopt compassionate expression.

Tells me he got some amazing pay out, hence fabulousness of apartment and contents.

Cher doll is inexplicable.

He is only 24.

Cher doll makes no sense at all.

Ignore the Cher doll and make offer to not go any further if he is uncomfortable.

On the contrary, he is so up for it, just wanted to tell me before his jeans came off.

In case I was uncomfortable with it.

I am, of course, extremely uncomfortable with it.

Don’t actually find it a turn off per se, but feel like a pervert. 
Discreetly look around for evidence of hidden camera.

Decide my quarry is cute enough to risk being branded a pervert and tell him that I’m cool with it.

Actually turns out to be quite practical.

Stump doesn’t get in the way. 
Actually leans nicely against my shoulder.

Prosthetic leg lying on floor next while I’m fucking him makes me more uncomfortable than lack of actual leg.

Like some kind of twilight zone Chuckie about to come to life and ruin the moment.

Didn’t happen.

And moment was great.

Shag relaxes him completely, he cooks me supper and we have great conversation.

I left in the wee small hours with a phone number and a declaration of very strong urge for round 2.

Send the thanks-for-a-great-night text the next day.

No response.

Doesn’t faze me.

Wait the obligatory 2 days for follow up phone call.

Phone rings out.

Wait another 24 hours before calling again.

Phone eventually goes to voicemail.

I leave a message.

He never called.

I didn’t try again.

I was quite puzzled.

Then pissed off.

Then puzzled again.

Guy with one leg doesn’t want follow up shag.

Am thinking that surely his options are fairly limited, and that even if I’m not his ideal man, I’d still be better than nothing.

Apparently not.

Feel like George from Seinfeld who couldn’t get a second date with the bald woman because she preferred a slimmer guy.

Check waistline.

Last gym visit a fortnight ago.

Must be the reason.

Am placing myself on celebrity diet.

Remember Cher doll and am thinking I am better off.

#DNA Magazine

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