As I’ve gotten older, I realize that my taste in men has/needs to evolve. I went out on a date with a guy that I met on Tinder a couple weeks ago and this date is now why I realize that the big, bearded fatties probably aren’t going to work for me anymore.
This guy is really cute in his pictures – he’s a burly guy with tattoos and a beard. But, he also had a good job working for the City. I figured we might get along pretty well. So, I ended up meeting him at this bar known for their dark ambiance and metal blasting through your eardrums. I ended up getting there first, so I order a drink at the bar and wait for him. He strolls in a couple minutes later, looking like a lost puppy. I made him squirm a little bit by not immediately going up to him right away – but I wanted to see what I was dealing with first. I could only see him from the chest up and he looked pretty good, so I approached him through the crowd of whiskey drinkers. NOT what I was expecting.
Homie looked like he had stuffed himself in his outfit just right where if he lifted one leg to move, he would split his already busting-at-the-seams pants. He legit looked like a stuffed little hotdog. This was a big guy – I’d say about a 6-footer. When I hugged him to say hi, my arms felt like they were circling a planet and my arms were the equator. I don’t even know how to explain it.
Don’t get me wrong – I am in no way skinny nor do I claim to be anything remotely to that. I do however, eat a vegetable every so often and try to limit my fast food and shitty food intake. Mama likes her grade D dog meat tacos from Taco Bell and a fast ass cheeseburger from McDonald’s every so often – but I really try not to. Long story short, I try a little – and that’s all I ask of someone. As the night progressed, he starts talking about his family and how his dad passed away from diabetes. He said his dad was grotesquely overweight his whole life and developed diabetes later in life due to poor diet. He also had to get one of his legs amputated due to complications related to diabetes. It was the weirdest thing – he almost sounded proud of this and with a smile on his face said, “So yeah, there’s a 99% chance I’m going to develop diabetes by the time I’m 40 due to my diet.” Needless to say, the image of his fat ass hobbling around on one leg, shooting himself with insulin all while shoving a Big Mac down his gullet, got me hot and horny.
We ended the date with him walking me home. From there, (I really try to block this part), as I say goodnight and give him a hug goodbye, he reaches around to the back of my head, yanks a handful of my hair and proceeds to stick his tongue down my throat with so much force, I’m surprised one of my tonsils didn’t burst. I literally push him off of me and run in my house as if the Texas Chainsaw Murderer was after me and my tonsils.
Moral of the story is – my taste in men is slowly evolving. I don’t think I’ll ever be attracted to the kind of guys I’m supposed to be attracted to… the Northface-wearing, Boatshoe-sporting, Wrigleyville-loving, Running on the Lakeshore kinda of guy. I need a happy medium, which I’m slowly realizing doesn’t exist.
Time to go eat my feelings…