Do U Wnt 2 Be My Boifriend

28 Sep

Life in Manhattan is like living inside a gigantic Twitter stream.

Susan Orlean

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I texted this message into the digital ether like a drowning man reaches for a wayward lifeline.

Two men had descended on Stoner G and I, “The ghost of pussy past, and the ghost of pussy future,” I told Stoner G in a cynical tone.  The ghost of pussy past had curly hair and was wholly unremarkable, the ghost of pussy future was from Canada and had recently started chatting me up.  He had two buttons undone exposing some chest flesh, he had a swagger of a smile and said things in my ear like “let’s move, I just farted.”

They’d become drinking buddies after I introduced them which made me happy because I’d stopped talking to the ghost of pussy past for a while. “Oh man, I got this gogo boy’s number from last night,” the ghost of pussy future said, “I’m going to call him but I’m not sure if he can come to my place because I just moved there and the doorman might be freaked out when this black boy comes into the place then right back out.  I don’t like kissing and I don’t like getting blowjobs, so we would just fuck and he could leave.”

“That’s great, I didn’t know you were into black boys, can you excuse me for a bit?” I said, and then I texted “d-o-y-o-u-w-a-n-t-t-o-b-e-m-y-b-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d.”

The reply came back, “I was meaning to talk to you about that. I wanted to ask you if you were interested.”

My text back: “I am interested. I hope you don’t think it’s lame that I texted this.”

Stoner G caught up with me, “hey there, who are you texting? Your lover boy?”

“I just asked if he wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“Kevin, you do that in person!” Stoner G said in mock disgust.

“I’m trying something new.”

“What is that?”

Well I wasn’t over thinking things. There were no graphs or numbers or equations running in my head, no plans of attack or methods, no worst case best case scenario.  There was no doubt and no dealing with lunacy. There was only…feeling? Whatever it was it had been working for me for the last month or so as I devoted whatever it was that I was feeling to this one person.

The text message back to me read: “It isn’t lame. I’d love to have you as a boyfriend. I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

And that’s how I became a 15-year-old girl.

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