Monday, January 22, 2007


Frank-ly, I'm a bit daunted by the prospects of finding new prospects. Sometimes I feel like I have too many requirements, but other times I have a hard time coming up with any that make sense. It's kind of like when someone asks me what I want for my birthday. I think of shit all year long that I'd love to have. They all fall right out of my head when someone asks me to list them.

So, in the spirit of Mr. Stroker's series on his Perfect Girl, I figured I'd use this space to do a little meditating on Mr. NextBigThing (I just can't bring myself to type "Mr. Right").

I think of Mr. NBT as a conglomeration of traits and features I have known and loved (or really really wanted to love) in other men. Thus: FrankenMan.

I know that FrankenMan will have a wicked sense of humor, and will have mastered the art of self-deprecation (without having actually fallen for that line) a la Anthony Bourdain.

Yes, NBT will be much like my favorite co-ex-addict, or whatever the proper term for fellow former junkie is.... He'll be tall, I hope, although maybe not so skinny. Seriously. I would be concerned about breaking Mr. Bourdain, which would be bad since he's all famous now, and probably insured.

He'll have that wry wit and dry humor. He'll drink, maybe even smoke, and be upfront about it: No Reservations, and certainly no apologies.

He will live life on the edge and to the fullest. He'll be able to cook - in the kitchen, and (I presume) of course in the bedroom (or wherever else might take his fancy).

He'll be a little bit dirty. As much as I like the kid glove treatment sometimes, what really gets me off is a good down and dirty fucking. I'll take a good, sweaty, grunting pounding and hair pulling over gentle smooth gliding any day. And twice today.

OK. How are we doing so far?
Bits o' Bourdain - check.

I have a date later this week with someone who seems to have the humor part down. We shall see about the rest. In the meantime, I'm considering giving the spouse some breakup sex, just to keep the fires quenched a bit, lest I have to get that "I fuck on the first date" shirt printed up after all.


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