MY NINE YEAR FIRST DATE
“Someone’s at the door. Hold on.” “Okay . . . I’m holding … on and on and on. I’ve been holding on for nine bloody years. Is this a gay date or what? If you’re not interested in love everlasting with me along with hot erotic encounters, go away. Leave me alone. Pick up your copy of Engineering, or Golf, or International Tiddlywinks. Stick your nose into that and enjoy yourself, if you can. Or better yet, go find yourself a straight date … that is if you can find one. That would be comical. What have I been doing wrong all these years that leaves me withering like a dried up tree trunk on the side of the road – soon to topple over and be trampled underfoot. I’d give my eye teeth for a good solid, meaningful relationship with you – other than my left hand. Why is making a commitment so difficult for you?” “What the hell are you rambling about?” “Sorry, Pete. Didn’t realize you were back. Who was at the door?” “UPS, with the birthday present you sent. Thank you. How did ...