lebanon

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It is not everyday that a stranger makes you write

Published May 23, 2015 by angrytinkerbell

Tonight, i came back home late just like every night.

Just like every night, i opened grindr to check my messages and spend some time talking to strangers on the hope of getting sleepy and let the bed embrace me, exhausted, surrendering my being and trusting a pillow to take my neck.

Tonight, a guy messaged me with a face picture, one that i spent 30 seconds contemplating, contemplating his eyes, those eyes that scream cuteness in your face, before i answer with my pictures, face and body ones, as i wanted him to see me uncensored.

He’s the type of cuties that make you feel insecure, unsure if he’ll answer back after seeing your photos, after realizing that you’re not the God of beauty, nor the God of hotness, nor a God.

You’re a regular charming person with a bunch of imperfections, you want to be appreciated for the man you are, maybe for those same imperfections.

He introduces himself, he shares your name. He shares your nationality too. A nationality developed abroad. You knew that. You couldn’t have missed on such a face in Beirut city. You joke about it. He affirms his nationality through dirty talk. He likes that. You knew that. You like that. He likes that you like that. He likes that you knew that he likes that.

Grindr starts with sex, and in sex we started.

We’re compatible sexually.

I analyzed his character through the sex talks. I could tell he’s free, doesn’t like to be bounded, he’s a rebel, he’s passionate, he’s cuddly, he’s playful, he’s authentic, he’s genuine, he’s curious, he’s loveable, he’s loveable…

Within all that sex, he sends other pictures of his. I found myself saying  “ur eyes …”. He takes a break, and says “you scored…”

Then the sex continues…

I tried convincing him to come, yet he couldn’t.

Then the sex continues…

He sends me a picture of his ass, a manly ass that I’d want him to trim. He asks me to trim it for him.

“Not before you become my boyfriend if it’s meant to be”, I say.

I do believe that words are the material expression of our thoughts and feelings.

He made me want to fall in love, he made a boyfriend material out of me.

I fell for the illusion of the illusion, he became the reality of my reality.

I got transported to where I became a confused soul, to where he became a beautiful idea.

Unless I touch him, nothing is real, nothing is real…

handsome