Since I mentioned him
earlier, and since I have nothing blog-worthy to discuss, I will recount the story of Kevin Number One. For some odd reason, I dated a whole string of Kevins shortly after moving back to the States. And by “string”, I mean eight. In a row.
Since I am fairly anti-social, I rarely visited the local (and only) gay bar in Charleston, South Carolina after the big move. Come to think of it, it was more about the fact that I lived on the Isle of Palms and had to drive forever to get to the bar. Usually, I just hung-out with my straight friends on the island at a local dive.
On occasion, however, I would drive over to Mt Pleasant and rent a movie or two from the local Blockbuster. Least you think I am some huge movie geek, the main reason for this action rests squarely on the fact that one of the Blockbuster employees was incredibly, drop-dead beautiful. He had these massive, blue eyes. You could see the eyes from the other side of the store. He also never looked at me, never spoke to me, and as far as I could tell, did not even know I existed.
After the first couple of weeks, I had worked-out his schedule and my trips to Blockbuster were timed accordingly. Every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday I would head over and rent some movies. The problem with this plan was that I could only rent certain movies on certain days. For example, on Mondays I could rent new releases since they were due back the next day. On Tuesdays I could rent the fairly new releases since you could keep them until Thursday. Finally, on Thursday I had to rent the real crappy movies that you could keep until Monday.
I have to assume that my gaydar was much more highly tuned back then, because there was nothing to indicate that Kevin Number One was gay. In fact, on several occasions I noticed him getting in or out some girl’s car when I arrived a little too early or a little too late. After about three weeks of lusting, I arrived in the parking lot and noticed Kevin Number One loading films into a milk crate from the drop box out front. You know, the drop box out by the road for the lazy people that cannot walk the extra ten yards to the door?
So I pulled up a few parking spaces away, strategically located so that he would have to walk past me to return to the store. I fiddled around in the car for a few moments and opened the door just as he walked past. Unfortunately, my timing was a little off and I accidentally belted him with the door of my car. Also unfortunately, it caused him to drop the milk crate – most likely due to the fact that the milk crate rammed him in the gonads.
I was mortified.
While helping him gather the films back into the crate and apologizing profusely, I apparently asked him out. I really don’t remember doing it, but I do remember him saying, “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
Our first date was about a week later. I will not get into the details of the date, but it was very nice. I will say this, “Sex on the Beach” makes a fine drink. In reality, however, the actual “sex on the beach” is not something I would recommend.
I am dead serious with this warning. Keep in mind that sand is an irritant. Also keep in mind that sand is the main ingredient in glass. With those two facts in mind, should you happen to find yourself faced with “sex on the beach”, I have one last rule. And this one is VERY important.
Should you happen to drop your condom while opening the package, even if it does not look like sand stuck to it, do not put it on! And, if you happen to discount my warning and proceed nevertheless, you will want to stay away from anything that makes you horny for at least a week or so afterwards. You will see what I mean.