Episode 1: SpideyMan! SuperHero-Bootycaller

My Hero
We live on the second floor. Our front windows face the street with a ledge below that runs across the whole building. One night my kitten went out the window and disappeared. I freaked and went outside to find her. After calling her name, I finally heard her meow back. She poked her head over the ledge, saw me and cried then shrank back from sight. I didn’t know what to do. She was too scared to move. I stood on the sidewalk talking to her, trying to get her to go back inside.

Suddenly this guy came out of the building. He walked over and started chatting me up: tells me I’m cute, asks my name, etc. until I told him I was busy trying to get my cat. He asked where she was, I pointed to the ledge. He says, “You want me to go get it?” “What? Are you crazy? You’ll fall and break your neck, NO! Don’t do it.” “I’m going to get her.” He went and climbed the big dumpster in front of the church next door. Then he pulled himself from the dumpster onto the roof (1-story flat). A chain link fence with curled barbwire across the top blocks the alley between the buildings. Somehow that boy walked on top of the barbwire and reached up to the ledge. But he couldn’t pull himself up from there, so he had to climb up the bricks of the wall. He actually did it!—slowly. The boy was like Spiderman! He climbed up the corner of the building as I panicked and wondered what to do if he fell. When he got onto the ledge, he picked up kitty and took her to our window.

He came back and said, “I got your cat, now you have to go to dinner with me.” Saving my cat and pulling that spiderman move-- the boy deserved a date. "You're right." So then I actually looked at him. D**n! He was FINE! Big green eyes, pretty masculine face, perfectly proportioned, mocha-colored skin, and an adorable smile with dimples. He was actor fine. “Can I come up to see your cat? I love cats. And I need to get your phone number.” Mmmm-huh. “Yes.” Once inside we talked in my bedroom for awhile. Quite the charming guy, he told me about his acting/modeling career. Said he made 60K in a beer commercial that year…blah blah. Sure he did, that’s why he lives with 3 other guys in this building. He laid it on thicker than day-old grits! And it was late on a spring Saturday night, so when he offered to give me a foot massage, how could I say ‘no’? I gave him some lotion and he slowly worked each foot with both hands. He smiled and complimented me and gave me the looks with his sultry eyes. MMmmm, yea. I enjoyed that.

When he finished he wanted to massage my back. I didn’t say ‘no’. Kitty?-- What kitty? He began slowly kneading the small of my back. He spread his hands out towards my waist and lightly squeezed. Then his hand slipped under my shirt and he worked his way up my back. Mmmmm. We were sitting on my bed. He asked for more lotion. *Reality slap: Maybe this is a bad idea.* Alas, I pulled his hands away and told him to stop. He kept asking me to let him, blinking his big eyes with the lashes. Eventually he stopped amd I gave him my phone number. He said he’d call and take me out to dinner somewhere nice.

“Will you walk me back to my place?” “Sure,” Ok, sometimes I’m still that dumb. He gave me the tour. His small room had a bed that took up 8/10ths of the space. “My bed is brand new, come feel how soft it is.” So I sat down then quickly got up. “Nice bed,” um, "I have to go now, getting up early tomorrow." After some objections, he walked me to the elevator and gave me a kiss on the cheek with a hug. Then he said, “I don’t want this night to end.” *Gag!* But I went home smiling. He tried to get some of my stuff, and I still wanted to go out with him, at least once.

No one had taken me out in this city. I never went to nice restaurants or had any reason to dress up. The thought of a date pleased me. I imagined myself wearing a small black dress with sexy shoes, sitting in a restaurant that has real tablecloths and candles, looking across the table at a beautiful man. Imagined flirting and talking and being treated as if I'm special, being touched, noticed, seduced. It had been almost a year since my last date.

The Booty-caller
Surprise! He didn’t call. We saw each other in the hall the next weekend around 2 am. He said, “Apt. 2D, right? I want to come see you.” He confused me, I shouted, “What? Sure.” Then went home to sleep. Saw him again during the week on my way to the store. He told me he came over that night and knocked on the door but no one answered. Whatever. Liar or not, he still hadn’t called me. The following weekend, same thing. Saw him and he said again that he wanted to come over. His classy character became more and more apparent. “No. It’s too late.” I had chucked this prospect into the dumpster he liked to climb.

But then... A few weeks later, about 3 am, the intercom phone rang [People use it to get buzzed in the front door.] I picked it up, “Hey! I lost your phone number but I remembered your apartment. That’s why I’m calling from the door. What are you doing?” “I am sleeping.” “Can I come up? I want to see you.” This infuriated me. Who did he think he was giving me a booty-call from the front door? I yelled, “No! It’s 3 a.m. what’s wrong with you?!” Then hung up. How could he think I was that easy? I had never been so insulted. Like I would just sleep with him because he climbed the side of a building for my cat and massaged my feet. He thought he could get in my pants without so much as taking me to dinner. And he lost my phone number? I’m surprised he remembered my name. Even if I were having sex, no way would I be that cheap. Just because he has a perfectly sculpted body and the eyes and dimples, he thinks he can get me into bed by calling me from the door intercom? Oh, no.

That was the last of SpideyMan. Strangely, he disappeared. Maybe he moved out. Or, maybe he got called back for more training at the 007 Hero Womanizer Academy. I did see Sean Connery coming out of the Plaza Hotel not too long after. Bond may have put an end to the boy for so shamefully failing them. Too bad.

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city. Leave a message and I'll call you back, CelibateCity@juno.com

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