So I arrive in Derry the day after my date. I'm staying in a room with this gorgeous, perfectly proportioned boy going to Georgetown. I'm fairly certain he was interested in me. But I deflected his flirts. I think this is a sign of maturity. A few years ago I would have been totally into him. He wanted me to go to a pub with him and the others Saturday night but I declined. A few years ago, I would have gone with them and flirted as much as I could and then when he was drunk enough let him kiss me, a lot, for a long time. Then I'd have to stop him and tell him we aren't having sex. Which part is always not fun. That doesn't appeal to me anymore the way it used to. It really kind of sucks actually. But I did enjoy waking up in the morning to see him walking around the room without his shirt on with his golden skin and chest glowing in the morning sunlight. I don't think you grow out of enjoying that.
It's a darn good thing this boy had that stupid long hair. He reminded me of the surfer boys I went to high school with and that curbed my attraction to him. If he had short hair there might've been problems. He probably would've made me stupid.
I don't even regret not going for it with the guy, (he was all pouty the day after I spurned his pub invite.) This shows major growth for me I think.
Waiting to hear from Dublin about what he wants to do next week with his holidays!
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
