His standout feature was a voice made for radio, deep and pleasant.Īfter our museum trip, we had dinner, then drinks, then we headed up to my hotel room. Rather, he was refreshingly normal: average build, a little on the short side, graying hair. Paul lacked all the bragging and preening of the other men who sent me messages. We wandered through the exhibits with Paul acting as both date and guide, entertaining me with the stories behind the mythological characters in the works on display. In lieu of a cellphone exchange, the first nudes of our relationship were Roman statues at an art gallery. After a little correspondence, Paul won Mr. “I’m Paul,” he ended his message, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you, I hope.” This new contender was a high school Latin teacher and the first guy to genuinely have manners without rambling on about how wonderful he was with three paragraphs’ worth of academic and career credentials. After a little “I can’t even begin to say how gorgeous you are” and “Your beauty pales compared to your intellect” were some shockers like, ”What’s your favorite genre?” and “Who’s your favorite author?” A guy wrote me an email filled with questions. My thirst for revenge on my ex (and thirst in general) led me to reserve a hotel room and agree to meet with him a couple of weeks later.īut right after I arranged my rendezvous, a surprising message landed in my inbox. Engineer’s profile picture displayed some impressive muscles. I wasn’t nearly as impressed as they all hoped I would be. Of them all, my favorite self-promotion was, ”If critical thinking is your aphrodisiac, then I must be chocolate, oysters, and green M&Ms all rolled into one.” Brains enough to go with my well-formed other parts.” One example was the guy who bragged, ”Aerospace Engineer here. Without fail, their lead foot was a profession they were sure would fill me with uncontrollable sapiosexual desire. What their messages lacked in overt vulgarity, they made up for with arrogance. This earned me some more refined suitors whose opening lines only hinted at the intent of the site instead of outright telling me all the gruesome and misspelled things they were going to do to me. To prove I was totally over the semiliterate penis parade, I made the first line of my introduction: “Who’s got brains to go with their balls?” I talked about enjoying music and the theatre, being a voracious reader of modern literature, and my desire to find someone intelligent and engaging. More than once, I asked myself what in the hell I was doing, but I didn’t delete my profile.Įventually, after being disappointed and disturbed by the quality of gentleman callers, I decided to edit my profile and lay it out like I was on any regular dating site. Instantly, I had messages pouring in ― most of them so ridiculous they didn’t even deserve a reply. In no time, I was awash in a sea of lewd photos - limp dicks, hard dicks, spread-eagled men inexplicably displaying their assholes. And even knowing his heart might never mend, Johnny can?t seem to stay away from Izzy.Until out of nowhere, his lost love comes back to town. Knowing the stakes, Izzy will take what she can get from the gentleman that?s Johnny Gamble. Whoever was up next would be runner up, second best. Someone who left him and did it leaving him broken. But Johnny makes it clear he wants more and Izzy already knows she wants as much of hot-in-bed, sweet-out-of-it Johnny Gamble.Floating on air thinking this is going somewhere, Izzy quickly learns why Johnny holds distant.He?s in love with someone else. She?s definitely not prepared to engage in her very first hookup with him.Then Izzy wakes up the next morning in Johnny Gamble?s bed and good girl Izzy finds she likes being bad for Johnny.Even so, Izzy feels Johnny holding her at arm?s length. When the new girl in town, Eliza ?Izzy? Forrester decides to hit the local drinking hole, she?s not ready to meet the town?s good, solid guy.
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Read Online and Download The Hookup (Moonlight and Motor Oil #1).