Our Hook Up Would Have Been Perfect Had It Not Been For His ‘Cock’

I’ve always loved an average man. I’m not sure what it is about them. I’m attracted to the C student. Sometimes C+ if I’m feeling lucky.

These men have a willingness to please. They don’t just assume the world belongs to them. They’re thankful. Not cocky.

Ugh, cock. There it is again. Forgive me, I’m jumping ahead.

* * *

Mr. Medium and I met a few months ago at a black tie event. And yes, if you’re thinking black tie event and Kitty don’t exactly go hand-in-hand, you’d be right. Give me a dive bar with a slight stench of urine any day. The rowdier the crowd, the happier I am. Something that requires formal wear and fighting over that tiny piece of shrimp on the tray the underpaid waitress just brought by? I’ll pass.

But there was an open bar. I didn’t need more convincing after my girlfriend told me that.

My friend, Trish, is a lawyer at one of the top firms in our area. Like, obnoxiously pretentious clients. Though she’s never told me this, I have this theory that she represents high-profile politicians when they go through messy divorces. I imagine Anthony Weiner will be next. Though I really hope she’d take Huma Abedin instead.

Trish ends up going to these kind of events for work frequently. Galas. Charities. A bunch of lawyers sucking each other’s asses, I’m not entirely sure the exact details. Trish, a single gal like me, attends these things with either the flavor of the week or her trusty plus one, me.

I was up this time.

Mr. Medium was at the open bar, the place you can rest assured I spent a large portion of my night. I still didn’t quite catch why he was there. Friend of a friend of a friend? Didn’t matter. He was attractive and slinging down vodka with me. He could have been Anthony Weiner for all I cared. (Jk, Anthony, you’re disgusting. Even for my standards.)

We talked about Otis Redding (best artist of all time), my weird fear of Dalmatians (I love all other dogs, I swear!), and his annoyingly cute butt-chin. Imagine Aaron Eckhart, but…average. Yeah, an average Aaron Eckhart. That was Mr. Medium.

He was charming, but in a subdued way. Like he could have been a substitute teacher in a past life. A little unsure of himself. A little wobbly on his feet. He offered to buy me a drink – a cute, but fairly lame joke when we’d spent a while talking about how great the FREE DRINKS at the OPEN BAR were. But, I took the bait.

Drinks turned into more drinks. Turned into more. Turned into numbers being exchanged. Turned into Trish pulling me away because I was supposed to be shielding her from the senior partner who seemed intent on asking Trish to dance. Mr. Medium and I said our goodbyes. But I knew he would text. And the next day, I was right. One unread message.

“Hey, we met last night. Would love to buy you an actual drink tonight. You in?”

Alcohol and men are my two great loves. I replied yes immediately.

* * *

Mr. Medium and I met up at my favorite bar, a much preferred setting than the stuffy conference room we’d been in the night before. The bartender knew me by name and a dusty pool table sat towards the back. Every night felt like college here. And when you’ve got a raging case of Peter Pan syndrome like I do, that’s enjoyed.

Again, he was charming. There was a shyness to him I found appealing. Average. Yeah, totally average. You couldn’t pick Mr. Medium out of a line up. He was a dime a dozen, and damn, that made me want him even more.

We finished a few rounds and I invited him back to my studio apartment. Frankly, had Trisha not grabbed me the other night, we’d have ended up here much sooner. What can I say? If I like someone, I don’t waste time.

We quickly began kissing and undressing. Mr. Medium had a gentle way of making out. I hoped he’d crank it up when things started progressing. That’s not to say it wasn’t nice, but it was rather timid. I couldn’t tell if he was intimidated or his kissing style was just a tad lackluster.

No problem. I know how to make up for it. When average men are your turn on, you learn how to be a bit extraordinary.

We continued and I was pleasantly surprised to see Mr. Medium was actually a bit bigger than…well, medium.

He started being vocal, something I always encourage. Sex should be about all the senses: touch, sight, taste, sound, smell. I worked my way down to his dick and that’s when my lady boner died.

“Yeah baby, can you suck my cock?”

A sudden flurry of images came rushing: chickens clucking outside a red barn with white lining, the old, British man who regulars the same bar as I do scratching his balls with gusto, a 14-year-old boy shouting, “COCK!” out the back window of a school bus.

Cock is a horrible word. I’ve never heard it used smoothly or sensually. It throws me each and every time. Like a food aversion, I’ve never been able to get over it. I can’t go on eating my meal, no matter how appetizing it may be.

That was the last I saw of Mr. Medium. I hope he meets a woman who can appreciate his cock, and use of said word.

But she’s not me. Dick or gtfo, please.