And it burns burns burns
It's the classic scenario. Just when you're least expecting it. Just when you've given up the hunt and packed away your giant butterfly net. Just then. Just then it happens.

I wasn't looking, but somehow he managed to catch my eye. Maybe it was the casual clothes draped ever so lazily over a very non-lazy athletic build. Those retro t-shirts with the Fonz on them get me every time. Or maybe it was his dorky sense of humor that betrayed a genius mind. Mayhaps it was the way he said "fuck" so carefully, giving it an air of purity laced with a dash of pure filth. Or hell, maybe I'm just a sucker for ocean blue eyes.

Whatever it was, it happened. To me. I, who had given up falling for Lent. Me, who had taken up Catholicism for the sole purpose of giving up falling for Lent. Somehow, I managed to slip and fall headfirst into a big puddle of lust. I guess it would have been too easy to just invite him back to my place for a game of Scrabble followed by a game of spot the teacup, but I didn't. I could say this rare specimen was so beautiful that he deserved more than to be caught in my net, straightpinned to styrofoam in my collection case. However, like I said, I wasn't looking, ergo, me had no plan. In cases with no plan, playing it by ear tends to work for me.

It took a lifetime in Internet terms for anything to really happen. I mean, it had to be at least a week. Over that period, glances were exchanged, and words that carried more than one meaning were sent across ever decreasing personal spaces. I believe that's what known as flirting: good old fashioned double entendres, hand on the knee, flip of the hair, etc.

Today he said down next to me.

"Hellooo," I said letting the ohhhhhs float over him like soap bubbles.

"Helloooo," he parrotted back in a tone that left me so weak in the knees that if the word was published in Tiger Beat Magazine as a pullout poster, I would have yanked it right out, Blu-Tac'd it to my wall, hollared to my mother I couldn't come down and say hi to Aunt Bertie because of cramps, flung myself on my bed, and gone to town almost making a woman out of myself.

When he sat down, it was the first time I got a whiff of his scent. Clean. That's it. It's my favorite, too. Eau de Guy Who Showers. It seems lame now, but the soapy scent that filled my nostrils was all I needed to really make my move.

"Hey," I said in a husky whisper. "I use Dove as well. $2.79 at Walgreens. Can't beat that."

What? Did you think I'd drag him off to bed?

That's next time.