Unidentified Smelly Object

I don’t know why I continue to let Jennifer drag me along to these speed dating events that were usually held in hotels all across New York City.  Just because she is a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I am, too, and just because she’s single and has cobwebs doesn’t mean I have a problem with having mine. My generation is so sexually charged, like why is it not a thing for two people to just sit down and have a conversation about Earth and not somehow end up on the topic of sex? I mean, what is wrong with people?

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I say no when Jennifer asks me to accompany her to these things? Oh, that’s right, she’s my roommate and the only one who can make sure we get a quality meal because I can’t even properly boil a pot of water without running the risk of burning our apartment building down.  So, I’m pretty much a whore for food; you dangle food in my face and I’ll do whatever you want.  Why am I so pathetic?

Why is this guy so pathetic? I get that we only get ten minutes before we have to move on to the next date but there is absolutely no excuse for why the first thing that flew out of this dudes mouth was “you have some sexy toes, I bet” like, um, no, my feet are fuckin’ gross, I wear socks and boots all year round and they could pass for a nuclear weapon, thank you very much.  He spent the last 9 minutes trying to convince me to take my boots off so he could “be the judge of how horrible they really are” as if I needed the extra verification and about 50 dead bodies tagged onto my name. Tracy Brown, Mass Murderer, The First to Effortlessly Wipe Out a Room Full Of People With The Removal Of Her Footwear.  Yeah, no thanks. I told Toe Boy he would be forever alone and wished him good luck with life before the next guy took a seat at my table.

I swear to God, Jesus, Mary and all of them, I don’t know how I ended up upstairs in this hotel room completely naked feeling the urge to smoke a cigarette–or hell, a blunt would suffice–with the God of a man who came to my table after Toe Boy.  It’s almost like we catapulted out of the room and up to this room and the rest is history.  Who knew, ol’ girl Tracy was going to get her cobwebs cleared tonight? I certainly didn’t but I’m damn sure glad I did!

We went for a few rounds before my body finally fell into a state of drunk-like stupor.  When I peeled my eyes open the next morning the clock on the night stand read: 12:00…so it indeed was no longer morning but the room was suspiciously quiet.  I sat up and looked around, Mr. Sexy wasn’t next to me, nor were his clothes, I didn’t hear anything coming from the bathroom and he didn’t even leave a thank you note.  Ain’t that a bitch?

In search of my clothes I realized my boots and socks were missing and a dreaded feeling coated my stomach.  Not only was I going to have walk through the streets of New York barefooted but I realized I got got by Toe Boy! His game is on a whole ‘notha level; he makes you think he’s a weirdo so that when you saw the next guy–Jackson something or whatever his name was–you would think you hit the jackpot just for Jackson something to lay down the pipe so good and steal your shoes so Toe Boy could come and take advantage of your feet while you were asleep.

My feet didn’t particularly look like they’d been assaulted but then again I don’t know what an assaulted foot looks like.

Just then the door to the room opened and in came Mr. Sexy Jackson something and just like that I forgot how disgusted I was with him.

“Rise and Shine beautiful, I got you something” he said with that God forsaken sexy smile of his he handed me two bags, one full of socks of all variety and the other with two boxes…shoe boxes.  One box had a pair of boots that were the exact replica of the ones I was currently missing and in the other box were these memory-foam type flip flops.

I looked up at this man, mouth agape, eyes opened just a slit unsure of how to feel.  Happy, I didn’t have to buy new boots for the summer, Sad, because my old boots had been shoenapped, scared, because this stranger bought me boots and flipflops and socks, or turned on because I really wanted to jump his bones one more time.

“Where are my boots?”

“You mean them Area 51-U.S.O-Nuclear weapon boots? Oh, I threw them shits out. I called the desk to complain about a possible pack of dead rodents somewhere in the room and they had someone come up to check it out only to find out they were your boots, so I did you a favor and I also booked us for a little treat at the Spa down the block” he looked down at my feet, “you are going to get those feet corrected once and for all, you are a beautiful woman, there’s no reason for that”

Part of me wanted to blush at the mention of me being told that I am beautiful but the other part of me couldn’t fight curiosity, “What the hell is a U.S.O?”

“Unidentified Smelly Object”

I couldn’t contain myself, where I should have been embarrassed and ashamed of myself I actually felt comfortable.  Tears streamed down my cheeks and I was pleased when he joined in.

“So what’s your name again?” I asked after we both sobered up.

“Jaxon Sumthin…and no I’m not lying. Jaxon J-a-x-o-n Sumthin S-u-m-t-h-i-n”

That was it, I lost it.

Apparently my laugh turns him on because next thing I knew, he lifted me up and catapulted me onto the bed. Oh, My God, It was about to go down! I guess we were going to make a little detour before heading to the Spa.

Daily Prompt: Catapult

 

 

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