It’s funny to me that the types of guys most people would expect me to be into–tattooed, pierced or otherwise “alternative” (as much as I hate the term)–aren’t really my speed. I love them clean cut, presentable… simply put, give me a yuppie white boy any day and I’ll be pleased. While I wouldn’t say I have a particular age-group preference, I do admit having a severe weakness for babyface.
Once upon a time, I had a babyfaced boyfriend named Tim. Our relationship quickly fizzled into some weird sexually tense friendship, which has now faded in a half-hearted interest in each other’s exploits. I ran into Tim recently, out with his younger brother at a restaurant I frequent. Tim has always looked roughly 16 – he’s about 10 years older than that. He’s one of those guys I hear from on nights that will involve booze and (in his mind) a hopeful trip back to his place. I try not to revisit my roster too often, and since someone hadn’t been taking the hint lately I decided to see if I could agitate him enough not to call me.
Let me preface this by saying his now-slightly-older yet still delightfully younger brother is beginning looking like a well-oiled machine. I admit to blatantly trolling Tiny while talking to them at their table. I guess Tim took it personally that he busted me checking out his kid brother’s bulge, as I was informed we are “not on speaking terms”. Seriously, he was wearing a pair of jeans that allowed for a perfect outline of his goodies to be viewed by me without much effort. This is not my fault. (I was also really stoned at the time, which makes it harder to curb my naturally creepy tendencies.) It’s not like I actively pursued bringing home (NotSo)TinyTim, guys!
I’m betting at least another few months pass before I hear from Tim, though.