Page 5 of Third Time Lucky

It really is. Between the goodie basket and my bag, I’m managing to conceal it, but it isn’t easy. If Mr. Gordon saw the tent I’m pitching, he might get the wrong idea. Not that I know what the right one is.

This isn’t normal for me, in case you were wondering. I’ve never been into, or suffered from, the dreaded PDEs—Public Displays of Erections. Even as a teenager, I did my best to reel it in.

In fact, let’s take that honesty train all the way to Specific Station. Until now, I haven’t experienced the one-look-boom-I’m-erect kind of chemistry everyone demands these days, because millennials and avocado toast.

Forgive the unintentional Dad jokes. As you know, I hang out with a lot of parents for a living.

I’m a slightly overworked but successful twenty-eight-year-old male in my prime. I’ve participated in all the usual rites of passage, from backseat blowjobs at homecoming to hotel room hook-ups at Comic-Con. But I usually need dinner and one drink’s worth of personality foreplay before I decide whether my body gets to put out the welcome mat.

Idecide. Because my dick is not the boss of me.

Don’t get our relationship wrong. As soon as my hand could reach it, Dick and I started an affair and our love is eternal. But when it comes to other people, the bigger brain usually captains the ship. Which is why this sudden mutiny has shaken me. I didn’t think I was wired for instant lust.

That honesty train went too far and now it’s just sad, because a stranger who is about as sexually aware of me as the wall I’d mistaken him for is officially the first to flip my switch. That would be disconcerting enough without this simultaneous desire to comfort him.

He’s a stranger and his problems are none of my business. Not my circus, not my delicious but troubled lobby lurker. I have too many balls in the air as it is.

Balls.

See what I did there? Not even trying.

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