Ready for the booty call. Denied again.

These Victoria Secret sexy bras are cute but not that comfy to write it.

Tonight, writing instead of banging, 8:30 p.m.

The Poet from two weeks ago, arose from the ashes to text, “How’s it going?”

Epic.

We texted back and forth about foods and dinner for a moment then he said, “Home alone?”

“Yes. I live alone.”

Thinking smiley emoticon

“Ah. You are thinking something. I wonder”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you thinking you could come over?”

“If invited”

“You are invited”

“Oh.” smile emoticon

“Parking is a literal bitch. But I have faith in you.”

“Gee thanks.”

I send my address and say I will have to come let him in.

“I would hope”

“I don’t have a buzzer”

“Ohk”

20 minutes go by. In that 20 minutes I take a shower, put on cute undies and bra, clean up my place and light candles.

“Is this like an open invite lol,” he texts.

“What does that mean lol,” I respond.

“lol like I just tell you I’m coming over and you’re like okay”

I’m a bit confused at this but say, “Ah. Hmmm. I’m a fairly open person but I do have plans often. And am sometimes tired.”

He says, “Very good. I like scheduling.”

I say, “Is your ass headed over here lol” because I’m expecting him at any moment.

“Not tonight.”

Wait. What? Why did he ask if I was home alone?

“So did I misunderstand you? It seems you asked for an invite. And got one.”

“I thought you were giving me info for future use.”

Wait. What?

I say, “I thought you were headed over. I took a shower and cleaned up my place a bit and lit some goddamn candles.

Which it is nice in here now lol

So I can write.”

He: “Well damn”

Me: “Not sure how we got our wires crossed.”

He: “Shit.”

Me: “I even put the new Victoria’s Secret bra on lol. Lmao. I swear.”

He: “Stop it.”

Me: “I did!”

He: “Fuck”

I send a picture of the bedroom with the candles lit. “I’m not kidding. Crack me up.”

He: “Nice”

Well yes it is nice dumb butt. Ugh. I don’t even know how a writer has such bad communication skills.

Me: “Go back and reread the texts. And show me where it isn’t tonight.” rolling eyes emoticon

He: “I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

(Which reminds me the Brit promised some sort of make-up for my deep condom search.)

Me: Tapping fingers GIF

He: “Promise.”

Huh.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

One thought on “Ready for the booty call. Denied again.

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