Getting To First Base

He wasn't feeling well but it was too late to cancel. At least in Greg's mind it was too late- and not the gentlemanly thing to do. He'd just explain why he couldn't shake her hand and would avoid any sort of intimate contact. Not to assume he'd be getting intimate, he wasn't that presumptuous. He's not a hop in the sack first date kinda guy. Who was he kidding, of course he was, given the right circumstance. Who wasn't, right? God, if any woman Greg met on a first date wanted to sleep with him right there and then he'd be so completely flummoxed he wouldn't know what to do. Greg liked the pseudo anonymity online dating provided. He could sculpt an ideal version of himself over days, weeks, months, while secretly trolling through hundreds of other profiles, stealing the best from other guys' identities. He doesn't do well with people. He lumbers and speaks slowly. His body is average at best assuming average means lacking grace and all spatial awareness. Inelegant, ungainly, end of the bench, last one picked kind of guy, that's average, right? Years of fantasy role playing, gaming and coding left him built for comfort, not speed let alone anything remotely related to physical prowess. Ginny was a gamer, too. They spent hours comparing histories and favourite wins. It figures tonight he would have a flare up coupled with the onset of a flu. Bloated, gassy, crampy- life with IBS was no picnic. That's one issue he had yet to share. Well, one of many. Go slow, Greg thought. Make it through the first date or maybe two and three then bring up the faults- the persistent hitch in his giddy up from a torn achilles in his childhood attempt at soccer, the chronic halitosis and acrid body odour that manifests with stress, the 30 degree bend of his penis. If he was lucky to make it that far. If she makes it through the door and doesn't turn and do a runner, Greg will feel like he's won the lottery. First things first- grab his latest graphic novel and head to the bathroom. This could be a long sit.

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