A Letter To My Summer Hookup

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Nice Move

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Ever since we first crossed paths on that fateful “Two Dollar Tuesday,” I knew immediately there was something special in the air. I couldn’t quite put a finger on what exactly it was, but with your ass fitting into those denim shorts like two exercise balls squeezing into a pillow case, it was rather apparent that you were a regal, elegant woman of elite class. That’s why I splurged on some high quality, mid-shelf Pinnacle for your vodka crans. Wells just wouldn’t cut it for a girl of your caliber.

That first physical embrace was something written directly out of a fairy tale. Our hips gyrating in unison to the beat of Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen.” With sweat glistening from the rim of my backwards ball cap and whiskey residue still fresh on my lips, I confidently made my move, shoving my tongue down your throat which you so kindly welcomed and reciprocated with a firm grip on Dirty Dan and the boys down south.

Now sure, the rest of that night fades in and out, much like every time I have the pleasure of sharing your company. And again, I apologize for that brief confusion on specific entry paths, but my performance must have been somewhat impressionable because here we are doing the same song and dance on a seemingly every other day basis a month later.

Not that I’m complaining. You’ve bought into the system and your team player mentality has not gone unnoticed. The acceptance of the unspoken limited contact pact strictly set between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m., on your end, is much appreciated. Then, to reduce that already finite conversation to not much more than an eggplant and peach emoji text, that’s…that’s fucking commendable. You’re just showing off at that point.

The sex, itself, is dynamic. Since I won’t ever meet your pops and get an opportunity to shake his hand, please thank him on my behalf for financially supporting all of those equestrian lessons you took growing up. They may not have panned out in his mind, footing the bill for college tuition with even the slightest amount of scholarship money, but there’s no denying you have a talent up on the saddle.

In addition, the theatrics you bring on a nightly basis are Oscar worthy. I know damn well I’m not laying the wood nearly half as good as you lead on. Yet, with only a paper thin wall between us and brothers drunkenly playing FIFA and slamming down post bar Pita Pit in the common room, you shamelessly give your best Meg Ryan impression for all of the house to hear. For that, you will always hold a special place in my heart.

With all of that said, I know the window on our relationship closes more with each passing day. There are just too many obstacles out on the horizon for this smooth sailing vessel to overcome. Your boyfriend, for one, will be back from his semester abroad, and no matter how influenced he is by a sexually liberal European Union, I don’t think he’ll be overly enthralled with the idea of sharing his woman with another man. That, and our fascination with one another, will slowly begin to fade. It’s best to go out on a high note, before resentment kicks in.

Oh yeah, and my girl. She’ll also be back in the picture after her mission trip helping with devastation relief in Tibet. Nearly forgot about that altogether. But I digress.

So let’s enjoy this ride, which still has plenty of calm, open ocean left (about two months) before the water gets muddied and choppy, while we can. And when that day comes, and the currents take us our separate ways, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.

– Danny Regs

P.S. Dirty Dan and the boys down south wanted me to relay the message to keep doing whatever it is you’re doing with your tongue. Mind-blowing stuff.


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