I felt like I was attacked by locusts: m4w, Burning Man
You: beautiful person in the tail end of a snuffleupagus outfit on the playa. Me: Stilted clown hobo next to camp earth mad max 2046. We met in a sandstorm, and you poked your head out of the costume. It looked like the miracle of birth. I think you had rainbow hair, but couldn't tell in the alkaline flats. Maybe it is the mescaline talking, but it would be nice to meet again. We never talked, but I think you saw me and the earth shook. Then I threw up in front of you next to the naked bicyclist orgy. Coffee?
You licked my fingers: w4m, 20, NYC
I spotted you on a crowded G train. You had friendly eyes and a blue bandanna around your neck. When a seat cleared, I sat next to you. I tried to avoid looking at you, knowing I would blush and smile too much. I grasped my book firmly, determined to stay cool, when you reached out and began licking my fingers. It was disgusting and adorable. I began making kissy noises and fawning over you; scratching your ears, patting your head. You got off before I could ask for your name. Me: excitable redhead in a gray coat. Typically a cat person, but will make an exception. You: small and compact, with black and white fur and ears that stuck out.
Cute anarchist protestor arrested at Occupy Wall Street: m4w, 29, 90th precinct house
I first spotted you at Liberty Square right before the march started. You have dark hair and were wearing all black with leggings and a red handkerchief around your neck. I thought you crushingly attractive but things got moving and I lost track of you before I was able to work up the nerve to say hello. I saw you again a couple hours later when we got arrested on the Brooklyn Bridge, and then we ended up in neighboring cells at the 90th precinct house in Williamsburg. You made fun of my shoes' tongues falling out because they'd confiscated our shoelaces. Unfortunately you were released in the first group and I in the last, so I couldn't find you by the time I got out. Curses! I'll be looking for you hard the next time I'm down there, and I won't let the opportunity pass by me a 2nd time! But in case I don't see you, know that I'd love to buy you a coffee or tea or what-have-you (it's cold in that park!) and hear what draws you to the demonstration.
Update: You are photographed very prominently on The Guardian.
You slept naked in my bed. Unfortunately, you were in the wrong apt: m4w, NYC
Hey Emily. We met last Friday morning. Well, maybe "met" isn't the right word. I believe the first thing you said to me was, "Who the FUCK are you?" That's a funny thing to say to a guy after wandering into his apartment, passing out in his bed, and accosting him while wearing nothing but a bed sheet (your own, might I add). Before I get too far, know that I'm not mad. Actually, I think you were pretty funny. And apparently, cute. I was, however, hungover as all hell, lying horizontally on the living room couch. Why on the couch? Well, that's where I chose to sleep after crawling into what I mistakenly thought was my empty bed at 4am. Laying down in my bed meant risking waking you up. Which would have ended in one of two ways: 1) the worst horror movie ever or 2) possibly the greatest porno ever. I didn't like my odds. Couch it was. Truth is, I already have a situation. A good situation, even though "my situation" lives in another state. It's so good, in fact, "my situation" laughed her ass off this morning when I told her that one story about a random naked girl waking up in my bed. I believe you happened to mentioned your own situation. Only your situation, based solely on last night (and the tacky pattern on his [I assume] bed sheets]) doesn't sound like a great situation. That said, it won't work with us. Sorry (it's not you, it's me and my over-use of parentheses). But I have a roommate, and I think he'd be a better "situation" for you. He has nice sheets and locks his door from the inside (looking out for your safety). He also had a better look at you this morning, and seemed to like what he saw despite you tip-toeing down the hall while simultaneously skyrocketing to the top of the "walk of shame" power rankings. Let me know. I can arrange something, or you could just stop by. I guess you already know where to find him.
Love at 10,000 ft: m4w, 30, NYC
You: Irritated British stewardess on Delta flight from JFK to CVG. Me: Highly medicated passenger, waiting to urinate. It was a steep vertical climb, the landing gear had just retracted and the four vodkas I had were pressing against my bladder and the four Xanax I had were inhibiting my ability to hold it. I opened the lavatory door and you were sitting there, with your beige hose and support panties around your ankles. You yelled, "I'm in here." I said, "You should have locked the door." Upon exiting the bathroom you informed me, "You can't be up right now." I replied, "There's no alternative." You said, "Make it quick." I did. Perhaps I was too inebriated to pick up on your signals but maybe there was a missed connection? Anyway, if I weren't in my altered state, I'm sure things would have gone differently. By the way, nobody likes being exposed with their pants down to the first three rows of passengers, but was it necessary to have me escorted off the plane by police. I wasn't that drunk.
Pregnant lady in wife-beater, waiting at the bank: m4w, Dallas
I was sitting in the lobby of my bank when I saw you... Our eyes met for a moment, and then you said, "Get your punk ass out that seat. I'm pregnant, mother fucker." Your voice was like the finest melody. I gave you my seat, gladly, and in that moment I gave you my heart. I never thought a wife-beater could look good on a pregnant woman, especially with a black bra. But baby, you made it work. The emerald green thong strap hanging over the waist of your tight beige, stretch pants completed the ensemble perfectly. You immediately pulled out your cell phone and started talking to someone, so I couldn't introduce myself. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you mentioned going to see "your baby daddy," and how "dat motha fucka needs to take care of the kids you gots." I saw no wedding ring, so I assume the romance didn't work out. Is that right, because I want you - oh, how I burn for you, but I won't be a home wrecker. You looked close to going into labor, and I think I heard you say, "I don't know when this little mother fucker is gonna drop out, but it better be soon." Perhaps once the blessed event has occurred, we could meet for a cup of chai tea. Let me know. And if I never hear from you, I wish you well. Please know that I will always carry the memory of you in my heart.
Darth Maul. Marry me: m4w, 28, NYC
You got on at 42nd street dressed as Darth Maul. Being a huge dork, I thought your costume was super cute (despite the fact that, like most Star Wars fans, I'm not the biggest fan of the Episode 1), but more surprisingly, I thought that even beneath all that makeup you were so adorable. You caught me staring and smiled at me and then waved after I got off at 66th Street. I doubt you'll see this, but I'll forever remember this as the Halloween that a Sith stole my heart. Siiiiiigh 3
Midnight girl in pj bottoms and slippers at Walgreens: m4w, 24, NYC
You were playing with the singing kung fu hamsters at the register while waiting to buy your items. I was watching you from over by the Cheetos. I made some rustling noises with the bags to get your attention and we had a brief moment of eye contact before the woman started ringing you up. I made some more rustling noises with the chips but you didn't look over. I started really going at it with a couple of Doritos bags hoping maybe you'd come investigate but you still didn't look and walked out. I was going to follow you but I was unlawfully detained by a Walgreens employee before I could get out. Maybe we could meet at the High Tide some time.
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