A Good Deed in a Naughty World
I’m not 100% sure I’m capable of romantic love. Not the “wuv, twoo wuv” type of high romance people talk about, eventually mellowing to a comfortable coexistence once you’ve each sanded down the other’s rough edges and pointy corners. I feel as though I am all pointy corners, which isn’t the easiest thing to get along with. The closest I’ve come to a traditional romance was with R, and lord knows that was unintentional. We met on a hookup site, and (brutal unvarnished truth in all its unromantic pragmatism) the main draw was his nearness. He lived less than a five minute walk from me, was quite happy to fit around my availability and was ostensibly looking for uncomplicated physical adventure. There were other attractions (his profile picture was a beautiful shoulder tattoo, a watercolour rendition of a liver bird, still one of the most attractive tattoos I’ve ever seen, and he never once used text speak – that alone was worth a blowjob to me), but I kept chatting to him