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Ask any woman you know; she will agree when I say that a mediocre-looking guy can get it if he courts her with head held high and sweet talk to boot.
I’ve seen and met many of these men – men who should be on America’s Most Ugliest List yet stand with a gorgeous woman. She swoons at his every word. He speaks with a puffed out chest and a cocky smile. And you think: he must be a great fuck. It has to be what’s in his pants, right? Not necessarily.
Confidence has nothing to do with penis size. I’ve bedded men who weren’t huge, or even that great in regards to the motion in the ocean. But they had gravitas. Like men with anacondas in between their legs, they walk with a sway and a swagger as if their neither region impedes them from strutting any other way. And they knew they could get it. They knew I’d fall for their aura, energy, personality and company. Often times that is all it takes for a woman to succumb to lust.
So you can imagine how underwhelmed I was when Julio, the guy with the high-pitched bitch voice that I met online, walked in 15-minutes late to our first date. He didn’t see me waiting for him by the door. The Chelsea restaurant was crowded that Friday night, and he whisked right by me like a lost puppy, frightened and confused. I observed him as he sped walked through the crowd. Then checked his phone. Walked some more.
“Why hasn’t he text me?” I said to myself. “Maybe I should wave?” Nah. I decided to observe some more, as if he were a hamster on a wheel, going in circles and going no where. Suddenly, I saw him walk up to an Indian girl that looked nothing like me. Before he embarrassed himself any further, I called out his name. He backtracked, apologizing to the young woman, and made his way over to me.
“Sujeiry?” He questioned, his eyes surveying my face for recognition. I nodded. He half-smiled and gave me a quick hug before wiping his forehead with his forearm. Dude was sweating as if we were in the middle of a heat wave.
We made our way over to the bar as we waited for our reservation. He ordered a margarita for me. While he did so I had a chance to check him out. He was shorter than I hoped he’d be; men often lie about their height, especially online. Julio was cute though. Cute in a boyish way. He had little facial hair, a buzz cut and looked very young. Younger than me, actually. Plus, he was fidgety. As he walked over with our drinks, I was afraid he’d drop them.
And there was no spark.
Small talk continued while we sipped on drinks. It was easy, mostly because I took over the conversation. Minutes later, we made our way to our table and talked some more. Julio was a sweet guy. Instantly, I knew he was caring and timid. He also lacked confidence. A few times he spoke of his height, and how he felt insecure as a teen because of it. He tried really hard to convince me that he accepts himself and his shortcomings. But I knew he was still trying to convince himself.
By nights end, I felt for Julio. I didn’t feel chemistry or a need to kiss him or even flirt. But I would give him a second chance. He was kind albeit sweaty, but only because he ran down NYC streets because he was late. Maybe I could do without the swag. Maybe I didn’t need it after all to succumb to love.
