Mr. Right Iz Here. In My Apartment. It’s Wonderful

In my most recent article, I discussed the fact that my boyfriend does not read what I post here. As I am a delicate, ladylike and discreet young woman, I did not publish his name – or, for that matter, any details that could have identified him to the reading public.

By Ccandysarao

I have good news for you. He read my article. We talked it over. And we’re ready to go public.

Here he is.

It’s been a whirlwind romance. When I first saw his Craigslist post, “Mr. Right Iz Here Waiting 4 U,” I knew I was in for something huge. Mr. Right! There! Waiting 4 me! I never dreamed it could be so easy. Yet, when I looked into his eyes – or, perhaps, more accurately, the portions of his eyes which could be viewed through the slits of his oh-so-cunning neon-green sunglasses – I could no longer restrain my passion. I simply had to respond.

Our dates, of course, are wonderful. We stroll through New York, patronizing the various vendors of airbrushed shirts. We go to ATMs and withdraw cash, making fans of $20 bills with which to rouse each other to erotic frenzy.

To be sure, he has a “history.” He may be a bit of a “player.” Yet I cannot hold this against him. He’s a young dude. He gets the girls. To put it quite simply: he do what he do. All men have their youthful escapades. But he’s not a simple man. He’s complicated, brooding, deeply sensitive. Here he is, caught in a moment of reflection:

So pensive! So thoughtful! He is thinking, no doubt, of his next record to be produced. Will he challenge the people, shake them up, revitalize the form itself? Or will he fail himself and his ambition yet again, delivering merely a dreary and moderately well-produced record which succeeds on the force of his sexual charisma alone? Art is such a cruel mistress – truly, as D.H. Lawrence wrote, a “bitch goddess” who feasts on those who best love her. L’ennui! L’ennui!

As for our more intimate moments, well – this is what sex looks like.

That’s right, ladies. Beneath that fan of $20s, my man is completely nude. I don’t mean to make you jealous, but – oh, who am I kidding? I do! I do! I’m in love, wonderful, all-consuming, soul-shattering love, with Mr. Right. Though you may have your pick of the world’s lesser men, you will never match the glory of our eternal passion.

You may have heard something about a certain voice-mail that my gentleman caller left on a tawdry little website. To be honest, I’m shocked by all the commotion about it. I may as well confess: I made him leave it. I can’t have these photos of my boyfriend posted all over, where any woman could see them and fall under his spell as I have done.

So, bitches: back off of him. Mr. Right iz all mines.