Into You Like a Train(wreck)

Dear *****,

I've known you since we first exchanged hellos at the April Preview in Middlebury. From that point on, we've been in the same freshman seminar, the same dormitory, the same circle of friends--same everything. Fast forward one year: not only are we in the same dorm building and floor, we're in the same suite. One year, six months. That's how long I've been aware of your existence. That is also a lengthy amount of time for me to desensitize myself to you. You know, of course, what I'm talking about.

A fair number of my friends like you, and you've hooked up with some of them. From what I've seen, you neither discriminate nor have a specific preference. Anyone goes (which is nice.) Now this is the part where I stop sounding so eloquent.

In all the months of knowing you, there have always been two crucial assumptions underlying our every interaction: 1. I'm not your type, which means there is 0% chance of us ever bumping uglies, and 2. You're not my type either. I have a mini-confession to make. Even though you're not my type, that doesn't mean I never sneak an admiring glance or two at you. Dude, you're freaking eye candy (and you know it.)

So while assuming from the get-go that the day we ever make sexytime is when hell freezes over, I have been perfectly content being friends with you. Whenever my friends make comments like, "DAMN HE'S HOT!" or "RAWR DELICIOUS!" I laugh and say (with no small amount of smugness), "He's my suitemate, you know." All without melting into a puddle. So of course in the midst of this semi-happiness, God decides to mock me--again. Meaning that you decide to ATTEMPT to make a move on me, for the first time ever aowfashfju.

I have to hand it to myself: I had desensitized my senses to you to the point of looking at your post-shower-droplet dripping bod with nothing but indifference. Yes, I'm that good. Then again, I managed to pull it off because I had thought I would never have a shot with you. Until this weekend, where you TOTALLY MESSED THAT UP. Despite the fact that we were thisclose to making whoopie on your bed (WITH YOUR ROOMMATE ASLEEP AND IN THE SAME ROOM NO LESS), I said no and stopped it before one of us lost all vestiges of self-control. I'm glad I said no; otherwise, I would just be another notch on your bedpost. Instead, I'm the one who got away.

That's not to say, however, that I have absolutely no regrets. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to tell you "No, I can't?" It was only when I touched you that I realized the full extent of what I had been missing out on. I was not desensitized in those moments. I've said it in real life, and I'll say it here: you are one hot motherfucker. There isn't one area on your body that isn't toned and smooth, and you smell wonderful. Like, fabric softener-faint soap whiff-cocoa butter fucking awesome. Sigh. I was crazy to go back to my room alone, but I did it.

In conclusion, I must redo the desensitizing process. It will take a while, but it will happen. At least nothing's awkward between us. See you later, suitemate.

Arousingly Yours in Dreams Only,
Esa