Letters to Mediocrity (and Other Such Men)

To Charming Man

Dear Charming Man,
That's right. I named you after your all-time favorite Smiths song, because I liked you and you were good to me. Thoughts of our night together always leaves a smile on my face, especially when I remember our softly sang rendition of "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" in between passionate kisses.

"Does your mother know you're online flirting with men fifteen years your senior?"

That was the first message you sent me. Yes, we met on tinder—I know, what a godforsaken app. But this was a point in my life where I was walking on the wild side, and your forward intro caught my attention immediately.

I'll be honest; you weren't that handsome in pictures.

Your toothy grin seemed so happy it was almost comical. Tortoiseshell glasses and salt-and-pepper hair hinted at your age, but the crinkly smile lines around your shining eyes made it clear you were a sprightly and experienced 34.

You might not have been so photogenic, but your sensually typed messages made all the difference.

I liked your way with words, and you liked my way with photos (shout out to Snapchat filters for erasing teenage acne), so we agreed to meet as soon as possible.

After weeks of charged conversation, I finally mustered the courage to meet up with you. I was nervous, of course: you were the oldest man I'd ever been interested in, and lived in a part of Boston I'd never travelled to before. This little meet up had the potential to be dangerous, and I knew it, but I couldn't resist the temptation any longer.

You got me an Uber over to your place at around midnight. The driver took a long time to find me and drop me off—obsessed with classic rock, this dude must have taken a lot of drugs in the sixties.

"You know I've never met this guy, the one you're driving me to," I told him, grinning. He had just finished telling me a horror story about a college girl he'd dropped off a few weeks ago.

"Are you kidding me?" the older man said, looking alarmed.

"No, I'm not. I've literally never met him before," I laughed, basking in the joy of scaring my driver. Somehow it made meeting you all the more scandalous, and all the more attractive an idea.

"If you want, you know, I could give you my number so you can text me to make sure you're safe. I could pick you up no charge."

I met eyes with him and saw caring in his eyes. For a moment I felt guilty for telling him, but it passed.

"No, thank you. I should be fine," I smiled. "I've been talking to this guy for a few weeks."

By the time I reached your place, it was almost one in the morning. Writing this now, I still can't believe I had the gumption to meet up with you out of nowhere. But I did, and I'm glad I did so.

I texted you that I was finally here, after what seemed like the Uber that would never end took his time explaining thoroughly each song he played me from his phone.

You traipsed down the stairs and out onto the streetlit sidewalk, searching for me in the near dark.

I waved to you and grinned, and you held out your hand for me to shake and I instead pulled you in for a hug. I liked the way your body felt against mine, and the scratchy scruff that grazed my cheek during our quick embrace.

"Took you long enough," you laughed, leading me into your building. Your hand on my arm felt electric.

You led me to your bedroom, a huge almost loft-type room that was roughly equivalent to twice the size of my tiny shared dorm.

"Keep your voice down, I have roommates."

You shot me a wink and I was enamored.

Quirky décor covered the walls. You had an almost alarmingly comprehensive collection of glass jars, which you apparently liked to drink water out of.

In the light of your room, you were much more attractive than I had previously guessed you to be. You were slim, dressed casually in a tee and jeans that I was dying to rip off you. Your skin was olive and your hair looked especially sexy when you rifled your hands through it.

I commented on your dying plant next to the bed, and you told me I could have it.

"I don't want it. It's dead," I quipped. I was perched on the side of your bed nervously, unsure as to how to get you to kiss me and quickly growing impatient with the small talk. 

And then all of a sudden, we were kissing.

And boy, did you know how to kiss.

"What are we waiting for?" you asked me, your breathing quickening as you ran your hands up and down my sides. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Okay," I smiled into your neck, kissing every part of you within reach.

To sum it up, Charming Man, you gave me one of the best nights of my life. It felt amazing to be with you, and the fact that we fell asleep cuddled up together made it all the better.

I woke up, to my surprise, still nestled in your arms. On nights like these, I usually preferred to sleep as far away as possible from the other person in order to rest well. It felt comfortable with you, though. Like it hadn't felt with anyone before.

We kissed some more, and did a little more, and when I told you I needed to use the bathroom you let me borrow your boxers and t-shirt.

"You have nice toilet paper," I said, returning to sit on your lap.

"That's what it's all about. I knew I was an adult when I started buying myself the good stuff," you grinned, kissing my shoulder.

I noticed a shampoo bottle on a shelf in your room.

I nodded towards it. "That's the kind I use?"

"Want it?"

You flashed me that mischievous grin again.

"Are you serious?" I laughed, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, I totally am. I don't like the flavor. And besides, I've switched to using the anti-balding stuff," you laughed, running a hand along my side.

We kissed some more.

"Okay," I said, smiling.

You kissed me again.

"And take the boxer shorts, too, they look good on you."

I laughed, and after changing sure enough you stuffed them in my purse. We continued with our small talk, discussing everything from our parents to life working in restaurants. I called myself a Lyft as you rubbed your eyes sleepily.

When the car came to pick me up, I felt ecstatic. Never have I felt so refreshed after a one-night stand.

"I wanna see you again, okay?"

You winked, slapping me on the butt as I walked out of your apartment. I flashed you a grin as I descended down the steps into reality once more.

The point of this letter isn't to out you as a teenager-loving sex fiend, Charming Man, or even to ask you to meet me again. I just wanted to say thanks, and to let you know that the shampoo you gave me is being put to good use.

So thanks; I appreciate it.

The world needs more Smiths-loving lawyers like you.

A/N.
Hello readers! Thank you for taking the time to check out my story.

I love hearing criticism so please let me know how I could improve (more detail, less detail, lengthier, funnier, more dialogue, less). Also feel free to tell me what you liked!

Thanks for reading! Next update will be Monday. Sending love and well wishes to all y'all.