Loving on Ice

Description 2

Who knew a woman could be so successful in writing a masterpiece like Description 1? Not me, I know for sure. I don't know what that thing in a man's pants is, but at least I know something, right? Oh, no. I've asked too many questions, more questions than a lady should be able to ask. Well, here I go being a man so I can ask as many questions to my heart's content. Do women have hearts? Oh, right, men are the only creatures without one.

"Can I ask you a question, George?"

"Of course you can. You're not a girl, bro. Ask away," he prodded me, hi-fiving me as he did.

We were sitting on the football field, right in the middle of it as the game went on without us. We were on standby, but were also privileged enough to sit right in the middle of the game and talk without anyone complaining.

"Why are women so complicated, man?" I asked him, genuinely curious.

"Ah, what has you thinking that, mate?" he asked, answering my question with a question, as only men are allowed to do, as they have some sort of passport for questioning in their pants.

"Barbara wore a little less than a sweater and didn't want to have sex with me," I sighed, still puzzled by the situation and how the world worked. My pasty hand raked through my sandy hair in frustration.

He started laughing really loudly, as loud as men are allowed to be, which is very loud. "Oh, man. Don't worry about it, bro. She probably still wanted to have sex with you, but was too shy to admit it. Women are like that, you know? They like playing hard to get, try to get you going crazy for them so that you will go down on one knee for them. I mean..." he paused, as if in thought. "She wasn't wearing long pants, was she?" He shivered, like the thought of a fully clothed woman scaring him. I understood perfectly, because when a woman wore any more than a bikini, she was a complete prude.

"No, she was wearing shorts," I told him, and he sighed in relief. He patted me on the back. "Go have sex with her, and let her get what she wants. You'll feel good down there in your pants if you do, and you're also doing her a favour by having sex with her. Go, buddy."

I looked at him with my wide, blue eyes. His smirk was summoning something, and that something was rising somewhere... down there... but it couldn't be. No, it can't be, because I was just as privileged as the next white, heterosexual man, and I had never even contemplated... no.

I shook his hand, then squeezed his square ass with my other one, this time slightly less heterosexually. "Thanks, bro. No homo."

As I ran away from him, not giving a damn about being on standby of the football game, and not giving a darn about how I somehow squeezed his ass while we were both sitting down. The only thought that circled my mind as I ran away was: 'yes homo.'