Day 28: A Certain Sweet Guy in Boston is BTS

“Ok, good coffee. BTS? The headboard-slamming, toe-curling kind?”

“Tough one.” A.T. said, working his way through his third cup of Caffe Americano. Beverage-wise, the non-date was going better than the first one, where the repartee was at least distracting enough to survive rounds of atrocious Riesling before we got lucky with a Moscato d’Asti. “So finding a good cup of coffee,” he had pointed out, “That’s a hard one, too. I mean, aside from the usual suspects like Starbucks. I’ve been to some fancy restaurants that make terrible coffee but, you’d be surprised, McDonald knows a thing or two about it.” The way he’s sipping his coffee now at Joe The Art of Coffee at Waverly Place, the place didn’t bad either. Far from it. “Good job,” I thought to myself.

He finally made up his mind: “It’s all relative. I’m a coffee person so good coffee is way better than sex first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t able to function right without it. This late in the day, though, I’d say good coffee is better than, say, bad sex. The rote, mechanical stuff. But it’s a bit tricky, you see, this whole BTS business. It’d probably help if you have a BTS matrix where you qualify your different picks according to how much BTS they are, if they’re actually that. And the kind of sex, that matters, too.” He fixed his hand on a point in the air between us. “So here’s sex”.

It’s kind of a turn-on, this little brainstorming we’re doing. It was my first day without sex; later that night I would post my first blog entry about the Pork Ramen. I had told A.T. about my 100 days when we met two weeks earlier but, instead of running in the opposite direction, he was here with me, hours away from Boston where he lived, charting my Better Than Sex choices in the air with me. He went on with the point-fixing, “Good coffee (slightly lower than sex). Maine lobsters (three or four inches higher than sex). Seeing the Niagara Falls (his hand goes way up).”

“Okay, can I just remind you that I’m trying to find BTS things here in New York,” I cut in jokingly, before he could go through all the states in New England.

He pretended not to hear me. “And you know what’s totally BTS?” His eyes lit up, the mischief just peeking out. “Spending the Fourth of July by the Charles River in Boston!”

“But of course!” I snorted with my good-natured brand of sarcasm. I told him I’d be up for it though I wasn’t sure either of us was going to follow through. A few days later, I had forgotten about it.

Two weeks later, I got a text message from him about my trip and we thought perhaps I could stay four or five days there, maybe arrive on Wednesday night. I told him I didn’t care much for bars, but I’d like to check out the MFA and other museums. When I asked about hotels I could stay at while in Boston, he offered me the guest room at his place. (A.T. is 27, 6’2”, 175 lbs., swarthy and handsome; I made a mental note to pack my heavy-duty chastity belt.)

The next day he emailed a suggested itinerary:

 Wednesday 2 July: Vince arrive, quiet dinner at home…

Thursday 3 July: MFA during the day, and a little taste of Boston afterwards.  Touristy things, walking, lunch/dinner. . . whatever.  We just have to be home at a reasonable time 🙂

Friday 4 July: A day on the Charles. Basically, we will spend the entire day camping on the grass right up against the Charles River.  I like to arrive there no later than 830am.  This will allow us to find a reasonable parking spot and a front-row view for the fireworks at 10pm.  I know it seems like a very long day, but it moves along pretty nicely.  I generally take a nap in late morning anyway!

My favorite thing to do throughout the day is to observe.  I see all kinds of people, in all shapes and sizes.  VERY entertaining.  The BSO also throws a free concert and there are activities and music playing all day long, not to mention the fly-over by the blue angels.

Saturday 5 July: Plymouth Rock and Cape Cod.  From there, continue on to Provincetown if I can get reservation to stay a night there.  If not, Ptown will have to be a day trip on Sunday or an extension of Saturday (weather and time depending).

Sunday 6 July: Ptown and Race Point beach.  I LOVED RACE POINT.  You must see it.

Quite the planner, this guy. For days afterward, I would get a succession of text messages from A.T., either updating me about Ptown plans or what fruits I’d like him to get for our day trips. I felt bad because it would sometimes take me hours to get back to him. (During the time interval, I would have hummed “I Feel Pretty” from “West Side Story” at least a dozen times.”) But I appreciated all that he was doing, and told him as much. It won me over in the past, many times in fact, this sort of behavior from a guy. Won me over way sooner than was good for me just because I read too much into it. So I penciled in mental note #3 right below “Bring cute underwear to make butt perky, give host a boner”: Don’t let it go to my head – or heart – too quickly. There’s something to be said about delayed gratification, be it of the crotch or the cardiac area.

Fast-forward to today. It’s 3 A.M. and I’m in A.T.’s guest room. I suppose I should be exhausted after a grueling day but I’m not. Let me run it by you: frazzled morning at work, ran off to Chinatown to grab a quick lunch and catch the 1:30 PM Fung Wah bus to Boston, 4 ½ hours in transit, got picked up at the station at 6:30 PM by A.T. who, to make matters worse, had to look hotter and more handsome than when I last saw him. When we got to his place, I couldn’t help noticing that it was spotless. I even felt a little guilty about dragging my shoes on the floor. (I would find out the next day that his friend who stopped by feigned shock at finding the place so clean. A.T. then told me he spent the past two days making sure it looked immaculate, not that it was ever a mess.) It doesn’t hurt that he’s a superb cook, either, whipping up delectable stuffed mushrooms and steamed mussels to prove his point about seafood in New England. And like I’d requested, he served plump, juicy strawberries for dessert and poured both of us two rounds of what he fondly refers to as “grape juice”. 

At that moment, I looked up at the night sky (or what I imagine would be the night sky beyond the ceiling) and intoned in unbearable agony: Why does the universe have to throw me this bone(r) of a wonderful guy right when I’m not supposed to nibble on it?

This is what I think the Universe answered back (although I might’ve misheard the voices): Perhaps this guy is worth the wait, you never know. Give it some time; he just might turn out to be a keeper. And, FYI, I never made the decision about you NOT nibbling on it. YOU did! Chest hair, check. Sweetheart, check. Said you had a cute ass, check. And you’ve forgotten to mention so far that you’ve made out with him — from the neck up — rather vigorously sometime between the strawberries and the Simpsons episode.

So fasten your chastity belt, darling. It’s going to be a bumpy night. 


2 Responses to “Day 28: A Certain Sweet Guy in Boston is BTS”

  1. I dont think this would run until day 30….
    Good luck on the next few days… Keep those legs crossed all the time

  2. Wow, where does one begin to comment? For starters, how do i get back to sleep?!

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