Our first date was at a taco truck, where he ordered for me in Spanish – which I found intensely attractive. Jorge was in his mid thirties and lived and worked with his mother – less attractive. She owned a successful Mexican grocery store, and he helped out, but mostly he was at home playing video games, or with his best friend – playing video games. Or at car/racing events. He labelled himself a stay-at-home son. None of that mattered too much to me though, when I met Jorge I was just looking for a FWB situation, and he fit the bill.
He didn’t have a driver’s license, and I’m not a citizen, and he’s brown, and cops are racist. So, I made it clear that I would not be a passenger in any vehicle he was driving, it was too risky. He lived in Tulsa and I was still afraid of driving there at that time, so we arranged our first meeting in a suburb I know well, at its one and only taco truck. I liked how he dressed, and how he smelled. It was somewhat awkward at first, he was more shy than he had seemed in our text messages, it was cute.
We sat at a picnic bench and muddled our way through polite small talk, peppered with uncomfortable silences. I found him physically attractive, but there really wasn’t much else. When we were done eating he asked if I’d like to sit in his car with him, I agreed. He owned several vehicles, in various states of disrepair, and he had driven his best one that day – a Cadillac. He was very proud of it. Buckled into the back seat were a toy Simba and Nala. I had some questions, but OK, I can overlook this. We sat and talked a bit, kissed a bit. The taco truck was conveniently located next to a hotel, I asked him if he’d like to go. He said he would, and we got a room.
The sex was surprisingly good. He was into big women, and enjoyed himself immensely while he explored my body. He had plenty of stamina, I had no complaints. My most enduring memory of our sex is that he grinned for the entire duration. I liked that, it was fun to see him having such a great time. He talked dirty to me in Spanish. I had no idea what he was saying, but it delighted my inner-linguaphile. Later he would joke that he was just telling me a recipe for cooking asparagus.
For several months we met in hotel rooms every Monday evening. The sex was always fun. Not mind-blowing, but better than most. Occasionally he came to my house if my husband was out of town, or I went to his if his mother was gone. Jorge was a big appreciator of lingerie, and I have a substantial collection. I liked to surprise him with different things to peel off of me every time we saw each other. He always made me feel good, and took time to dote on my body. He never once canceled on me or let me down, and I appreciated the shit out of that. I hinted heavily that he should bring a snack selection from his mom’s store, but he never did. Highly disappointing.
I can’t say we ever really had any deep conversations, or even particularly intelligent ones. If I’m honest, he was not all that intelligent, in any respect. Ultimately that was what ruined it for me – he stimulated my body but not my mind. That was fine for a while but it wasn’t sustainable. After a few months of fun together, I let him know that I felt it had run its course; I’d had a great time with him, but I didn’t think we should see each other anymore. He didn’t argue, he didn’t say anything at all.
A week or two later I went on a dinner date with someone new and when I got home I saw a text from Jorge – ‘How was your date? The guy looked boring as fuck.’ I told him I thought it was weird that he felt the need to send me that message. He said he had driven by the restaurant and saw us in the parking lot, that I looked miserable, and that he thought it was hilarious. I blocked his phone number, and that was the end of Jorge.
Fat and Slutty 