• Mathura Hawley

proof 3

Updated: Aug 2, 2021


We leaned in together to the brick of the nearest building and he asked me the most personal questions you could ask someone, from health history, to sexual habits and preferences. He blushed. I blushed."

“I like your jacket,” said a cute, wavy haired guy with a clipboard, standing next to an open-door medical outreach van parked at the curb on Castro Street. “Thanks,” I said, smiling. “Do you have a minute to answer some questions?” he asked. “Well,” I paused, “how can I say no to you, looking all cute and smiling like that?” “Right on!” he said and walked over to me, laughing. We leaned in together to the brick of the nearest building and he asked me the most personal questions you could ask someone, from health history, to sexual habits and preferences. He blushed. I blushed. “This is a little awkward,” he said, in a whisper, without looking up, his coworkers watching and knowing the subject of our conversation. “It’s cool, I’m sure you’re a professional,” I said. “No,“ he whispered, “It’s awkward because my friend and I had a bet on which one could get your attention.” “Oh,” I said, surprised, and he pushed the clipboard over my hand and slid his fingers around mine underneath it. “I’m Tony,” he said. I looked up at him. His hair was floppy and blonde, his young face was scruffy and sweet, and he smelled good. I laughed, taking the pen from his hand and writing my number on the bottom of the page. “Call me if I left anything out that you need to know,” I said, and walked away.


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