This happened way back in 1997. Then, I worked three jobs while saving up money for a move to LA. I worked part time for a mail processing company, weekends at a downtown Phoenix comic book store, and full time at a kiosk at Arrowhead Town Center selling art.
The kiosk was located in the second floor Food Court, right by a Hibachi-San (I ate a lot of Chinese during that employment), and faced Saturday Matinee, back in the day that was a movie and music store.
There was a girl who worked there that I became close with, but it didn’t work out.
I tell this story often, but I will have some more details here. Truth is, this story may not show me in the best light, but I have no issues with what I did.
Don’t you hate it when someone claims they don’t care about something, but then it turns out that what they claim to not care about is in fact something important to them?
I call this true tale
I Don't Care, but it IS Important
I believe her name was Sarah, the name will work for now though. I haven’t seen her since then, so the odds of her ever reading this are slim.
She worked at the Saturday Matinee, we couldn’t help but see each other almost every day. Unlike other employees that worked there, she used to wave to me kindly.
This was about the time that DVD’s stormed the market and I had just gotten a DVD player. I took a break one day and went into Saturday Matinee to look at the movies, and her. I officially meet her that day and we hit it off.
When our work schedules were similar we would hang out. I would go into the store. She spent breaks at the kiosk, and we often had lunch together. Our conversations ran the gambit of subjects, but seemed too often lead to one in particular: Relationships. A not so subtle hint on her part as I look back.
She liked me because I hadn’t hit on her, gotten sexual, or tried to ‘get’ with her. She often told me she wanted a serious relationship that was about more than sex. I quote, “I don’t care about sex. I want something more meaningful.” (I remember this wording explicitly).
While some may not believe this, I’ve never been all about sex. I want substance. So here was a girl who, like me, didn’t smoke, drink or do drugs and wanted more out of a relationship and life. It didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous as well.
I got up the balls and asked her out. The date was on.
I remember it was a Friday night, and I had a rare weekend off. Why not? Aren’t all dates on Friday?
I picked her up and we went to the restaurant, I think it was an Appleby’s or Olive Garden, some place she liked.
Once we were settled in at our booth, the turn began. Everything had been good up till then.
She told me that she had to ask me something important, before this went any further (I assume she meant the beginning of a ‘serious’ relationship). I was good and let her ask away.
“How big is your cock?” was the something important. I’m serious.
I’m sure the look on my face was shocking, I know I couldn’t believe she asked me. I clarified the questioned, and yeah it was a cock size question.
I responded by asking her, “Are those real?” Her breasts I meant. They were rather large and looked a little too firm (wink). Boy, did she get upset. I thought she was going to slap me at one point.
She told me, and I quote, “I’m serious. We’re going to fuck at some point, and I can’t cum with a small dick.” Oh, yes, I remember exactly what she said.
Come on . . . she spent weeks telling me she didn’t care about sex, that it didn’t matter to her, then she asked about the size of my xxxx?
What she said next was the impetus for what I did, “I need to know that you’re a real man.” Yep, she went there.
I said nothing, just took a drink of my coke. The night hadn’t turn out the way I wanted. No, I wasn’t looking to get laid. When I said I wanted more than sex, I meant it. When I asked if those were real that was only in response to her question.
Pissed and disappointed, I got up and left. I said nothing, walked out of the restaurant and drove home.
Yes, I left the bitch there at the restaurant.
Ace Masters
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