Matt III (Summer 2005) 

Copyright 2007 CKG

     Unbeknownst to me at the time, Matt had sent an attaché in his stead.  The Ambassador, a young woman in her early twenties, had come to scout me.  Eventually, after many questions asked concerning my ideas on love, I was deemed worthy and presented to Matt in the poolroom of Club 216.  Lit to high heaven, he ran over, threw his arms around me, and would not let go. 

      Smiling, I said, “My God, he’s just like an orphaned koala bear!” 

    Matt was a model of trusting and open affection; he was also damn cute, short of stature, and wearing a Transformers t-shirt.  (Being so slight of form, he could buy clothes from the kids’ department). 

      We made out for half the night in the club, though I kept trying to get him back to my apartment, where we could have some privacy.  Finally, he acquiesced, but only on the condition that we stay the night at The Ambassador’s.  (His justification being that he didn’t know me well enough to be alone with me.) He said we’d have to sleep on the couch, which didn’t thrill me, but I thought I could salvage a decent night of cuddling out of the deal.

      As we were walking to The Ambassador’s apartment, her brother, Brandon, pulled out his cell phone.  Seconds thereafter, Matt's phone began to ring.  The instant this occurred, The Ambassador pulled me away from Matt and began a rather inane conversation in a volume reserved for the near deaf. 

     A side effect of their drunkenness was the delusion that they were being remarkably clever.  It was completely obvious that Brandon was having a conversation with Matt.  

     I heard Brandon say, “It’s a no go.  I just wanted to call and tell you not to make plans.”

     Yet, I feigned ignorance, because I wanted to see how far Matt would take the deception.  When we reached the apartment, I started to follow him across the threshold, only to have him turn and place his hand on my chest. 

      “I’ve decided I’m not that kind of boy.” It was an inane statement for him to make, because we had discussed, at length, our shared point of view that sex was the last thing either of us wanted that night.  

      He closed the door abruptly, and I assumed that was the last I’d see of him.  To my surprise, he e-mailed a few days later, confessing he had made a mistake.  He said his friends had decided that I wasn’t right for him, but he felt otherwise and asked to be given another chance.  Matt went on to state that he wanted to show his friends how wrong they had been and insisted we meet at The Ambassador’s apartment.  I agreed to the plan, adding the stipulation that we spend no more than an hour there; then, I would have him all to myself.

      As our conversation closed, I heard the ambassador in the background, making a request of him. 

     “What’s she asking for,” I questioned.

     “She’s craving chocolate in a 'need it in a life or death' kind of way,” he replied. 

     “Well, tell her I’ll bring some over when I come.”  

      I heard The Ambassador squeal with delight as Matt related this to her.

     Now, I could have gone out and purchased her a lousy chocolate bar, but I had been judged and found unworthy by these people.  I was hell bent on showing them up in a big way, so I went to a specialty store on the downtown mall and spent twenty dollars in imported chocolates.         

     When I arrived at the apartment at three in the afternoon, the alcohol was already flowing, which didn’t thrill me one bit.  However, perhaps because of the drunkenness, Matt once more took to me with bounding affection.

     At one point, while addressing The Ambassador and her brother, Matt put his fingers to my lips.        

     “If these aren’t a set of D.S.L.'s, then I’ve never seen a pair.”

     “What do those letters indicate,” I questioned.

     “Dick-sucking lips.  You’ve got a perfect set, and I can’t wait to see them in action.” 

      The boy who professed to have no desire to rush into sex had evidently abandoned his philosophy. 

      Not long thereafter, The Ambassador and her brother said they needed to speak privately with Matt in the bedroom.  Five minutes after their abrupt departure, I remained seated alone in the living room. 

     I knew what was coming, but I didn’t know why, and to be truthful, I didn’t care.  My gut instinct told me to take the chocolates and leave, but I wanted to see how the story played out.  Eventually, they all emerged from the bedroom and took their seats again.  I slipped back into my role as make-out partner to Matt. 

     However, after a couple minutes, I grew sick of playing the game.  I asked Matt if he was ready to leave.  He replied that it was Brandon’s birthday and he had forgotten all about it until The Ambassador reminded him in the bedroom.  They were all going out to dinner to celebrate their friendship. 

     Playing a role meant to make them all uncomfortable, I asked, “So, when are we leaving?”

     “It’s sort of a personal deal…just the three of us,” he replied.

     “Oh, that’s cool.  You and I can just get together after the party.” God, was I milking the village idiot routine. 

      “Um…about that,” Matt was fighting to invent some excuse.

      “It’s not going to work out between the two of you,” The Ambassador bluntly stated.  “And we’d like for you to leave now.”

     And so I did.  I can offer no explanation as to what occurred on either occasion of my being rejected by this strange tribunal.  Truthfully, I’ve stopped asking for explanations where men are concerned.  The vast depth of their idiocy is imponderable.  Any attempt to rationalize even the noblest of their sex would lead to lunacy.