Brooklyn Bicycle Porn

This is dedicated to everyone who knows I have a thing for hipster boys on bikes... namely me, and in honor of my being reuinted with my bike, which lives down south. I always check out all the kids on bikes when walking across the bridge, myself, so I feel her pain. Kind of. She gets a little florid & verbose, and it's another case of MC-as-diary-entry. But I guess I'm a sucker for that. The girl knows what she wants.

boys riding bicycles across the bridge on a serene evening! - w4m -23

I’m riding across the bridge headed to manhattan and it’s nighttime, a clear night, the skyline all aglitter. It’s cool and temperate so I’m nearly sweatless… You pass me across the river, you’re going to brooklyn and I make briefest eyecontact with one, two three of you… I always wear a dress with
shorts underneath and your eyes hesitate on my thighs for only a moment… or
perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

I’ll be returning later in the evening, but I want to stop you to mention
that we should simply travel together. I know it may be difficult to hold hands
while on such a peregrination, or to even ride side by side in casual
conversation. I’m happy enough to ascend more quickly than you, arriving at the
plateau only to have you race past and beat me to the other side. My legs grow
stronger every day, but I can’t deny that chasing after a righteous man should
aid my ever flourishing musculature.

Why are the boys who find my tail a tantalizing chase lacking in bicycles?
Instead they tend to smoke too much pot, watch episodes of the simpsons and
mystery science theater on repeat, shop at H&M compulsively, wash their hair
with disconcerting frequency, attempt to woo me with irritating songs on a
harmonica, and offer to take me to whitecastle for a slider in the car so we
won’t have to move our legs in the slightest. [Tiny Gines says: Hey wait a minute, that sounds pretty flipping sweet to me...except the hair-washing. Washing your hair is soooo played out.] But I want to move my legs! How
long it’s been since I’ve ridden with a boy, side by side, over bridges and
across pleateaus, through valleys and over mountains… How much I miss these
pleasures! I want to ride with you, arriving cool and vigorous and in a state of
subtle ecstatic bliss! Or maybe we’ll never arrive, only to adventure through
the night and into the early morning dawnlight. Exercise, heartsplosion.

Next time you see me, one of us should turn around. Better times are
inevitable.

Verdict: Bike love, what!

Rainy Sunday

MC with rainy lazy sunday afternoon sex - w4m - 25

You: rainy, lazy, soft yet passionate, intensely mellow sunday afternoon sex. you start in the afternoon, hung over, smelling like booze and smoke, cotton mouthed, half asleep and going in for the spoon position. after some refreshingly burnt coffee and possibly some eggs with a side of advil you become more serious. you go for the belle and sebastian (really does not matter which, expected yet fitting), open windows, the smell of fresh cold rain coming in with the cool breeze bringing with it hours upon hours of dirty pleasure and the beautiful agony of brining in the evening with entangled limbs, raw lips and full ashtrays not to mention marathon style orgasms. breaks are given to bathroom, ordering thai, cat naps and the occasional meaningless conversation about how hot the other person is and why. Me: totally missing out on all-o-dat.

Now, what DID I do on my rainy, lazy sunday afternoon? woke up, hung over per usual, fuzzy headed, confused, messy haired, phone vibrating up a storm. who is it? bff. on her way over all bright eyed and bushy tailed ready for brunch. I tear myself out of my floral sheets, throw some american apparel on and zip (i mean, walk kinda slow) over to who the fuck cares. after some way too many calories we have the genius idea of not missing the last day of free music at maccaren pool (YACHT are good but not enough to endure). worst idea ever thought up by a human, ever. why did we think that gawking at the topless skinny boys high 5'ing each-other hard core in the spitting rain while all the 19 year old girls who are firmer, perkier with way less baggage and zero trust issues, cheer in tube socks and hot pants while we, now the older girls who should know better than to be there in the first place having some minor panic attack about the upcoming work week and the idea of our desks with the macs on them and our bosses who want their files saved as PDF's not JPG's for the millionth time, a little chilly, tired and defeated after spotting way too many old flames and one nighters, decide to bouncity bounce outta there asap. best we can come up with is making cookies and watching a movie which in reality turns into cookie dough (that shit can really make you sick) and dwelling for what seems like decades on decoding cryptic text messages from the dudes, no, douches, who deem it cool to do us once in a while.

Jenny: what do you think he means when he says "yeah, sorry for the booty call, was out with the bro's hoped you were still up"?

Amanda: I think he is trying to tell you that he was too shy to make actual plans.

Jenny: maybe... i don't know... i think it was just a booty call.

Amanda: sounds to me like he really likes you and wishes you were his girlfriend.

Jenny: you are fucking dumb.

Amanda: sure but his tats suck. he's not even straight edge anymore.

Jenny: but he calls me "babe"...

Amanda: well, ok, what do you think "busy, call you later" means?

Jenny: so into you.

Amanda: really? you think so?

Jenny: totes calling you later. Amanda: for cereal?

Jenny: whatever. his jeans are like girl jeans anyway and his band aint that great.

Amanda: yeah... animal collective did it better.

This goes on forever until the sugar crash, some TBS movie starts over and we should probably get it together and realize that dudes don't care that much about what they write via text message and are getting laid as we speak with someone other than us.

So rainy, lazy sunday afternoon sex or R.L.S.A.S, I missed my connection with you big time. I hope I run into you sometime, maybe when we are riding our bikes or walking our dogs or on our 4th cocktail, who knows... just wanted to let you know, I really love you R.L.S.A.S, you mean a lot to me, please don't stop being amazing cause you rock my vagina... no, I mean my world.

This girl had me for a while. The first paragraph is kind of genius longing, especially for a scenario that sounds so delicious and appealing.

Then WHOA. It slipped into desperation. Why do so many MCs end up akin to diary entries? That works if it's cute. But if I was her, I would have stopped after the first paragraph. If I was a guy, I would be thinking "yeah, that sounds awesome." But instead, guy-me is thinking it smacks of bitterness.

Verdict: Let's pretend that it doesn't exist, and let's hope that this fall is full of lovely rainy Sunday trysts.

Milkshakes

Wasn't there. But OMG-

to each and every girl at the hold steady show last night - m4w - 29

i want to buy you a milk shake.

I want to buy you ME, cute boy.

If I were to post a MC, I would post one like this. But it would be like "to all the boys on the L train" or "all the cute boys at the Pool, I want your babiez," or "all the adorable guys on bikes I saw Wednesday AM when I was walking across the Williamsburg Bridge were driving me crazy!"

You know, or something.

Verdict: posts like this make me happy and make me believe in LUV!

To That One Chick

Today, an example of that rare variety of Missed Connection- the really cute guy who says more than "Hey hot blonde at Starbucks, what's your name?"

to that one chick whom I desperately want to make out with... - m4w

You are hot and pretty and hot... like a rainbow... or some really nice utensils.
When will you be mine?
That is not a rhetorical question. Please answer it. I feel like you are just like that Marvin Gaye song, when he says "I'm hot just like an oven..."

Only it's you who is hot just like an oven.

And it isn't an oven.

It is a gas range stove or a beautiful rainbow or the molten core of the earth.

I want to do hard drugs with you and make out like teenagers.

Then I want to satisfy you sexually for up to (but not beyond) 4 minutes, because that is all it will take because I am that awesome at pleasuring women in a sexual way, probably.

I hope you read my other posts that I wrote... they mentioned your being german, but I changed the headline because it occurs to me that you may not be german at all.

But you are as sexy as Jessica Rabbit.

Here's a list of sexy things I would do for you:

Bake you something
Build a moat around your house
Make you tacos
Go to a Tommy Lee concert and pretend like it didn't suck
Punch a cute puppy in the head
Buy bottled water
Donate money to charity
Find God
Find a missing person
Find you the best pizza in Brooklyn
Find Forrester
Build you a tennis court
Learn to fence
Make out with you like teenagers

Ha Ha... see what I did there? I named all this hard and crappy stuff, then I threw in the making out thing and... well you know...

It's like, reverse psychology or whatever.

Be mine and I will most certainly be yours.

Ok. First of all, he gets points for good grammar in his title.

Second, this is probably the cutest MC ever. It seems to be directed at someone specific (that the person knows in real life), which is adorable. If it's directed at someone from afar, my advice to that lady is to hop to it with this fella, because he is obviously awesome.

Third, this guy is my type, y'all. And not just because of the tacos and hard drugs. This is the perfect blend of funny, kinda sexy and kinda romantic.

Verdict: I really hope it works out for these two.